My sweet, sweet Mia. Like her big sister Masan did at her age, she actively and exuberantly explores her world through her sense of taste. With her tongue she explores rusty, forgotten closet locks she finds in the drawer, a guest’s weathered flip flop sitting by the front door, and what she describes as “spicy” Indian food from her favorite dinner plate—the front porch floor. Everything and anything goes into her mouth.

If Mia had been the first born I would not be able to live in Bangalore. When both Masan and Evie were toddlers I used an extraordinary amount of caution when it came to Brooklyn germs. We sanitized hands and feet every time we were done playing on the playground, washed our hands when we returned home from being outside even for a second, changed clothes after going to the baby gym, washed Crocs in Clorox once a week, and forbid playing in the sand at Cobble Hill Park after hearing rumors of rats using it after hours. Fortunately, for my kids and my sanity, I have become a bit more relaxed about germs with the third kid. For example, I didn’t change Mia’s clothes when she came home from school (unless she was going to take a nap). Before we left the US, I was about as relaxed about germs as one with OCD can be.

However, I can feel the OCD rearing it’s ugly head as I try to do battle with the real germs in this town. Trying to keep my kids germ-free is pretty much impossible. Although there aren’t any shoes in the house (local custom, not my rule) and the floors are cleaned each day, everyone and their mother comes through the front door—from neighbors, to helpers, to delivery people. And each one of them wants to squeeze Mia’s cheeks, and has his/her own individual understanding of and appreciation for hygiene. At a recent doctor’s appointment I mentioned the fact that Mia has been throwing up once every few days, to which the doctor’s response was, “yeah, typhoid is going around like crazy right now.” Typhoid. Okay, got it.

If you happened to read last night’s post, you are familiar with poor Mia’s bout of upset stomach. Well, tonight Mia had an episode which was just as explosive and dramatic, but expressed itself in the opposite manner…errr…direction. Similarly to last night, it was a soapy shower for her, one for myself, a full change of bedding, and an entire bottle of Clorox wipes affair. Poor Love. Although 4 out of 5 of us have had some sort of gastrointestinal issue since landing in this city, Mia has had it the worst. Bangalore laughs in the face of my OCD habits, which kept my kids safe in Brooklyn, but are no match for this place.

I have asked people to use sanitizer before they pick up or touch Mia, but I can’t go around like a first time mom with a newborn spraying it on everyone within a mile radius of her. I’m new here, and I don’t want to be offensive. I have asked the driver Kiran to bring me gallon sized bottles of Purel, which I will display around the villa like expensive antiquities, hoping everyone will get the idea without blatantly calling into question anyone’s hygiene. I did put soap and toilet paper in the staff bathroom (i.e. the extra room off the side of the house that the driver, the maid and the cook are supposed to use, which is just a hole in the floor without running water, which by Brooklyn standards could almost be considered a half bath), and invited everyone to use the one inside the house instead. (Indian friends, I know this is shocking—yes, I am doing this staff thing all wrong, I know, I know, but I’m a dumb American, and it’s for a good cause).

Speaking of being a dumb American, during dinner prep tonight the helpers decided that they wanted to put Jasmine in my hair, like the locals do. While my hair was being braided and prepped for the lovely flowers, I was simultaneously helping Masan do a maze in her activity book and feeding Mia on my lap (we still don’t have any dining chairs). When my attention was brought back to my hair I noticed that there was a dirty comb lying next to my clean hair brush and that the comb was the instrument being used in my hair. AHHHHHH!!!! What do I do? This woman was braiding my hair! How could I ask her to stop using her comb? So I said nothing. And when she left I washed my hair for 15 minutes in scalding water.

I give up. Bangalore wins. My only hope is that my kids and I have immune systems of steal after all this.

Having lived in New York for the past 17 years I have become competitive as a means of survival. In a city so beloved by so many of us resources are scarce, and seemingly more often than not, we are required to fight for what we need and want. We elbow our fellow passengers to get onto a subway car during rush hour, we set our alarms for 6 am to be the first to sign up for openplay at the baby gym so that we don’t get shut out, we kiss up to everyone and anyone to get our kids into 2’s programs and put up with group and individual interviews to get a spot, we fight over who hailed a cab first, we put down 3 months deposit on a hole-in-the-wall apartment sight unseen if it’s a good deal on rent to beat out the other renters, etc. You don’t need me to go on, you live this everyday, ridiculous as it is.

It is in the vein of competition that I would like to highlight a few ways in which Bangalore is better than Brooklyn. It’s well-known that one can get all sorts of luxuries and services for cheap in this city, but I want to go beyond the $10 US in-home massage or the full-time cook for $150 US per month. In a sense, this is my apology to India for the hundreds of times Dan and I have turned to each other during the last 10 days when a frustrating or seemingly ridiculous situation arises (like when hospital registration requires one to fill out 5 different forms, one for each family member when the only varying information is the name of each family member; or like when the nightly power outage session exactly coincides with the baby’s nightly crib vomiting session and you’re trying to clean her and the crib while holding a flashlight in your mouth because you only have 2 hands and your husband now works until 9pm; or when you have been prescribed a week’s supply of pills for your ailment by your doctor at Columbia Asia hospital, but after waiting for 30 minutes while the hospital pharmacy staff looks for the meds in the basement you are told that they only have 3 pills and is this fine?) with shoulders raised and palms up in resignation and said, “Fucking India,” which is to say, “what are you goin’ do?”

Reason 1 Bangalore beats Brooklyn:

Amazon.in: The box that my swimming goggles box was packaged in was just slightly larger than the goggles box itself instead of being the size of a refrigerator like my Brooklyn Amazon orders. Way to save the planet, Bangalore!

Reason 2 Bangalore beats Brooklyn:

Plastic: It’s outlawed. You can barely buy Ziploc or cling-wrap (believe me, I know, because for some reason this was very important for our driver to try to find for us) let alone get your groceries packaged in plastic bags. I know this plastic ban is in the works in NYC, but so far, Bangalore is in the lead. Although what I wouldn’t give for a Glad trash bag right now to put the baby’s vomit-soaked sheets in.

Reason 3 Bangalore beats Brooklyn:

Classes: Instead of signing up for a class on the second day of sign up and being told that it’s all full because everyone else had the same brilliant idea to spend $500 for a one-day a week 1 hour art class, you can just call up the instructor and are registered for a mere $30 US for 2 kids for a week-long class (and that’s a rip-off).

I’m sure there are a million other reasons that Bangalore beats Brooklyn, but at the moment I am feeling a bit resentful at the power outage and the vomiting to be any more generous with my new hometown.

We have been in Bangalore for almost a week now and I feel like I have been here a month. I am still in a jet lag, melatonin, moving-in haze, which I think has protected me from being as homesick as I expected to be. Plus, I have been so busy taking care of the kids, trying to figure out how to “manage staff” (yes, that’s a thing) and how to buy food that I recognize in the grocery store and know how to cook that I haven’t had time to really think too much about being homesick. Except at 2 am, which is when I miss you people the most.

Things are good so far. (Thank you for the prayers!) I like it here. Dan likes it here. The kids love it here. We live on a palm tree-lined street in what looks like a Florida vacation community (we love you, Orlando). We walk to the pool each day where there are all of 2 other people swimming, even on a Saturday. Dan goes into work later than he did in NYC so that we have coffee together, or more often, I sleep and he watches cricket in Hindi while the kids play in the converted Hindu prayer closet which is now their clubhouse. (Apparently, this is only offensive if we keep shoes in it). Dan is going to sign up for his golf membership this week, so he couldn’t be any happier.

We have a driver named Kiren, who has been extremely helpful in getting us things we need for the house and educating us on the interesting and almost never logical ways of Bangalore. We also have a housekeeper named Shanta who just showed up here last week saying that her mom used to clean this house so now she would. Fine with us. So far she has showed up an hour late each day and left an hour and a half early. Today (Saturday) she asked if she could work 9-11 because she had a birthday party to go to. I didn’t even know she worked Saturdays so that was fine with me. She’s 18 and beautiful so I feel guilty that she’s cleaning my house when she should be modeling. But I have acclimated enough to upperclass Bangalore housewife life to complain about her lack of commitment to her hours to the neighbor. She says that I’m too nice. I’m giving tough New Yorkers a bad name.

Today we interviewed a person to cook for us because who doesn’t need a cook? When in Rome…What’s most surprising is that even with a driver and a housekeeper, I have never been more exhausted. I have help except when I could really use it, which is in the morning when getting the kids up and ready and in the evenings with dinner, bath, bed routine (Dan works until 8 pm or later now). And because things don’t run smoothly here (getting to the grocery store can take 10 minutes or 2 hours depending on traffic; opening a bank account takes 5 phone calls, an in person meeting, and knowing the right bankers to pull some strings; absolutely everyone needs a copy of my passport for absolutely everything; the furniture delivery guy needs my signature on a separate piece of paper for every single piece of furniture I bought as well checked off on his phone; getting internet access takes a week and clandestine meetings at the ATM in the rain to pay for it; setting up my iPhone to work here requires something called a jail break, which means that it won’t work in the US, and a new one costs $1000 US) help is needed. I have been wondering if the system is so complicated to make sure that helpers always have jobs.

As I lay awake in bed each night, unable to sleep because of that 4 pm cup of coffee, which was a necessity at the time to get me through dinner and bedtime, but that now I regret, my mind is busy reflecting on the past week here in Bangalore, a few moments are most salient, and they are in no particular order:

-We arrived at the Marriott from the hotel late last Saturday night. The jet lag affected us all big time, but Mia most of all who just refused to sleep for 2 days and had a horrible cold. In the hopes of getting everyone to acclimate to the time change, Dan and I gave the girls a small dose of the all natural hormone melatonin. At dinner Sunday night all 3 girls were falling asleep at the table during dinner. Masan was holding a chicken nugget and nibbling on it as she nodded in and out of sleep. At one point she landed on Evie’s shoulder, and without opening her eyes, Evie punched Masan in the arm to move her off of her.

-Driving around (more accurately, being driven around by the helpful driver Kiren) Bangalore buying groceries and other house-related items on Tuesday we passed a snow covered lake and I did a double take. Wait, what? Snow? When I questioned Kiren about it he said that it was the chemical waste and sewage in the water making it look soapy and white. He showed us the mesh fences erected to keep the stuff out of the school bus windows on the bridges. I was informed that often the lakes catch fire. This prompted me to ask about clean up plans, but apparently that would mean redoing the entire sewer system of Bangalore, and that’s out of the question.

-On Thursday morning the 8 year old boy who lives next door was playing cricket in the street in front of our villa with his driver. The girls ran outside and joined in. Organic playdate at 8am on a Thursday. Dan and I sat on the stoop having coffee watching, and this place felt less lonely and more like home. Since then we have had several impromptu playdates and drop ins with these neighbors at both of our villas. The kids immediately took to one another, and I think Masan may have met her match and has found a kid who likes to be in charge as much as she does. It’s interesting to watch her defer to this boy like I rarely see her do to kids her own age at home.

-I stopped by the neighbor’s house to pick up Masan and Evie who they had been watching while I tried to sort out my phone situation. The mom promptly sat me down, gave me lemonade and some rice dosas her cook had made, and started “managing my spice level” to see how much spice I can handle in my food. I just ate whatever she put in front of me since it was all amazing. My favorite part about this culture is its need to feed. Reminds me of growing up across the street from the Khosla family who fed me almost every day after school until I was in high school, my Italian father’s hospitality, and my Grammie Brown making food for the ‘elderly’ (the woman herself was 88) in her community.

-Dan and I were talking in front of the driver about how much fun Masan was having digging in the dirt in the yard behind the villa. Kiren mentioned that may not be the best idea because of the centipedes and scorpions which can sometimes be found in the dirt. Duly noted.

-The woman who does some sort of work for the family across the street stands in front of our villa on the sidewalk and just stares at us. Every day. I think she wants to be our cook since that’s the only word she says that I can understand.

-The driver has bought Dan 2 cases of Kingfisher beer thus far. We have been here a week. Guess he doesn’t want him to run out.

-A woman came to the door today to inquire about being my gardener. Do I need one? Apparently so. She quoted me 2000 rupees a month to water the plants in the front yard and cut the extremely small area of grass we have in the back. While she was in the yard checking it out, I ran next door and asked the neighbor how much I should be paying. She said 1500 rupees for coming every day for a month. I told this to the potential gardener and she quoted me 1800. I then haggled again and got her down to 1500 because I told her how small our yard is. I was so proud of myself because I currently have a reputation amongst all the housekeepers and “helpers” as our neighbor calls them, up and down the street for being a push over. So I was trying to prove that I can be tough. But now I feel guilty for not giving the woman some extra cash which she could probably really use. I can’t win.

– The gals and I met Dan and his new team at Morgan Stanley for lunch last week. Mia was having the time of her life being passed back and forth to all of the young, sweet, lovely ladies and the one young gentleman.

-I am proud to say that I have not shopped at the expat grocery stores, but with all 3 girls (and the help of the driver, of course) have ventured into Indian grocery stores where the food is exotic, the flies are plentiful, and the cheek squeezes from strangers are common (Evie hates it!).

-Dan, who has been suffering from dysentery all day, is feeling much better after some Aleve and Papa John’s pizza, which tastes pretty much the same here as it does in the States.

On our way to the airport right now. 2 Suburbans, 2 drivers, 3 kids, 2 adults, 10 suitcases, 3 backpacks and 1 computer bag-oh, and 1 canvas bag filled with milk boxes for Mia, 2 booster seats and 1 car seat. Mia is on a luggage tag phone saying “hello, hello, hi,” Evie is whining because Masan is singing and wants to finish her song. Dan says he needs another shower since we did the luggage parade with the suitcases we had at the Air BnB (story to come about the horrid upstairs neighbors who weren’t happy their downstairs neighbor was renting out their place and was terribly rude, even stepping on Andree’s box of cupcakes) down Court and Butler to the Smith Street apartment followed by Dan lugging 6 suitcases down the Smith Street stairs to the waiting SUV’s. 

Masan cried buckets saying goodbye to her teacher on Wednesday, as well as her BFFs after a sleep over, epic craft party and movie night play date yesterday. Our amazing pals really know how to make us feel loved! The evening even ended, as all good blow out shindigs do, with a bit of drama: Masan’s fall down a tree house ladder, and bloody eyelid and trip to pediatric urgent care for 5 stitches for our friend. (Poor Cece! We love you!!! Glad you’ll be fine!) 

Mia started screaming just now since she hasn’t napped again today, and we are listening to Vered’s CD-the first one-the only thing to calm my baby. She just pooped.

Out the window there’s no traffic and is it my imagination or does Queens look really green, lush and peaceful right now? Oh and there’s a great view of the Freedom Tower. Love you, NYC!

Dan just pointed out that there’s thick, black smoke at the airport in the distance. Apparently it’s fire safety training day at JFK.