The dog that gave me bedbugs

More than 7% of New Yorkers suffered from bedbugs in 2010. For a few weeks in India, I felt their pain. Perhaps my roommate and I shouldn't have adopted a street dog for a night.

By way of background, I'm a softy for stray dogs. There are millions in India. Scavenging for food. Nursing their puppies. Napping in the middle of the road. The sad part is that young litters have 4-5 puppies. Older litters have 1-2 puppies. Many of the little guys don't make it.

My roommate and I found a puppy near our favorite breakfast spot. Word on the street was that someone had "dropped him off." Translation: he had been abandoned.

So little Leo came home with us. In return, that Trojan Horse gave me bedbugs. The worst part wasn't the unsightly raised red blotches on my skin, the itch, or the embarrassment of admitting to my friends that I had bedbugs. It was the fear of going to sleep knowing that critters would be drinking my blood while I was unconscious, running across my exposed skin with their grimy exoskeletons. It was knowing that each night Cimex lectularius would be helping itself to my torso flesh.

The good news is that I may have discovered a new solution for bedbug treatment. (New Yorkers, listen up.) I found that by leaving on a large bright flourescent lightbulb, bedbugs wouldn't show themselves during the night. The theory—which is probably completely wrong and resulted in my sleeping in a blindingly bright room—is that this light prevented bedbugs living in the carpet from traveling to my bed.

A few days later, I made sure that little Leo found a home, which is a coveted, rare thing for a stray dog in India. He now lives outside, away from his owners' beds.

Little Leo.

Leo, full after a dinner of cow's milk.

A dog in Uttarakhand that I considered, but resisted, adopting.

A puppy in Himachal Pradesh. Also considered adopting this one. Resisted with difficulty.

Boot kaboom

On a recent trek in India's northern state of Uttarakhand, my trusty boots of eight years exploded. There's really no other word for it. Exploded.

Even without the bootie incident, this was a "no joke" hike. We ascended from 5,100 feet to 10,400 feet and descended in the same day. (That's roughly equivalent to climbing up and down the stairs of 3.5 Sears Towers stacked end-to-end.) My city-boy legs were sore for almost a week.

Of the group of 7 hikers, 3 of us pushed to the summit. The final 1,000 feet of the mountain were more insane than challenging. We were scaling rocks free-hand. At the top, we stood together and said a prayer that we wouldn't die during our descent.

After having made it down the steepest part, the thick rubber heels of my boots fell off. Literally separated from the leather of the boot. I don't know if it was the moist Himalayan air. Or just years of wear and tear. Or the rigor of that day's hike. Luckily, my friend had brought a First Aid kit and doctored them with some duct tape. Meanwhile, I tried my best to tread lightly. Then at ~9,000 feet, my foot popped through bottom of my left boot. It was essentially shrapnel. Unsalvageable.

Time to be resourceful. I had brought my favorite red fleece with me. The only option was to throw the boot in my backpack and to wrap the fleece around my foot. So I descended the remaining 4,000 feet of a jagged Himilayan mountainside with a fleece wrapped around my foot. Only in India.

A friend stops on our way up the mountain to admire the view.

Taking a rest at ~9,000 feet.

The final ~1,000 feet of our ascent.

My boots. Can you believe the boot on the left is the one that "survived?"

Post-trek. A bucket of dirty water from washing my fleece.

My cleaned fleece. Just like new!

The mustache

You can't live in India for a year and not sport a mustache. It would almost be culturally insensitive, given how prevalent they are here. I don't want to offend anyone.

India is scattered with barbershops that literally are on the street. They often consist of a chair on the sidewalk, a mirror posted to a wall or fence, and a man with a razor blade. In New Delhi, it costs approximately 50 rupees (or $1.10) for a haircut and 25 rupees (or 55¢) for a shave. Gotta love a good deal.

For my mustache, I upgraded to a barber with a roof. It increased the cost from 25 to 30 rupees, but I didn't mind the splurge. (It was worth the extra 11¢.) I arrived with a 4-week beard and let Mohan, the barber, go to work. Ten minutes later, I blended into New Delhi much better.

My mustache lasted one week. During that time, I surprised myself whenever I looked in the mirror. "Oh, wow, I have a mustache," I would remember. Feelings of surprise soon transformed into the realization that I looked ridiculous. I guess a good thing can't last forever.

The barber applied heavy shaving cream with a brush.

Check out the barber's concentration as he uses the razor. Much appreciated!

One week with a big ole mustache.

English versus Hindi

The last time I began learning a new language, I was five years old. French. Twenty years later, now steeped in Hindi, I can appreciate how difficult it is to think and articulate in a "nayi bhasha." That's Hindi for new language.

Hindi is super difficult. Among other things, the word order is completely different from that of English. Consider the sentence: "Did I put a bottle of water on your desk yesterday?" In Hindi, the construction is: "Question-word yesterday I your desk on water's bottle put?" What?!

But I can think of two reasons why English is tougher. The first is spelling. In English, spelling is just plain hard. It's why National Spelling Bee Champion Rebecca Sealfon got so excited. The spelling of many words (e.g., cousin, mighty, ghoul, numb) simply must be memorized. Hindi is highly phonetic. One letter per sound. Phew.

The second is irregulars. People Who Created English, was it really necessary to have so many irregular verbs, superlatives, and plurals? Wouldn't it be easier if "the goodest childs buyed mouses" didn't sound ridiculous? (Read as: The best children bought mice.)

As my Hindi instructor would say, "So much difficulty in English is there." It doesn't make learning Hindi any less taxing, but it's comforting knowing that I've got the tougher of the two in the bag.

Translation: I will learn Hindi no matter what.

Translation: No one drinks more tea than James.

Translation: An ocean fills drop by drop.