Back in the early 2000s, the newspaper industry in the US began its decline. Rather than be laid off, as were many of my colleagues at the Tampa Tribune and Hernando Today, I put on my adventure hat and accepted a managing editor’s job in India.
It wasn’t anything new. Western companies since the 80s had been “offshoring” and “outsourcing” production to low-cost countries such as India, China, Malaysia, the Philippines, Pakistan and Vietnam.
This new wave of newspaper outsourcing reduced costs by as much as 70 percent. And India, in particular, shone — having the lowest cost of living than some of the other countries and offering high-quality services at a fraction of the cost compared to many Western countries.
My then editor-in-chief scoffed at me and told me I was mad as a hatter. He was so wrong. When the rest of the newsroom found out, they too scorned my decision. But I had made my mind up. I wasn’t going to India under the umbrella of some mega-corporation. It was simply me. That’s what made it so special. That, and the fact the job came with perks and a doubled salary.
I did have to buy my own airline ticket though and I had promised myself to fly first class. That was fine — I could fly non-rev thanks to my days with Pan Am (now UA) as well as my late husband’s perks working for Pan Am and Delta. I flew Korean Air to Paris and then Emirates to Dubai where I met friends and stayed two days. From there I flew Emirates again (a great airline!) to Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport.
My adventure had started but I wasn’t prepared for the sheer volume of people as I struggled to locate my luggage. Delhi has a population of over 30 million people. Although I had been to Delhi many times, it was as an airline crew and we went through the crew line for passport control, bussed to a nearby hotel and then back a couple of days later for another flight. What off-duty time we had we explored nearby destinations.
Once “landed,” I looked for the driver the company had sent to pick me up as it was late at night. That was when I met Ajay — he couldn’t speak more than 10 words of English and was waving a board looking for “Miss Sue.” I couldn’t speak Hindi and so he became my “go-to” and was truly a wonderful individual!
He steered me through the sheer mass of humanity waiting in the arrivals hall to where he had parked. Thankfully, the car was air-conditioned and I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a rickshaw. I didn’t fancy being licked by some huge white cow at the traffic lights.
We headed for the Delhi district known as Noida and was instantly thrown into the melee of Delhi’s roads. What I thought was a divided highway was in fact a four-lane free for all. Whoever was one inch in front had the right of way. Well, not exactly true. The cows always have right of way! Throw in some stray dogs and street corner vendors selling masala chai, channa-bhature, jal-jeera — and you get the picture. But I was happy, I didn’t mind at all —it was all part of India’s vibrancy, excitement and adventure that I had expected.
Floridians think they’re brave coping in 90+ degree temperatures. Try 120 (Celsius 49.9) degrees in the heart of Delhi! Really! But it was a different kind of heat. The kind of heat where you could feel the moisture being sucked out of your skin. I panicked and often went to bed with a layer of Vaseline on my face!
After living in the company apartment for a few weeks, I was expected to find my own apartment. I did, but only because Ajay helped me navigate the Indian style of doing business. To get my new lovely apartment meant I had to trust Ajay completely.
He had thousands of contacts, one of whom knew he was looking after a farang or a pardeshi (foreigner). The guard at the apartment block was the first in line. He got rewarded for telling the next person in line who then informed another contact who then informed Ajay. I was lucky. Only four backhanders to pay.
I learned and began to understand the Indian way of doing business. It was the same process to extend my work permit through governmental processes. Backhanders for everyone!
I loved the apartment. The floors were all marble and very cool to the feet but a maid had to come in every day to wash off the dust. Because India is very dry! Plus the fact that my windows had no glass. For airflow! I was on the third floor and below my bedroom window was a small local temple all lit up with neon lights just like a Christmas tree. It blasted out music almost 24 hours a day.
The bathroom was an all marble room — what they call a “wet bathroom.” In the corner was a downpipe from the floors above with about an inch space around it where it passed through to the next floor.
It could be very noisy sometimes. There was also a big drain hole in the middle of the room.
The kitchen was the same. A couple of shelves and one long marble counter with some electric cooking rings. There was a water filter. No cupboards though and only a few plates and utensils. Nothing remotely Western about it. But it was easy to clean. Just spray some water around and brush it all down the hole in the floor. That’s was what the maid did.
There’s just too much to tell in one short column. I can tell you though, that working in India was worth every moment. I was welcomed, I loved the people, the food, the whole incredible India.
If you would like to read more about Sue Quigley’s travels, please let her know at [email protected] or [email protected].
