Where is my mind?

Written at 530pm local time Friday evening.

The title comes from my favorite Pixies song of the same name, which I usually listen to when I'm feeling disoriented, like when I wake up, jet-lagged, on a layover in a strange place (Korea, Taiwan, Mumbai, etc). I'm just in my flat in India, but at this point it is appropriate for me to listen to this particular song.

Today I stayed home from work because the gas man was supposed to come. Getting a gas refill for my kitchen has proved to be the most difficult thing for me so far in India. More difficult than sleeping in a too short bed, more difficult than the cold showers (no hot water at my house) and yes, even more difficult than pooping without toilet paper (Indians believe TP is unhygenic).

Gas is sold in large cylinders (17.1 kg) that you hook up to a counter top double burner. It is either procured from a private or commercial source, both of which require some sort of special number, or book, or something that has been lost in translation. Or you can go the black market route, which my landlord seems to think is what the previous tenant (the director of my NGO) did. I am not alone in this endeavor, my NGO counterpart, Dr. Sathish, and the office secretary, Nirmala Madam, have been doing everything they can to move this process along.

So far, over the last week, we have gotten the name of the gas company and the special number/book/secret code from the last person who lived here. We've contacted the company and attempted to order. Yesterday they said their stock of gas came in and would be delivered to my flat today. So here I am, waiting. This morning they said they only have cylinders that are too large (?), but a delivery of the correct size cylinders are on their way, and the gas will be delivered in the afternoon.  More waiting.

I haven't left my house today. I have my tiny computer, nicknamed “the runt” at the office, and have been continuing to edit the 95 facility assessment reports from home. In my house one can either sit on the bed, the other bed, or the floor. I sleep in one bed and I've fashioned a couch out of the other bed. This is where I've been sitting, all day, correcting pretty much the same grammatical and syntax errors over and over.

I don't have internet, but have been listening to various stories, music reviews, and The Onion news clips (“Pope announces plan to build moon Vatican”) I downloaded onto my computer while at the office. I dont have that many, and have been using them sparingly for my nightly entertainment. But doing this work without distraction is brutal. I miss the chai women at the office.

I want to walk to town, but I'm afraid if I leave I will lose my one chance at getting gas. But my brain has turned to mush, and my edits have become useless. All I can do now is listen to music and write this blog. If only it were that other Pixies song that were applicable; “Here comes your man”

Gas Man, where ARE you?!?!?!!!!!

ps- gas man came Sat morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work.  It's a miracle!!