It's Mango Season!

The northern Indian tourist season runs roughly from the festivals of October through sometime in March when the heat arrives. I’d highly recommend visiting the country during that temperate part of the year. However, when traveling for work, one doesn’t necessarily get to choose the month which is how I ended up traveling in May. The forecast called for a very consistent 108 degrees through the first few days of the trip. At least it was a dry heat. Don’t laugh. That’s really a thing. I’ll take the dry extreme heat of Delhi in May over the sultry heat and humidity offered in the late summer as the monsoon hits. If you’ve experienced both, you would agree. Just promise me you’ll never laugh at someone when they say, “it was a dry heat.” It’s a thing.

So what makes India worth visiting in May? That’s an easy one: mangoes. After living through multiple mango seasons in India, I’ve learned a few things about myself. First, bless the Ecuadorian’s hearts but the crap mangoes they export for sale at Publix in Orlando are just that. Crap. I’ll never eat another mango that isn’t Indian. I’ve heard a region of Pakistan has the world’s best mangoes; in the spirit of not starting an international conflict over who has the better mangoes, let’s just say the Indian mangoes are good enough to make you never want to have a mango produced in another region. Second, there is no fruit season I look forward to more than Indian mango season. I once lived in a world where honeycrisp apple season in the US was the most anticipated of the year. That world is dead to me. Long live Indian mango season. Third, it’s a little strange that I’ve actually put this much thought into my favorite fruit seasons. For what it’s worth, Florida strawberry season comes in a distant third behind mangoes and honeycrisps.

I doubt the mangoes will be enough to entice you to visit in India in May; however, this might: once you suffer through the 108 degree heat of the middle of the day, the breezes that accompany the 95 degree nights seem downright comfortable.

Return to India

My first assignment in India ended in April 2005. I didn’t return to the country until November 2009 for a short trip to find an apartment for our two year assignment. Suffice to say, much had changed in those four-and-a-half years. Highways had been built. The Delhi Metro had opened. Gurgaon had exploded into far more than a few multi-national offices, a luxury golf course, and garish malls.

My second assignment in India ended in December 2011. I was budgeted to travel back three times in 2012 but as those budgets dried, I didn’t return. Earlier this spring, an opportunity arose to accompany business leaders I had been supporting. Needless to say, I jumped at it.

Not nearly as much had changed between visits as I experienced in 2009. My trusty driver Kailash greeted me at the airport just as he had done dozens of times during my assignment. Even though the arrival process is far less scarring at Delhi’s sparkling Terminal 3 as it was at the old airport, it’s always reassuring to see a familiar face smiling on the opposite side of the steel divider when emerging through the green customs aisle.

After passing through the toll booth on NH8 that creates the border between Delhi and Haryana, I remarked to Kailash that it didn’t appear much had changed in Gurgaon. On cue, a new public transit system, a nearly finished Rapid Metro, appeared on my left just past Ambience Mall.

The next morning on the ride to work, I experienced a strange sensation: a road free of potholes. Kailash explained that the roads had improved and quickly gave credit to these infrastructure improvements  on the fact the elections were near. However, it seemed that nearly every main artery in Gurgaon had improved so much so that the suspension on the increased number of German sedans had a chance of survival.

What else had changed in India? The exchange rate. In 2010 and 2011 the rate hovered at or around INR 45 to the American dollar. With this exchange rate, I would try and coach the wife to “pretend” the rate was 40:1 to justify a purchase. In other words, it would seem more expensive and if she still really wanted an item (usually some sort of pashmina or scarf) at the higher price, it was a good purchase. She quickly caught on to this little game and instead used an exchange rate of 50:1, making items seem cheaper than they really were. Fast forward to 2013 and the exchange rate is now nearly INR 55 to the dollar. Needless to say, I still used the 50:1 rule when purchasing but can only imagine what the number would have been in Lindsay’s head and how many additional purchases that may have lead to. The fine folks at Anokhi and her other regular haunts surely regret her missing this trip (nearly as much as I did).

Whether it be driving between familiar places or seeing people in the office and the professional and personal memories flooding back from those two years of my life, this first trip felt like I was returning home. In fact, I got more nostalgic for my former expat life than when I return to Chicago, though I’m sure this has absolutely nothing to do with the considerable time required to return to India as well as the comparative frequency of trips to those former homes.

The hardest part of leaving India, which I’m sure will come as no surprise to those that know me, was parting ways with my trusty driver Kailash. I’m sure Indian work colleagues (not to mention friends that get sick of hearing my stories) think I have an abnormally close relationship with my driver. When I found out I was returning to India, the first note I sent was to request his service. For two years, he was a trusted part of our family. He made my life immeasurably easier, was always on time, and always made me laugh. There’s not much more an expat can ask of a driver. When my bags were loaded on a cart and as I made my way toward the terminal, I looked back a couple times as he drove away. Each time, he was looking back at me, smiling and wildly waving good bye.

I’d like to think another spring dust storm kicked up as I presented my itinerary to the friendly man with a gun at the airport door, but it may have had something to do with leaving a friend. For what it’s worth, I think Kailash thinks of Lindsay and I in much the same regard. From what I could tell based on our conversations during the week, I’m pretty sure he skipped going to his home village for some weddings based on my trip. When I learned this, I asked why he would sacrifice this. His response, “Sir, they are only friends. Not best friends.”