A good girl...but not for much longer

This is the last post I get to write to you as a upstanding, law abiding citizen. For tomorrow I am a criminal. So is Thalia and Keir. Rod has managed to stay on the right side of the law - it is just his family who are villains. And our crime? Our visas run out today. From midnight the kids and I are illegally staying in the country. Now you'd think we would have made efforts to stay within the law, after all, we were brought up to do the right thing. Well, we have made efforts, but an old friend (?) is making things difficult for us...

Rod has an employment visa, and the kids and I have X visas. X visas used to be called Dependents visas, and they allow us to stay for the duration of Rod's employment visa. When he went to Britain over the summer he got his new employment visa. He could have got our new X visas sorted in the UK, but for that he would have needed our passports. But as we needed our passports to get into Australia, that wasn't going to work. So I tried to get the visas sorted in Perth. That wasn't going to work either, because the lovely Sikh man at the Indian Visa Service there told me that for the children's visas, in addition to the standard forms and Australian passports, I'd need:

1) a letter from both parents stating that we were happy for the visa to be issued. This letter had to be witnessed by a Doctor, Police Officer or Justice of the Peace.

2) Full Birth Certificates for both kids, and our Marriage Certificate (if applicable)

3) Both Rod and I had to sign the Visa Application forms, preferably in front of the lovely Sikh man at the Indian Visa Service.

This I explained to him was hard, because:

1) Rod was in Britain, not Australia, and was not really expecting to be in Australia before June 2010, quite some time after we needed our visas.

2) The kids didn't have Australian passports, they had British ones, because they were British citizens, born in Britain, like their father, and

3) Rather than trying to take the children away from their dad, I was trying to get them back to him!

The lovely Sikh man looked at our passports and declared our current visas were fine. I explained we were due to land on the 16th of July, and the visas expired on the 30th. Would we have difficulty in getting in? No he said, they will just point out you do not have much time left and will need to sort your visas promptly. Dhanyavad (thankyou) we said , and left.

The Immigration Officer at Passport Control at Indira Gandhi International Airport did not point out we had only a little time left on our visas. If he had not smiled at the changes in Keir's appearance in his passport (in the passport he's 4, with a number 3 cut. Now he's 8, with hair to his shoulderblades) I would almost have believed he didn't look at them at all.

But we heeded the lovely Sikh man's advice, and last Wednesday, as soon as the jetlag had cleared, headed to the Foreigners Registration Office in Delhi. We got there early, because we thought there might be a queue. Unfortunately for us, the Foreigners Registration Office in Delhi opens at 9.30, half an hour earlier than it's counterpart in the Mini Secretariat in Haryana, where we had been registered before. We joined the queue for the reception desk, two rooms away. I won't say it took a long time for the queue to move, but Rod left an important paper at home, went back for it and returned to us just as we moved into the room that housed the reception desk. God bless Nintendo DS and Ipod! When we eventually reached the receptionist we discovered we could not have our visas extended, because our RP (Residence Permit papers) were still at the Mini Secretariat in Haryana, even though we had attended the Foreigners Registration Office in Delhi requesting their transfer in May. We were told to wait. Three and a bit hours after we had arrived, the Incharge told us we would need to go to Haryana to ask for the papers. We pointed out our visas did not have much time left on them, but the Incharge said she was not able to process them until our Residence Permits arrived at her office.

So Thursday morning Rod drove to the Mini Secretariat, and gave our old friend Mini Secretariat guy the letter from the Incharge requesting our RP papers. Mini Secretariat guy says the papers will be sent tomorrow, and gives Rod his phone number so he can call to check. On Friday Rod calls. He's told the papers will be in Delhi on Monday. On Tuesday he goes to see the Incharge in Delhi - the papers are not there. On Wednesday he goes to see the Incharge in Delhi - the papers are not there. The Incharge looks a little embarrassed, she says come back on Monday, bring the whole family. Rod points out our visas only have one day left on them. She gives a look Rod hopes means, "don't worry, we'll sort it". So guess what we're doing on Monday?

As safe as a dangerous sport can be

It was a Formula One weekend, so I spent most of it glued to the telly. I found it was hard while I was away from India to keep up with all that was going on in my favourite sport. Australia only seems interested in sports that use balls - Aussie Rules, cricket, rugby. Balls do not feature in Formula One. Well, not that kind!

It was a unusual race weekend, what with Felipe Massa's freak accident during qualifying on Saturday. For those who may not share my enthusiasm for the sport, those who spent the past weekend in an alcoholic stupor, and those who just don't get out much, the car driven by Rubens Barrichello suffered a rear suspension failure. A spring came off and bounced along the track. Four seconds later, the spring struck Massa in the head. His Ferrari then ploughed into the tyre barrier. Pictures of Massa's helmet show the force of the impact. Four years ago the helmets were upgraded to carbon-fibre, twice as stong as the previous material. This carbon-fibre is being touted as the reason Felipe was able to survive the crash. The design of the car, and the tyre barrier, also played their part.

And I've just seen footage on the BBC news of another reminder that Motorsport, in spite of all the safety precautions, still has its dangers. Driver Tony Kanaan was taking part in the Edmonton IndyCar race on the weekend. Things were going swimmingly, until his first pit stop when the ethanol fuel hose filling his car appeared to not shut off properly, dousing him and his car in fuel. Seconds later, the car was on fire. He drove a short distance down the pit lane to prevent the fire spreading to his pit garage. Other teams' pit crews doused the flames and helped Tony out of the car. He suffered minor burns to his thumbs and face. In an interview after the event he was asked "what if it had been worse?". His reply: "How much worse could it be? I was on fire for 45 seconds. I'd like to thank the people who make Nomex (the fire-retardent fabric his driving suit is constructed from)". I'll second that!

Come in...make yourself at home

Today there was a news story on BBC World News. Scientists have discovered a new species of lizard in the lush Western Ghats mountain range in the Indian state of Maharashtra. They're not alone. I've discovered a new lizard species living in my fusebox, just outside my front door. I just haven't got around to letting the BBC know yet. The lizards are geckoes really, a couple of inches long and almost translucent. I don't mind them living in my fusebox. I only have to go to the fusebox when we need to reset one of the fuses, which, because of the reliability of the power supply and the quality of the electrical work, only happens a couple of times a day! So we have a fusebox routine, which goes:

1..Open fusebox with one hand.

2..Keep other hand close to your body while geckoes run for cover.

3..Visually identify flipped fuse.

4..Quickly reset fuse and close fusebox.

The geckoes don't bother me there. They can have a party in my fusebox for all I care, as long as the Bhangra's not too loud, they put their empties in a neat pile, and scatter when I perform fusebox routine stage 4. However, some of the geckoes have started to get a bit familiar, and have begun coming into the house. I haven't invited them...they just waltz in under our ill-fitting (but by Indian standards, probably top quality) front door. While I wish they wouldn't I can't get rid of them. I tried. They move much faster than I do. However, they eat bugs, so at least they have their uses.

It's not just the geckoes that seem to have found my home much more inviting than I had intended it to be. We also have teeny tiny brown ants who like congregating on my kitchen worksurface. In the past it's been really hard to see them, because the worksurface is dark. But Rod washed the kettle the other day and they have been attracted to its now gleaming whiteness. They may be small, but I can see them very clearly now. I can even see them when they fall in to the water and boil to death. While I don't want them inside my house, I don't need them to suffer that much. I wonder if I can convince the geckoes to eat the ants...

And if you're wondering, why, when we have a maid, did Rod wash the kettle? It's like this, Santoss is not the best maid in the world, and sometimes she struggles to see the dirt we can so clearly see. Or maybe she does see the dirt, but doesn't think she needs to do anything about it?

I know how lunchtime works...India yet to catch on

I'll start with some good news - the third tap in the kitchen now dispenses water, just like it should. There was some problem with stop cocks, pipes, and the water tanks on the roof of the building which took a couple of Indian plumbers two full days of very loud conversation and banging on pipes outside Thalia's bedroom window to fix. But fixed it seems to be...we are happy!

Onto the slightly more surprising news - restaurants in India seem to be caught out by a practice, known in Australia and Great Britain, and probably in America too, as "lunchtime". For the uninitiated, at lunchtime people gather in food vending places, and try to purchase food to eat. I've done it, and it's quite good :-) . It works best when the restaurant has food ready at the appropriate time. Lunchtime can be a little flexible, but it's traditionally held sometime between 12 noon and 2pm. It seems no-one has told India this is how it works...

Today, McDonalds in Green Park had no fries ready to purchase at 1pm. Did not stop the server asking "did we want fries with that?" And this is not an isolated case. On Monday we went to Great India Place in Noida to buy longer shower curtains for the kids' bathrooms, because the current ones are about 30cm too short, and trust me, an awful lot of water can travel an awful long way in that 12 inches, especially when there's an eight year old boy involved. But I digress... Noida is fair drive away so we were going to have to eat lunch out. We opted for Kentucky Fried Chicken, because you know what you're getting - Colonel Sanders secret blend of 11 herbs and spices, same the world over, on chicken pieces. The bones of a chicken carcass are also the same the world over. This makes it a reliable meal. They also offer a seasoning mix designed for the Indian palate, "Hot and Spicy", but we're not Indian, what worked in Kentucky in 1929 is what we go to KFC for. Well, it's lunchtime, it's KFC, and there's no Original recipe chicken available. Our order will take five minutes (and we know how long five minutes is in India. Longer than on the Northern Line.). So how does it happen, that Kentucky Fried Chicken has no Kentucky Fried Chicken at lunchtime? It's not asking for much, is it, to want chicken that's finger licking good at 1.15? It's not like I asked for a Big Mac...

And as a sidenote, the longest shower curtains that were available were only 20 cms longer. We'd hoped that would be enough, but Keir can still audition for "Singing in the Rain" after his shower. I so do not relish the idea of being a stage school mother. We considered (for a very short while) lowering the pole, but decided it would be easier to cut up the old curtain and add a bit to lengthen the shower curtains. Not prettier mind, just easier.

Lana returns...

Well, we're back from seeing the wonderful wizard of Oz and I'm pleased to report India hasn’t changed while we were away*. It’s still dodgy. The power’s been on the blink today. On and off all day, which is unusual, because we normally only have one outage a day. And we've got one tap in our kitchen with an intermittent water supply. There are three taps in our kitchen. If we can’t get water out of one of them but the others still have water, you’d think it was no big deal. But the only tap that has had interrupted water since we got home is the only tap that is the right shape to feed our washing machine. Unsurprisingly, I’ve wanted to do washing since coming back from holiday. Unsurprising, because I need to wash most days normally. My machine is a front loader, so once there’s some water in it, the door locks so I’m really rather committed to the wash. When I say committed, I don't mean like as in a mental asylum, well, not yet anyway...

Thursday the machine got halfway through the cycle before the water turned off, and the clothes sat for five hours before I got bored waiting for the water to come back on, turned the machine to a spin cycle and hung them out. Friday I got up at 8.30 and checked we had water coming out of that tap before loading the machine. In the time it took to get the clothes in, the water turned off and it took until 6pm before it came back and I started the washing. Just to confuse me, on Saturday the water ran perfectly, so I thought everything had gone back to normal. I should have done LOTS of washing on Saturday, because Sunday morning I checked we had water, filled the machine, started it and it got a whole two minutes into the cycle before the water ran out. At 8pm I gave up and opened the machine door, to air my slightly soggy, not clean clothes. Got up early this morning, checked the water was on and got 30 minutes into the 38 minute cycle before my water window disappeared. Decided these clothes were clean enough, so I turned to a spin cycle and hung them out. Who knows whether we'll have water tomorrow...I know I could find something to wash!

* because if it had changed and gone all predictable on me I'd have nothing to write about!