Renaming the blog: "Shit, Sweat, Bribe"?

Obviously I renamed the blog simply by crossing out "Delhi" and writing "Shimla." But perhaps I should get more creative. What do you think of Shit, Sweat, Bribe: One Woman's Search for... Something?... in India? (This mocks the bestseller book "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia.") I promise the leading picture wouldn't be as graphic as the title.

...but I can't promise that my stories won't be too graphic. ;) (Hey, I've actually been pretty good about keeping this blog clean. I didn't even write about my bout of dengue fever!)

India Travel Map

This map shows where I've been in India thus far. If you click on a blue placemark, you will see the name of the location, when I went, and (in some cases) some links to blog posts or pictures.

View Emily's Travels in India in a larger map

emilyinshimla: שנה ב / साल दो / Year 2 in India!

I just accepted a new job in India! A different job than the one alluded to in a previous post. That first job fell through, but luckily I found another one! This means I'm officially embarking on שנה ב / Shana Bet ("Year 2" in Hebrew; what some Jews call an American Jew's second year in Israel, usually between high school and college) (I guess it would be more appropriate if I said Year 2 in Hindi: साल दो / Saal Do).

I will return to India in early September to work in Shimla, the capital of Himachal Pradesh and the former summer capital of British India (so yeah, it's pretty colonial). It's a town of ~160,000 people at ~7,000 feet in the Himalayas. Sure it's not the village I've been dreaming of, but at least it's not 16 million people like Delhi! [Anyone else notice that I always live somewhere with a population of 16 * 10^n? 16 * 10^0 households in Gangzur, 16 * 10^6 people in Delhi, 16 * 10^4 people in Shimla.] [Actually I'm not 100% sure on the numbers in Delhi and Shimla; the populations seem to vary by source.] I'm hoping to do some field work in villages, so hopefully I will get some rural experience.

"A" marks the spot of Shimla - thanks Google Maps!

I might change my blog a bit (new title, new picture, new color scheme), but I will keep the same URL so it's easier for everyone to keep following. So stay tuned to emilyindelhi.blogspot.com!

See you back on the subcontinent in September!

An ominous letter

I had written a reflective/sappy I'm-leaving-Delhi-this-is-all-coming-to-an-end-how-do-I-feel-about-it bullshit post, but I'm actually not going to post it right now. Why? I'm in the middle of packing and cleaning up my apartment, and I randomly came across a letter I wrote during PiA orientation. Anastasia, the director of PiA, had asked every new fellow to write a letter to him/herself that we would receive at some point during the year. When the PiA deputy director (or whatever her title is) came through town back in November, she must have given me the letter. But I apparently never opened it; the envelope was sealed. Of course I took a break from cleaning to tear open the envelope and read the letter. Anyway, I thought it was worth sharing my expectations/concerns from a year ago in my leaving-Delhi post, because many of them were scarily spot-on:

May 18, 2009

Dear Emily,

You're going back to India! Woohoo! (Should I write this in the first or second person? Awkward.) I hate these kind of assignments. I don't know what to write here. I guess what I'm nervous about? I'm most nervous about hating Delhi. I really think it is a possibility. After all, I hated it so much last time I left early! I hope by the time I read this that Delhi will have grown on me. Or, if it hasn't, that I'm able to escape (i.e. leave the city and travel). I'm also nervous about my job. What if I suck at my job? Or worse, what if my job just sucks? What if the bureaucracy drives me crazy, or what if I have an insane boss? Hopefully I'll figure out the system, have a nice boss, and be good at my job.

I can't believe the person in the letter Anastasia read aloud gave up the Fulbright for PiA. Well, at least an alternate got to go in her place! More than anyone can say about this alternate writing this letter. I hope withdrawing from Fulbright wasn't a mistake; I'll be pissed if I somehow find out a Nepal alternate got the grant. I really hope that PiA turns out to be so awesome that I don't remain jealous of Fulbrighters. I hope by the time I read this letter, I no longer even think about the Fulbright.

Speaking of jealousy, when I hear about people going to rural villages, WOW do I get jealous! I just think back to Gangzur and my wonderful Bhutanese family and wish I could experience rural mountain life again. Or any rural life, not even necessarily in the mountains. At this point, I'd much rather be in a rural village of 16 houses than a city of 16 million and all the pollution that comes with it. I hope I am able to find a community that loves and supports me--I think, in some ways, that is easier in a small community like a village. It was easy to find a welcoming community in Bhutan; I didn't even have to look (though I know I was probably lucky and some villages are not so welcoming to outsiders). In Delhi, in a big city, finding my community will be difficult. It is easy to stay anonymous, to be alone, in a city, despite being surrounded by millions of people. Who can I trust? Who will be my friends? I really hope I am able to find my community, and by the time I read this, I hope I have at least started to feel at home.

Ok, I'm done with this bullshit assignment. Good luck in Delhi!

Love,
Emily/myself (?? awkward)

A few points:

1. Concern about hating Delhi - largely realized. And yes I did escape via travel quite often.
2. Concern about job - definitely realized.
3. I did find out that all Nepal alternates ended up getting the Fulbright less than 2 weeks after I withdrew. And yeah, I was pissed about it. I'm still jealous of Fulbrighters, but fortunately I don't really think about it anymore. Plus I've discovered that the South Asia Fulbright programs are full of crap, so that makes me feel better about myself.
4. I would still rather be in a village than a city. If things work out for next year (er, in 6 weeks from now?), I will be! More to come when that's all figured out.
5. I never did find a "community." But I like Alice and Sareeta!
6. Delhi oddly feels like a home of sorts, regardless of my bouts of loneliness.

Alright, back to packing. See you in America!

I should probably be packing right now.

My flight to the US leaves in less than 24 hours. And I haven't started packing (besides what I already dropped off at Sareeta's place over two weeks ago for summer storage).

I spent my last 16 days in Sri Lanka. (Jhanvi, I know you want pictures, but I just don't have time right now, with the whole leaving Delhi thing.) Some highlights:
  • playing with freshly-hatched baby sea turtles (aged 1 to 3 days old), including one albino sea turtle in Kosgoda
  • learning about the traditional medicine shaman-type man at the mask museum in Ambalangoda
  • spotting crocodiles, monkeys, elephants, and various types of birds in Yala National Park
  • hiking through tea plantations up to Little Adam's Peak near Ella
  • Vesak perahera (Vesak is the day that Buddha was born, achieved enlightenment, and died, and a perahera is a procession, often and in this case with caparisoned elephants) in Badulla
  • seeing the Buddha's tooth relic during Vesak puja at the Dalada Maligawa temple in Kandy
  • watching the elephants at Pinnewala Elephant Orphanage (though I question the treatment of elephants in this facility), including petting a baby elephant
  • um, NOT the "Ancient Cities" -- a bit boring, actually
  • scuba diving off Nilaveli
  • exploring the wartorn Tamil region around Trincomalee
  • eating delicious Sri Lankan curries everywhere
Ok, now to pack...

Good bye Delhi, hello Colombo!

Today was my last day of work. That means it's officially summer! :)

So what's next? Sri Lanka for 16 days. I leave for the airport in 5 hours and am still not packed, in typical Emily style. In less-than-typical Emily style, I still have yet to figure out where I'm going, what I'm doing, and when. Well, I guess I'll just have to wing it!

I return to Delhi for two days after my Lankan adventure. Then I'll be Stateside June 9! So friends in the US of A, get ready for an epic reunion.

I love summer.

PS: I'm taking a break from the blog over the summer. I might post one more time when I return to Delhi, but don't expect anything while I'm in Sri Lanka. The blog will be revived when I return to India for my next job. Details to come when that is finalized. For now, फिर मिलेंगे (phir milenge / see you later, or literally "we will meet soon")!

The Epic Umbrella Off (and lots of elephants)

Warning: this is a long one. Like, really long. Mostly because I was on the train for seven hours with nothing to do. Just skip ahead to the photos and videos (I apologize for the shoddy cinematography; I'm no Jhanvi!) if you don't want to read it all.

Another note: Blogspot has been weird about uploading pictures again lately. Even though I chose pictures for this post, I have not been able to upload them. I've tried for a few days now, but I realized I would never post this if I didn't do it now. So here ya go!


I’m on my way back to Thiruvananthapuram from Thrissur right now. I had brought my laptop with me because the hotel promised WiFi. Well, the WiFi wasn’t working, but at least I can do something productive during these seven hours: write a blog post! [Well, ok, I didn’t finish it, obviously, since I’m posting this several weeks late.]


I went to Thrissur with Manju this weekend [actually who knows how many weekends ago it was? April 23-25] for the Thrissur Pooram. I have to be honest, I still do not know the significance of this festival. No one could explain it to me, so I think perhaps people just like elephants. (I sure do!) Maybe Wikipedia can explain this festival to you: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thrissur_Pooram


People in Thrissur love to say that the Pooram is not a Hindu festival (seemed pretty Hindu to me… I mean, it took place at a Hindu temple and the elephants were carrying Hindu gods) because Muslims and Christians participate in the preparations for the event (someone told me that Christians make the gold caparisons and Muslims make the silk umbrellas, but I don’t know if this is true or not) and people of all religions come to watch the spectacle unfold.


Yesterday [Saturday April 24] morning we arrived at the Vadakkunnathan Temple to find three caparisoned elephants lined up outside. I went picture-crazy, obviously unaware of the many more elephants to come. We then went inside the temple to find three more elephants, accompanied by a band. Someone told us the real action was on the west side of the temple—and they were right. There was a line of elephants in front of the temple entrance and another line of elephants approaching from the western gate. We didn’t know which line to watch first! We soon discovered that several more lines of elephants, accompanied by great fanfare, would come to the temple. Four lines (if not more that we had already missed??), in fact. We watched these elephant processions and the dancing crowd for a few hours. A video can explain this better than words:


elephant procession (if you have a short attention span, stop watching at 1:10; the video pretty much repeats itself after that)


Later in the afternoon, we decided to go inside the temple to see the famed 300-drummer band. Well, everyone else wanted to go inside too, so the line was ridiculously long. We didn’t particularly want to wait in this line, so we snuck around to the backdoor entrance—to find an “Elephant-Related Emergencies” vehicle, an ambulance, and a bunch of Western tourists taking pictures of these vehicles and generally getting in the way of emergency personnel. As Manju and I quickly backed away from the scene, I said a little too loudly “what the hell is wrong with these tourists that they want to take pictures of emergency vehicles? Don’t they know they’re getting in the way during a serious situation?” and received several Stares of Death from those very tourists. (Since we escaped the situation as fast as we could, we didn’t find out until later what happened. Apparently one “tusker,” as the newspaper called the elephant, collapsed from heat exhaustion, and then the elephants on either side of him got spooked. The three elephants were immediately replaced [several elephants are held in reserve] and no human was injured.)


We decided it was probably a bad idea to enter the temple, because we didn’t know what this “elephant-related emergency” was, and if an elephant freaked out, it could be an ugly situation with so many people in a small enclosed area. We wanted to see a band though, and someone told us there was another big band on the south side of the temple. So we rounded the corner and saw a band—in front of yet another elephant procession (seriously, I lost count). We joined the crowd to watch.


As the crowd became increasingly condensed (as the line of elephants approaches the temple, there becomes less and less space between the temple and the elephants for the crowd to stand), people started getting pretty rowdy. Manju and I wanted to get out of this crowd, and fast. We tried to head toward the west gate via an empty field below the elevated walkway on which the crowd was standing, but someone told us fireworks were being set up. Then we tried to go toward the elephants and around them, to exit via the north gate. There were too many people—a tall person next to us counted the heads in front of him and said the crowd ahead was 16-people deep—and we couldn’t manage to get through. The only other direction was toward the temple, but there was a huge queue to enter and we couldn’t even figure out how to get to the queue from where we stood (er, line. I’ve started using Indian English sometimes). Finally we found a policeman and asked him for help, pulling the “we’re women and need protection” line (actually, it was true that the vast majority of people in this crowd were men, and someone had grabbed my ass). Instead of escorting us or creating a corridor for us to pass through or doing anything else policeman-like, he told us to jump down to the empty field to get to the west gate. “But someone told us they are setting up fireworks there,” I protested. “No, no, fireworks later. Safe now.” So, we fought our way through the crowd and jumped.


…into a field of exploding fireworks.


Mid-air I realized that someone was lighting the fireworks. When my feet hit the ground, three fireworks rockets went off about a meter away from me. I don’t know what scared me more, the deafening BOOM!s or the tails of fire in the rockets’ wakes. We quickly realized that more than just this set of fireworks would be lit, and we were now in this field. As we ran out, fireworks went off right behind our heels—it almost felt like being in a movie or something. [Ok, fine, I’m dramatizing a bit. We were running along the edge of the field and the fireworks were going off about a meter to our left—but milliseconds after we passed them—and this entire episode probably lasted less than 10 seconds.] When we reached the end of the field and entered the watching crowd, I was shaking. And everyone around me was laughing at the stupid foreigner and her Indian friend who ran through [er, actually, next to] the fireworks. I blame the policeman. (They really need to do a better job cordoning off unsafe areas, especially with a crowd like this. Why was there no rope or other barrier? Oh wait... this is India.) (As a side note, we would later find out that these rockets were actually more similar to dynamite than fireworks, and were meant only to create really loud noises. How does this not scare the elephants?)


After barely escaping the crowd and fireworks, we headed to what we didn’t realize was an even bigger crowd. We wanted to get a good position for kudamattam, the main event of Thrissur Pooram, so we decided to head there about an hour and a half early. Apparently a lot of other people had this idea too. Manju then came up with the brilliant idea: head to the “Welcome Foreign Guests to Thrissur Pooram!” section. This foreigners’ section was on an elevated platform pretty close to the temple and, more importantly, above the crazy crowd. Normally I despise special treatment for foreigners, but in this case I was grateful. Unfortunately, the foreigners’ section was on the opposite side of this crowd. We burrowed our way through the crowd like prairie dogs (or some other animal that burrows) and emerged, miraculously unscathed, at the stairwell to the foreigners’ platform. When we walked up, a policeman wanted to see our pass. We didn’t even know we needed a pass! I just pointed at my white skin. We got a laugh out of the policeman but no permission to enter; we should have picked up a pass at a Kerala Tourism office days ago, he explained. (As a side note, the Chief Minister of Kerala and his posse sat in the front row of the foreigners’ section. So I guess it was more like a VIP section?)


We went back down and stood in front of the platform, because that area was roped off and other people weren’t permitted to enter. We had plenty of room and a good view. But alas, the crowd was big, real big, and there was limited space. Soon enough the uncontrollable crowd kept growing and had extended to this area. A policeman who was supposedly ensuring this area remained roped off and free of insane numbers of people got scared and squeezed between the bars holding up the platform to hide underneath the platform. Coward. (And Manju couldn’t stop laughing. She thought this was the most hilarious part of our entire insane day.)


As the crowd got, well, more crowded, we were pressed up against the platform bars. We knew we wouldn’t be able to see anything, besides the fact that it was really sweaty and slightly painful. That’s when we realized the scaredy-cat policeman’s move wasn’t a bad one. I looked back under the platform and saw that we could climb onto the stairwell from underneath. So we squeezed through the bars, stopped for a second underneath the platform to breathe and enjoy not touching any other sweaty bodies, and climbed onto the stairs from behind. No one stopped us from standing in the stairwell, as long as we didn’t enter the platform. The stairs actually gave us an amazing unobstructed view of both the elephants and the crowd! (I found the crowd just as interesting as, if not more interesting than, the elephants. There were even crowd surfers!)


This is what 500,000 people look like.


So what was this crowd so excited to see? Priests on elephants holding umbrellas. Yes, umbrellas. Two lines of caparisoned elephants, each line from a rival temple in Thrissur, faced each other in an epic Umbrella Off (to use Zoolander terminology). Basically, each temple’s priests alternated switching umbrellas. Every time new umbrellas were hoisted on the elephants, the crowd went wild. Putting their hands in the air and yelling at the top of their lungs, people cheered like their favorite cricket player just scored a 6 to win the match in the last over (or to use a more American analogy, like their favorite football player just scored a touchdown when the team was down by 6 with only a few seconds left to win the game). …but for pretty silk umbrellas. I found this hilarious. This “exchanging of umbrellas,” as people called it, went on for almost 2 hours. A bit long for just umbrellas, in my opinion.



Umbrella exchange



The Umbrella Off


That night, or really morning (at 3am), a massive number of fireworks were scheduled to go off. Seats on rooftops were sold out days in advance to witness this spectacle. The other option would be to watch from the street, with another huge crowd. We decided that, since we’d seen fireworks before, it wasn’t worth getting up at a ridiculous hour just to stand in a huge crowd. I don’t know if the fireworks started late or just weren’t that loud yet, but at 4:45am the ridiculously loud fireworks woke me up. And continued until 6am. It sounded like the city was under siege, like hundreds of bombs were going off.


When we woke up for the morning (only about an hour and a half later), we decided to go to the temple to see what it’s like on a quieter day. Well, actually, the pooram was still going on. When we arrived at the temple, we saw a line of elephants approaching again. As awesome as elephant processions are, we had had enough of big crowds. So we entered the temple via the backdoor, and it was surprisingly empty. Afterwards, we headed to the Thrissur Pooram Exhibition. Silly me, I can never throw away my American expectations. I thought “exhibition” would mean an exhibit, perhaps about the history of Thrissur Pooram, how the elephants are trained, how the temple and priests prepare, etc. Well, I was totally off the mark. Instead of learning more about the festival, I found dozens of booths selling everything from clothes to kitchenware to solar water heaters, rides (ferris wheel, swinging pirate ship, spinning tea cups, etc), and random exhibits/propaganda by government agencies such as the space agency and the military. My favorite “ride” was a tiny tank with a small motor boat driving in circles. Manju was quick to point out that we’re in the state of backwaters—don’t a lot of these people ply the waters every day? Aren’t there plentiful opportunities to ride in a boat? Very silly.


When we finished laughing our way through the exhibition, we headed to Paramekkavu Temple, one of the two rival temples. Manju went inside to pray, but I wasn’t allowed to go with her. Instead, I took a picture of this funny sign:


so, what am I allowed to wear? (by the way, the Hindi says the same thing, though I can't speak for the Malayalam and Tamil)


We left the temple to find the elephants returning from the day’s events. It was time, finally, to remove all the ornaments (but not all the chains. sad), take a bath, and eat some food! Here are some pictures of the newly-naked, and probably relieved, elephants:


Er, image upload fail.


After watching the elephants enjoy their relative freedom, we headed for lunch at the Indian Coffee House, a chain that is unfortunately not as good in Kerala as in Madhya Pradesh (Mom and Dad: we went there in Bhopal, the restaurant with the guys in funny white hats, remember?). At the end of our lunch, we heard what sounded like bombs (again). The pooram ends with one last pyrotechnic display, but because it’s during the day, it is more a sound than light show. And boy, did this sound actually show! The windows were rattling like mad with each BOOM. We went outside to see the spectacle (Indian Coffee House is across the street from the temple)—and we could feel the sound waves hitting us. The sound waves almost hurt, actually, especially in my chest. They were quite forceful! This of course totally freaked me out, so we went back inside the restaurant. But the windows were shaking so much I thought they were going to pop out!


After the first round of sound bombs, we ran to a line of autorickshaws to go back to our hotel, as it was almost time for our train. But no one wanted to go because a second round was about to start—unclear if they didn’t think it was safe (the visibility was pretty poor, as the pyrotechnics had turned the air into smoke) or if they wanted to watch the show. So we walked halfway back before finding an auto willing to take us, took showers, and headed to the train station.


And now here I am, sitting on the train, typing away.


One last note on the elephants: I felt really bad for these creatures. It’s already sweat-your-balls-off hot and humid (mid- to high-90s F and 90% humidity), then you throw really heavy gold caparisons and other ornaments on them. Plus the umbrellas are huge and putting a lot of pressure in one small spot where the pole rests on their head. On top of all this, three people are standing and dancing on top of them. Meanwhile, a band with loud drums and horns is playing right in front of them and a crowd of 500,000 people is screaming and cheering. All this noise not scary enough for them yet? Let’s add the physical sound wave-inducing bomb fireworks. It’s a miracle only one elephant collapsed and zero elephants freaked out. Seriously, these elephants are damn well trained. I have a lot of respect for these animals and their mahouts.

Hello old neighbors, and hello toilet wind! (Or, my return to Delhi)

I'm back. Back in Delhi, that is. Was I sad to leave my beloved South India? No. Was I excited to return to Delhi, where I have a home and (at least a slight semblance of) a social life? No.* When I left Thiruvananthapuram, I felt oddly emotionless. Usually I feel something when I leave a place, even if it's only for a short time. But nope, nothing. Weird.

*This is not to say I wasn't excited to see my friends. Of course I was. I just wasn't feeling particularly excited about the prospect of returning to Delhi in general.

I had a flight at death o'clock in the morning from Thiruvananthapuram (woke up at 3:45am. Most painful moment of my life). When the flight descended into Delhi, I almost vomited at the sight. I swear, it took very bone in my body to not dry heave right there on the plane. Despite Delhi being a humongous city, I could barely see the buildings, only a faint outline. All I saw was gray. Gray pollution. It was like descending into a smoke stack or exhaust pipe. Suddenly my emotionless self was filled with emotions of "uuggghh why is this where I live?!" and dread of landing and actually entering this polluted city.

My feelings quickly changed when I got to my apartment (though not about the pollution). It was great to see Sam again and to be home. Yes, my apartment really feels like home to me, and one of my favorite feelings in the world is arriving home after being gone for a while.

I decided I needed to get some returning-home errands done. I needed a Sri Lanka guidebook (obviously this was an immediate need. I mean, who doesn't need a SL book?), but the only good bookstore I know of is in Khan Market. As some of you know, the US, UK, Canadian, and Australian embassies have issued warnings of an "imminent terrorist attack" in Delhi's major markets--including Khan. Luckily, I have a roommate who researches South Asian terrorism for a living. Sam assured me that the attack would only occur between the hours of 5 and 8pm or on the weekend, because the terrorists want to kill as many people as possible. No point in attacking an empty market at 2pm on a weekday. In other words, if I wanted to go and not die, I had to go right then. So I did, and I'm still alive!

To get to Khan Market, I of course had to take an auto. Now, I had not taken an auto in a city where I can kind of speak the language in a month. In Kerala, the autowallahs only speak Malayalam, so my Hindi was rendered useless and I couldn't even hope to bargain. But here autowallahs speak Hindi! I cannot tell you how happy I was. A humongous goofy grin appeared on my face when I spoke the first Hindi words in a month. I giggled my way through the bargaining. The autowallah was utterly confused about why I was so happy-go-lucky. I think he thought I was high. And I was--high on Hindi! Hah. I got him down to Rs 30--only Rs 5 above the meter (that's the best anyone, including Indians, can hope for in Delhi). Apparently, I haven't lost my mad auto bargaining skillz!

After cheating death in Khan Market, I headed to Bhogal for some shopping and threading. I passed the auto pimp's autostand, and all the autowallahs started yelling at me, "Hello madam! आप कहाँ थी? [Aap kahan thi?/where were you?]" "मैं काम के लिए केरला में थी। [Main kaam ke liye Kerala mein thi./I was in Kerala for work.]" " बहुत अच्छा! हम खुश हैं कि आप वापस आई! [Bahut achchha! Ham khush hain ki aap vaapas aayi!/Very good! We're glad you came back!]" I had pretty much identical conversations with the tailor, the threading ladies at the beauty parlor, the guys at Kadimi's (my favorite samosa place), and the convenience store owner. It was really nice that people remembered me and seemed happy to see me--it makes the neighborhood feel like home. I love Jangpura!

What I did not love, however, was the incredible amount of dust flying into eyes and covering my body this afternoon. Apparently I arrived back in Delhi just as the Loo is descending upon the city. And by "the Loo is descending," I do not mean a giant British toilet is raining shit on Delhi--though I'm not sure that would be much worse. The Loo is a dry westerly wind bringing in extremely high temperatures and mountain-loads of dust from Rajasthan's Thar Desert, and it occurs for a few hours every afternoon from May until the start of the monsoon in June. Some days the Loo will bring in so much dust it will create the illusion of an overcast sky. Oh, you thought the dark sky was clouds? Or at worst pollution? Wrong. It's DUST. And it's going to invade your apartment. Everything in my apartment is covered in a thin film of dust--despite daily dusting efforts--and I've read that we should put wet towels over our windows to reduce the dust when the Loo gets really bad. I've also read that we should not go outdoors during the afternoon Loo hours. It's only beginning and not terrible yet, but at its worst many animals and people die from heat exhaustion/strokes. The Loo is like the opposite of a cool sea breeze; it's the hot breeze of death. You can learn more about India's toilet wind on the all-knowing Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loo_%28wind%29 (yes, I know, I reference Wikipedia way too often on this blog. I fully intend to continue to do so.)

[On a tangent: I would like to summarize Delhi weather for you:

December to February: cold winter (remember, no central heating in buildings) with fog so thick planes are grounded, trains move at a snail's pace, and I can't find my way home at night because I can't see across the street (not to mention the increase in pollution)
late Feb - mid March: a few rare weeks of pleasant weather
mid March - June: ridiculously hot summer, with temperatures reaching 120 degrees F and a daily afternoon hot dry wind carrying copious amounts of dust that can literally darken the sky and cause fatal heat exhaustion
June - September: monsoon season, with sticky humidity and heavy rains that flood the streets (except last summer when the monsoon was weak and Delhi stayed ridiculous dry and hot)
October: still pretty hot
November: the only pleasant month temperature-wise, but the pollution starts to get worse

To summarize the summary: fog/smog, heat the temperature of Hell, dust storms, street floods. In conclusion, Delhi may very well have the worst weather on the planet.]

However, with the Loo comes mango season! Well, actually, the wind doesn't bring suspended or flying mangoes like it does dust particles. But the start of mango season just so happens to coincide. The main street of Bhogal is crawling with vendors selling mangoes and "mango shek" (mango shakes). Rumor has it the mangoes of early May aren't very good (don't ask me why, I don't understand these agricultural matters), but by late May they should be delicious!

Tonight I ate pizza and watched Zoolander with Alice and Pooja (neither of them had seen it!! I know, completely unacceptable. Though Pooja couldn't get into the silly humor). You know that scene where Zoolander is being brainwashed and Mugatu pretends to be a little girl who loves child labor? And he mentions a bunch of countries that employ child labor while map outlines of those countries pop up? When he mentions India, the map outline includes Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, and Bhutan, despite mentioning Bangladesh separately! It also appears that Mongolia is included in the China map. I can't believe I never noticed this before, and I wonder if it's intentional or a mistake. See for yourself (pause at 1:32):



Anyway, obviously pizza + Zoolander + friends = the best evening I've had in a long time.

So I guess I'm happy to be back in Delhi? Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say happy (did I mention the pollution and toilet wind??), but it's nice to be back.

I should probably post about Thrissur Pooram.

I wrote an entire (very long) post about Thrissur Pooram, Kerala's elephantastic extravaganza. But I haven't posted it yet because it would be unfair to post so much text without pictures. ...but I'm waaaayy too lazy to select the top 10 -15 pictures from 797 (and most of the 797 pictures are the same: elephants. Why do I love these strange long-nosed creatures so?). Fail.

Japanese people or butterflies?

As some of you know, there is an impossible, misbehaved child staying in this guest house/office (the same child as in a previous post). I don't need to get into the details about what a monster this child is, but I think you might find the following story amusing.

I came upstairs to find the communal TV turned on to Ninja Warriors, my favorite Japanese obstacle course game show. I don't know who turned it on or who was watching (there was no one there), but I was excited to find this show exists in India. I sat down to watch and then the devil himself came running up to me.

"What is this?" he pointed at the TV screen.
"Ninja Warriors. A Japanese game show. People race through a playground [I couldn't think of how else to explain 'obstacle course,' especially to a child who doesn't speak much English] to try to become ninjas."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes. It is a Japanese game show."
"No." He walked up to the screen and pointed at a contestant. "He is butterfly."
"No, he is a man trying to become a ninja."
"No. He is butterfly. All is butterflies."
"No, he is a man. Just a man. They are all people."
"People? No. No people. Different looking. Butterfly!"
"No, they are not butterflies. They are people, and they look a little different because they are from Japan. But they are people. And if you think they are flying, that is because they have to jump to race through the playground."
"NNOOO!!! BUTTERFLY!!!"
"People! People from Japan!"
"BUTTERFLY!!!"
"PEOPLE!!!"
"BUTTERFLYYYYYY!!!!" screamed at the top of his lungs. Then he burst into tears, kicked me in the shins as hard as he could, and ran downstairs shrieking and crying to his father.

I have no idea why he kicked me or started crying. ...or why he thought Japanese people were butterflies.

Mark Twain on India

Courtesy of Mark Twain's Following the Equator:

This is indeed India! the land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendor and rags, of palaces and hovels, of famine and pestilence, of genii and giants and Aladdin lamps, of tigers and elephants, the cobra and the jungle, the country of a hundred nations and a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions and two million gods, cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of tradition, whose yesterdays bear date with the mouldering antiquities of the rest of the nations--the one sole country under the sun that is endowed with an imperishable interest for alien prince and alien peasant, for lettered and ignorant, wise and fool, rich and poor, bond and free, the one land that all men desire to see, and having seen once, by even a glimpse, would not give that glimpse for the shows of all the rest of the globe combined.

...and what is it that cannot happen in India?

...It is a land of surprises--India!

...So far as I am able to judge, nothing has been left undone, either by man or Nature, to make India the most extraordinary country that the sun visits on his round. Nothing seems to have been forgotten, nothing over looked. Always, when you think you have come to the end of her tremendous specialties and have finished hanging tags upon her as the Land of the Thug, the Land of the Plague, the Land of Famine, the Land of Giant Illusions, the Land of Stupendous Mountains, and so forth, another specialty crops up and another tag is required. I have been overlooking the fact that India is by an unapproachable supremacy--the Land of Murderous Wild Creatures. Perhaps it will be simplest to throw away the tags and generalize her with one all-comprehensive name, as the Land of Wonders.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: I'm officially spending a second year in the Land of Wonders.

[By the way, Twain has a bunch of great quotes on India, and I might post them in a later blog entry.]

A Guide to Indian Trains

The majority of my travel in India is by train, and I absolutely love it. I wrote up this train guide for some friends, but I realized that others might find it useful as well.


Purchasing Tickets

Be aware that you should buy a train ticket as early as possible. Tickets can be purchased up to 90 days in advance, and they get sold out fairly quickly. The easiest way to book train tickets is online with credit cards (both Indian and foreign cards are accepted) through http://www.makemytrip.com and http://www.cleartrip.com. You can also look up schedules and train numbers and names on those websites. The IRCTC (Indian Railways) website is really slow, but thanks to these new sites, you never have to use it (though these websites are connected to the IRCTC website, so if the IRCTC website is down, you won’t be able to purchase your tickets through these other websites).

There are lots of different classes but I'm too lazy to type up the differences. Check out http://seat61.com/India.htm.

My general rule of thumb (that you of course don't have to follow): for trips 5 hours or longer, I take Sleeper Class. For trips shorter than that, I take Unreserved Second Seating (which, as the name suggests, you do not have to reserve in advance. You just show up at the train station about an hour before you want to board and purchase the ticket then). Note that you are not guaranteed a seat on this class. I have stood for over an hour before finally grabbing a seat on a luggage rack. And if you do get a seat, it's wood and pretty uncomfortable. I never took a class above Sleeper because I'm cheap, but rumor has it the A/C classes are pretty nice.

If you take sleeper class or A/C class (basically anything with a pad or bed), get the upper berth. It is by far the best. People use the lower berth for seating and it's awkward to ask them to move if you want to sleep (and they often ignore your request anyway). And the middle berth can't be set up without asking the sitters to move as well. Plus the upper berth has more privacy …kinda.

If you choose not to buy the tickets online but to do so in person, you need to know all the information about the train, especially the train number (usually 4 digits) and name (i.e. Chhattisgarh Express). So you'll have to use the IRCTC website (http://www.irctc.co.in) or http://www.makemytrip.com or http://www.cleartrip.com anyway to find the train number and name for your departure and destination. I recommend writing down a couple of options just in case the train you want is full.
If there is a waitlist, not all hope is lost, necessarily. It is probably worth buying the ticket, if the waitlist isn’t too long. If your waitlist number is below 20 in sleeper class as of a few weeks before departure, you're likely to get on the train. Sleeper passengers cancel all the time. This is not always true of the higher classes. If your ticket is RAC, you will certainly be allowed to board the train, but you might have to share your berth.

Definition of RAC (copied and pasted from Seat61.com): “After a train becomes fully booked, a certain number of places in each class are sold as 'Reservation Against Cancellation' ('RAC').  After all the RAC places have been sold, further prospective passengers are 'Waitlisted'.  If you have an RAC ticket, two things may happen:  Firstly, a passenger with a confirmed reservation may cancel before the departure of the train, in which case you will be promoted to a confirmed seat/berth on the train, and your name will be shown against a specific seat or berth on the reservation list on the day of travel at the boarding station (so remember to check it!).  A waitlisted passenger will then be promoted to RAC in your place.  Secondly, even if nobody cancels, passengers with RAC tickets can board the train and travel.  They will normally be given a place to sit (but not a berth) in a carriage of the relevant class, for example two RAC passengers might have to share a 2-seat space that would normally convert into a berth for one person.  If one of the confirmed passengers fails to show up for the train, the on-board staff will allocate the spare berth to the first RAC passenger (and the second RAC passenger may then find himself with a berth to himself, solving two RAC passengers' problems!).  Obviously, if there are no no-shows, the RAC passengers will have to sit up all night, or perhaps take turns using the berth to snooze.”

To check your waitlist or RAC status, you can enter your PNR number (you'll see it on your ticket) here: http://www.indianrail.gov.in/pnr_Enq.html. Or you can text your PNR number to 139 and it will give you your status.

If there are no tickets available or the waitlist seems high, here are a few tricks to get you a ticket:

1. TATKAL - TATKAL tickets are not released until two days before departure and are typically more expensive; this is because you are paying for the entire duration of the trip, even if you’re only traveling for a portion of it, plus a TATKAL fee of Rs 50 to 250, depending on the distance. But honestly, sometimes you have no other option, especially for last-minute travel plans, in which case TATKAL is a godsend. Thanks to online booking, these tickets go ridiculously fast. Booking opens at 8am, and if you need a TATKAL ticket, you'd better be on a computer with Internet or in line at the railway station at exactly 8am 2 days before departure. (Actually IRCTC’s online booking system is often down at 8am due to the heavy traffic—and since all travel booking sites are connected to IRCTC, this means all online booking is down—so if you're really desperate for a ticket, show up at the railway station at 7:30am or earlier to line up.)
2. Tourist quota - I actually never used this because I’ve never been in India on a tourist visa and you need to show a tourist visa to take advantage of this. I think this quota may only be offered for popular tourist routes (like Delhi-Agra), and you might need to go to a special tourist ticket window in a railway station. These tickets cannot be booked online.

3. Women's quota - There is often a women's quota, but the ticket-wallah won't necessarily tell you about it. If there are no more tickets, ask if there are any women's, or ladies’, quota tickets left. (Note: don't confuse women's quota with a women's car. This is what I thought it meant, but when I boarded the train, there were plenty of men! But that shouldn't bother you.) This also needs to be purchased in person, but not at a special ticket window.

Note that you can still board a train with a "waitlist" ticket if you purchase a hard-copy ticket in person at a station. If you buy an electronic ticket online and don't get off the waitlist, your ticket will be automatically cancelled, and if you're found on the train anyway they will fine you and kick you off. So if you absolutely cannot get a confirmed ticket and you must take a certain train, just buy a waitlist ticket at a station and board anyway. You won't have a seat, so be prepared to sit on your bag for hours!

At the Railway Station

When you enter the railway station, if you already have your tickets, the first thing you need to do is figure out your platform. There should be a huge board with all the trains and platforms. Some stations have an electric board, but some are old-fashioned flippy boards (you know, where the individual letters flip to change), and some even just use a whiteboard or chalkboard. In some stations they only have the trains posted in the local language or the local language plus Hindi. I was surprised to find that it is not always posted in English. If you cannot read the script, you can go to an “Enquiry” booth to ask. Or you could ask a fellow traveler. Sometimes the platform number changes, so just make sure to pay attention to announcements (or re-check the board close to boarding time).

RAC - see above explanation. Where to check your RAC status, if you were unable to check online or by text message? There is usually a board on the platform covered in lots of sheets of papers. These papers are the seating chart, called simply “the chart.” I had trouble finding it the first time, but it's actually not hard to find. It should be right on the platform. You can ask a railways employee where the board with RAC status information is. I think it is organized by car number.

If you are going on the Unreserved Second Seating class, get ready to fight. People crowd around the car doors, and you need to push and shove to get on the train. There is a mad rush of scores of people trying to get into the car, and EVERYONE is pushing to get on that train! In fact, you should probably figure out where on the platform the SS car will stop and wait at the edge before the train even comes. And when you see it approach, fight your way to the front of the crowd. If you don't fight, you probably won't get a seat, and you might not even get on the train! (I had to jump onto a moving train once. You seriously can't hesitate.)

Trains are sometimes late. Several hours late, even. So you should factor that possibility into your travel plans. To check if your train is on time or delayed, you can use Indian Railways’ Spot Your Train website: http://www.trainenquiry.com/indexNS.aspx. Or you can text AD[space]four digit train number[space]area code of location of departure to 139. For example, AD 2075 011 (011 is the area code for Delhi). But be aware that these services are not always correct. You might be told that your train is on time, only to find out at the station that it is actually two hours late.

On the Train

You will need to travel with your passport (and you’ll need it to check into the hotel at your destination anyway), because the conductor will ask to see your ID with your ticket.

On the train, many travelers lock their bags to a luggage rack with a bike chain lock. I never lock my bag to anything, because the luggage rack isn't necessarily near your berth or seat and I prefer to have my bag with me at all times. I do have little locks on the zippers, though. I always keep my bag in my berth with me. If I was in the upper berth, I just put my bag on the top pad and slept on it or right next to it with my arms around it. And I often used my smaller bag, which held my valuables, as a pillow. In an Unreserved Second Seating car, never let your bags out of your sight for even a moment.

The conductors never announce each stop, so you need to pay attention. Since trains are often late and can become increasingly late as the journey continues, knowing the time the train is supposed to arrive at your destination isn't always enough. You should ask your fellow compartment-mates what stops come right before the one you want. They almost always know. And you will usually find another person getting off at the same place, so you can follow him/her.

It is quite common for people in your compartment to offer you some food. The general advice always given is never to accept this food. However, it could be fine (especially if it’s packaged), and your compartment-mates might be insulted if you refuse their offer. Use your best judgment in the situation.

What to Bring with You

Any overnight train - sweatshirt or blanket. Even in the summer, it can get chilly at night.

Sleeper class - sheets. There is only a pad and nothing else. Sometimes it can be rather dirty. To be honest, I don't know how often these pads are washed, if they are washed at all. So definitely bring something to lie down on. Also take out an additional piece of clothing to act as a pillow.

Any A/C class - you will be provided with sheets and a blanket. Or so I've been told. But the A/C blasts really high, so it's really cold and you should bring a sweatshirt. Or so I've been told.

Bottles of water and food - there are usually several chai-wallahs and food vendors who walk through the cars. I recommend buying chai on the train because it is a very Indian experience. The food is definitely hit-or-miss, so I usually buy some crackers ("biscuits") for the train ride. It is never clear how much time the train is stopping for at each stop (it isn't announced; but if you are smart enough to print out your route, it should say the arrival and departure times for each station), so I never leave the train once I'm on it. Buy your food and water before boarding in your point of departure.

Local Trains

Local trains are a completely different ball game. (Note: when I say local trains, I am not including metros/subways.) You can find local trains in some of the big cities, but you'll probably only use them in Mumbai and Chennai. No advance reservations are needed. You just wait in a really long line (or at least it's really long during rush hour) to buy a really cheap ticket, between 4 and 8 Rs, and then board.

The Mumbai local trains are sort of scary the first time. If you’re a woman, use the Ladies Only car. I made the mistake of going into a general car. I have never been so tightly squeezed into a box before. There were probably a couple hundred people in each car, with people bulging out of the sides. ...and since all of these people were men, this led to me being groped. The Ladies Only car, on the other hand, was half empty. I even got a seat!

I hope this guide has been helpful for anyone planning a train trip in India.

Shark confusion

One of the TERI-Bangalore people working in the office/guest house in Thiruvananthapuram brought his 5-year-old son with him. They went to the Thiruvananthapuram zoo (or, as the child calls it, "joo"; he didn't understand when I said "no, it's a zzzzoo, with a z. I'm a Jew!"), and now he can't stop talking about animals (well he's been blabbering about them in Telugu, but he says the animal names in English). Interestingly, American and Indian children have different hand symbols for animals. He started going on and on about sharks, so I put my hands together above my head and starting singing the quickening Jaws music. He looked totally confused. "No, SHARK!" and put his hands together Awkward Turtle-style (one hand on top of the other with thumbs sticking out and twirling). "No, that's a turtle," I explained, and put my hands together above my head again. "This is a shark. My hands make a dorsal fin. Scary approaching shark!" Then his father cut in. "Actually, no. He doesn't get why that would be scary. He thinks you're just doing a big namaskar." Oops.

one more thing: Happy (belated) Vishu!

Oh yeah, and it was also Vishu on Thursday, April 15. Vishu is Malayali New Year. I was in a meeting that entire day, so I don't really know what people do. But on the way to my meeting, we drove past some celebrations. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of women were lining every street with makeshift stoves, made of three bricks standing on their sides at 90-degree angles from each other (with the space for the fourth brick used to insert the burning twigs for fuel; apparently pots can balance just fine on only three bricks), so that they could cook Vishu feasts. The fire for these stoves comes from a fire in the main temple of the city. The fire is passed from one woman's bunch-of-twigs to another woman's bunch-of-twigs, etc etc, so that every woman's stove fire originated in the temple. Must have taken hours for that fire to go around, because I swear every street in the city was lined with these women and their stoves; I didn't see a single free spot on any street! By the time we left the all-day meeting, the feasts were over, and all that was left were humongous piles of bricks every several meters. (Unfortunately I have no pictures of this because I did not take my camera with me to the meeting, and I didn't know I should expect anything awesome.)

emilyinthiruvananthapuram

I should probably post something about Thiruvananthapuram. Since I'm pretty busy here--and more importantly, lazy--I'll just copy and paste some paragraphs I already wrote in emails. Sorry if you were a recipient of any or all of these emails. [Editor's notes are in italics and brackets, like this sentence.]

Thiruvananthapuram is a funny place. Yesterday [Tuesday April 13] I saw 3 fake lifesize elephants, dressed Thrissur Pooram-style, complete with fake lifesize mahouts and umbrellas. Even the trunk was moving around. It was actually very realistic and a bit creepy. Why were these fake elephants in the middle of a market? To advertise a jewelry store, of course. Amazing. Also, there are advertisements for Qatar Airways, Emirates, and Kuwait Airways [Hi Nadeen!] everywhere. As should be expected. As well as red hammer-and-sickle Communist flags. As should be expected.

The city is very green, with tons of palm trees. It feels like a city growing in a forest; it seems like they didn't cut down any trees in between buildings and roads. Many buildings have red-tiled roofs, similar in style to Spanish missionary architecture in California. But in many cases, the tiles have turned brown or black with age.

Yesterday [Sunday] I went to Poovar, an island where the backwaters meet the sea. There was a big sandbar, which would've been a really nice beach, if all the trash from the villages of the backwaters didn't land there. (Well, the ocean side of the sandbar was nice, but the backwaters side was nasty.) But it was a good day because we spent most of it hanging out in the swimming pool of a resort. I haven't been in a swimming pool in over 2 years I think (I've been swimming in the sea, though, of course) so I was pretty excited. And I tried to teach Manju [coworker/roommate] how to swim, but I couldn't convince her to let go of the wall. Now I'm bright pink and sunburned from 8 hours in the sun, despite 3 applications of sunscreen, and my coworkers are calling me Gulabi Emily [gulabi = pink in Hindi]. My coworkers are talking about checking out Kovalam one evening this week (it's only 25 minutes from the guest house/office), but they don't like the "international food" there [we never ended up going].

I have never felt more American/different in my entire life--even more so than in a Bhutanese village, which is weird. Well, ok, that's an exaggeration, but somewhat near that level. It's weird that whenever I say something, everyone responds "you just think that because you're American" but then they often say things that suggest they think the ways of America are better than the ways of India (example: individualism vs. do whatever your family wants) (though I feel a lot of family pressure from my family too! Maybe because I'm Jewish and Jews and Indians are the same).

One specific example would be when we were discussing Bhutan during dinner. The PI of the project brought up Gross National Happiness (I forget the context). you know that any conversation about Bhutan gets me going. so at one point I started saying that while I support the government's efforts to preserve culture, I think that people are entitled to choice--if someone wants to wear Nepali clothes (the Nepalese minority is forced to wear Bhutanese dress at work), watch Hindi TV, or listen to Western music, let them; it doesn't necessarily dilute the culture, as cultures are inherently dynamic and it is ridiculous to think Bhutanese culture has been static for centuries (besides even young Bhutanese are very proud of their culture, and I really don't think it's in danger of dying out). This led to "you only think that because you're American, and Americans are all about individualism and their own notions of 'liberty.' Of course you think choice should prevail over government-mandated cultural preservation [not exactly what I said--I do think cultural preservation matters]." Most of the "you're so American" comments are due to my individualism, apparently.

The food here is INCREDIBLE, as I've said a million times [but not on this blog, apparently]. Nothing is better than Alleppey fish curry and appam. Yummm. [I've had an epiphany about South Indian food since this was written. I am now ridiculously sick of our daily rice-and-sambar lunch, and today I couldn't even bring myself to eat it. In reality, I like a higher number of North Indian food items than South Indian food items, but the South Indian food items I do like I like better than North Indian food items. ...if that makes any sense.]

Late last night [Tuesday night] a decorated elephant carrying a local goddess walked down my street, with blaring music that probably woke up everyone in the neighborhood. Apparently this happens once a year. Here's how this was described to me: "all year, every person goes to the temple. Today, the temple goes to every person." So basically these men with fiery torches and a giant tusked male elephant were "bringing the temple home," going around to each house collecting offerings, such as coconuts. I have to admit that the elephant scared the shit out of me because it was dark outside and at first all I saw were the men carrying torches. Then all of a sudden this humongous creature appeared out of the darkness. I was quite startled.

...and those are all the emails I sent about Thiruvananthapuram. I am going to Thrissur for Thrissur Pooram this evening, so you can look forward to pictures of heavily-decorated elephants with giant umbrellas upon my return.

emilyinamerica

I just bought some plane tickets: I will be going back to The Motherland June 9-21! Stanford graduation, then a roadtrip south to LA, then Nicole's wedding. One word: epic.

SEE YOU IN AMERICA!!

A time-out from India for The Best Blog Post of All Time

I know this blog is about my life in India, but let's take a minute to reminisce about my pre-India life. The wonderful Nadeen wrote The Best Blog Post of All Time about our lives at Stanford (this is copied and pasted from her and Ellen's blog, Usefulknowledgeusefulknowledgeusefulknowledge):

on meyer library

Meyer gets shat on a lot by people who like "pretty" and "awe-inspiring" study spots. Sure, I like to get my literary groove on in beautiful rooms. I'll never forget my time at Hopkins Marine Station in Monterey, where I got to study in this stunning little library. Or when I had the opportunity to study abroad at Oxford and spent many hours wistfully staring at the interiors of Gothic buildings while pitting my laptop's wireless abilities against medieval rules and regulations. Meyer, too, is special, not because it is extraordinarily ugly when compared to other libraries, but because I've invested so much of my undergraduate self into it.

I've lost count of the number of times I watched the sun rise while in Meyer, or the moments of recognition I'd shared with my fellow students, whose names I never knew but whose faces were as familiar to me as the people who lived in my dorms. Last year, I spent so much time in Meyer with Emily and these two hapless grad students who we never formally met, that we constructed fantasies about them: Wolverine's Brother and Greasy-Haired Guy, the former thus called because he looked frighteningly similar to the actor who played Wolverine's brother alongside Hugh Jackman in the X-Men sequel, and the latter because he, well, didn't seem to wash his hair very often.

These guys were hilarious. They were in Meyer all the time. I'd walk in to print a paper at 4:45pm, and they'd be there. I'd come back after my 10pm nap to start another paper, and they'd still be there. I'd walk back to my dorm (after failing to finish my paper) at 4am and oh yes, they'd be there. There were fleeting moments in which I saw them outside Meyer, and usually in these rare occasions they'd be sprinting across campus with a coffee cup or pizza box in hand, daring to step outside Meyer's boundaries only to refuel themselves. The greatest moment of encounter happened after graduation, when I watched the video of our commencement ceremony some months after the fact, and managed to spot them in the Master's procession. I was so ecstatic that I sent the video and screenshots to Emily, and we proceeded to have a 10-letter e-mail exchange almost entirely in capital letters, expressing our joy and admiration for our distant study buddies.

Meyer might be a grey, mammoth, earthquake-insecure structure of hideous proportions, but I'm convinced that it is a place of fate and kismet connections.

(actually, if that were the case, i would have found my goddamn husband already and i wouldn't have to worry so much about finding a goddamn job that'll sponsor goddamn international students. fuck this kismet shit.)

...And now, back to our regular programming.

...And now, back to our regular programming. (That would be India.)