There are 8 geckos in my bathroom. One is on the light switch so that I am forced to pee in the dark. And I have a squat toilet, so light is particularly important.
Also, another gecko just fell from the ceiling and landed on my bed. Not on me this time, but clearly this was an intended attack. If not an attack on my person, then an attack on my sense of safety and as a result, my sanity.
Furthermore, that other gecko still hasn't left my mirror. I know he's not dead because (1) he'd probably fall to the ground and (2) I've seen him move around. But only on the mirror.
And did you ever notice that geckos have CLAWS?! I noticed yesterday that they have sharp cat-like nail-claws extending from their toes. I didn't know lizards had friggin' claws. Think of the damage these creatures could do to me in my sleep!!
Today I started taking tabla lessons from a guy who makes tablas for Zakir Hussein! Being a good tabla maker doesn't necessarily translate into being a good tabla player/teacher, but I think the photos of him jamming with Zakir on his wall are pretty friggin' sweet.
How did this happen? I had free time yesterday and was aimlessly wandering through some galiyaan (tiny alleyways). (Varanasi has a whole web of these galiyaan and it's fun to get lost in the maze.) As I was walking back toward the main road, I randomly stumbled upon a tabla-making workshop.
Unexpectedly, I ended up spending two hours in the tiny shop. We sat on the floor among half-made tablas and assorted tabla parts as the owner explained, in a mix of Hindi and English, the process of making a tabla. His two apprentices showed me how it's done, and then we all chatted some more about the shopowner's tabla-playing and -making history over chai. The owner's family has been in the tabla-making business for generations, since his father's father's father's father's father's father's to-the-infinitieth-power father's father. After chai, they let me hit the drums a bit!
applying ground iron ore to the center of the tabla
I really enjoyed the atmosphere of the workshop and have always secretly wanted to learn to play some percussion instrument. So, despite my utter lack of musical talent, I signed up for tabla lessons! And here we are.
*******
Today I was supposed to go to Ramnagar Fort, across the Ganges from Varanasi, with Surabhi, one of my new Benaras Hindu University (BHU) friends. However, she had to cancel because all the students are protesting the mess (cafeteria) food and obviously she had to be there.
Aaahh, deja vu. When I spent a semester at Pondicherry University, the students there protested the mess food as well. Guess that's pretty common here in India! But I'm fairly certain the administration ignored them and nothing came of the protests. Fun times. Hopefully the BHU students will have better luck.
*******
A few more reasons to love Pyaar Kii Ye Ek Kahaani, or PKYEK, as it is affectionally called:
11. The sound effects that accompany facial expressions. For example, when someone has an epiphany, the "ah-ha!" face is supplemented with a spring-like "boing!" sound. And crushing disappointment, such as when the boy you like asks out your worst enemy to prom, comes with a car crash noise. Each face has its own distinct sound, of course.
12. The echoing voiceover when characters are thinking. When the characters are thinking, not only do their faces contort in all sorts of strange ways I didn't previously know were humanly possible, the thought voiceover echoes. "Mujhe-jhe-jhe asha-sha-sha hai-hai-hai ki-ki-ki voh-voh-voh mujhe-jhe-jhe prom-prom-prom le-le-le jaaega-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-ga." ("I hope that he will take me to prom.")
13. The occurrence of prom during college. That's just... incorrect. I would say it's an Indian thing to have prom in college instead of high school, but I've actually never heard of a prom happening at all in India. And I would find it surprising if a college administration allowed such an event. The show is trying to adopt a classic element of American teenage dramas, but it's all wrong! But it almost doesn't matter, because they do it so much better than those American shows and movies.
14. The 70's theme of prom night. It is unfortunate that the PKYEK website doesn't have any good pictures of this episode, because I want to show you the boys' bitchin' costumes. Only three words can describe their attire: stereotypical flaming homosexual. One character actually is gay, and he was the one who chose the 70's costumes for the others (who do not know that he's समलैंगिक ("samalaingik"/gay); I think they must be blind and deaf). And he did excellent work, because my god do these people come off as overly-flamboyant caricatures of gay disco men (and their little dance number at prom only reinforces this image). Also, one was dressed up as Elvis.
PKYEK is the best thing to happen to television. Ever. In the entire history of television.
*******
Geckos are my newest enemy. Not only did one of them face-plant me (in that he planted himself on my face, not that he fell onto his own face), they are all over my room and bathroom and always in the way. One hasn't removed himself from my mirror for the past two days so I can't examine the post-Holi damage (my pores are so clogged with Holi colors that I now have purple- and greenheads).
Sushma and I clog each other's pores during Holi.
I think the entire animal kingdom is conspiring against me. Except the elephants. They still love me.
Look at this elephant's happy face! If this isn't unadulterated love, then I don't know what is. But I'll tell you which creatures don't know how to love: monkeys and geckos. Heartless bastards.
*******
It is possible for women to pee standing up. I know because my thighs were sore from going to the gym for the first time in.... uh, I'm too embarrassed to say.... and I really didn't want to squat (the family with whom I'm staying doesn't have a Western toilet). The trick is to spread your legs far apart (warning: remove your pants). TMI? Too bad. You should expect this kind of talk on my blog by now.
*******
Speaking of women, here are two interesting articles about women in India:
Minding Their Gaps, about Western women on their gap year in India being exploited for the sexual and status-raising appeal of their white skin. Courtesy of Alice.
This song has been stuck in my head for the past week, and I love it:
"Darling" is a Hindi take on a Russian folk song. WIN. Also, you should see 7 Khoon Maaf (7 Murders Forgiven). It's based on a book by Ruskin Bond and is a very unusual movie for Bollywood, in a good way.
*******
This song has been playing repeatedly on the filmi songs channel, and I swear it's copying an (or multiple) English song(s):
Does anyone know what song(s) it's copying? I've Googled it and people seem to disagree about whether it's copying Flo Rida's "Low," Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps," and/or Lady Gaga's "Pokerface." When I first heard it I thought elements were from "Low," and I suppose I can hear remnants of Black Eyed Peas, but I don't know see "Pokerface." But I'm not so sure. Thoughts?
*******
ZOMG A MONKEY JUST INFILTRATED THIS CAFE. ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED IN HERE, MONKEY DEVIL!!! THIS IS MY HAPPY PLACE AND I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME!!!!
Er, or maybe I will, for now. I'm outta here before the monkey ends me and all I love.
Here in Varanasi I'm staying with a nice host family that spends their evenings watching Hindi "serials" (soap operas that air during primetime). I used to be unable to stand these TV shows. That is, until I saw Pyaar Kii Ye Ek Kahaani (This One Love Story).
Basically it's a vampire soap opera. Here's the back story, as told to me by my host sister Pooja (she had to get me up to speed, naturally): in the 1800's Siddharth, Abhay, and Maithili were all regular people living regular people lives. One day Siddharth and Abhay, who are brothers, get turned into vampires and Maithili gets killed (how did this happen? I don't know. Pooja left these details out). Siddharth's and Abhay's transformations give them the ability to live forever without aging as long as they don't touch silver, in which case they get seriously injured or die (I guess their equivalent of Superman's Kryptonite?).
Fast forward to present-day. Siddharth is the "bad" vampire and Abhay is the "good" vampire. Both Siddharth and Abhay are in love with a college human named Piya, who looks identical to Maithili and is supposedly Maithili's reincarnation. Abhay is dating Piya while Siddharth is a player who seduces women in order to kill them and drink their blood. Siddharth's targets are usually girls he thinks are easy--"T" (that's her nickname, I don't know her real name) dresses like a slut (by Indian standards) so he goes for her. And he was right in thinking she's super easy; she really does act like a slut on their date, practically throwing herself all over him. But Abhay comes to the rescue, which leads to an epic battle of facial expressions (see below). Meanwhile, Piya's best friend Panchi (who is also Piya's half-sister, but Panchi doesn't know that) is in love with Siddharth. When Panchi finds out Siddharth went on a date with T, she is super jealous. But Siddharth understands that it will be even easier to steal Panchi's blood, so he dumps T and tells Panchi that he loves her. Abhay warns Piya to keep Panchi away from Siddharth but doesn't say why (Piya doesn't know they are brothers or that Siddharth is a vampire; it is unclear to me if she is aware that Abhay is a vampire). Piya responds that if Siddharth makes her friend happy, then she doesn't want to interfere, and she gets pissed at Abhay. Another layer to the story is that Siddharth and Abhay's father is the caretaker of some all-powerful vampire ring, and of course the evil Siddharth wants to steal the ring from his father to acquire the superpowers. I have surmised from the license plates (everyone is rich and has a car) that this show takes place in the Himalayan state of Uttarakhand, probably in the capital city of Dehradun. This provides for lots of creepy hill forest scenes.
There is also a slew of other characters who have complicated back stories with each other (for example, there's some story about another girl who is pregnant but unmarried and her friend Misha, who is also Panchi's sister, pretends to be pregnant to protect her somehow, and then Misha's father finds out that she's "pregnant" without knowing it's a lie. another example: Panchi and Misha's father is also Piya's father, but the father is completely unaware that Piya is his daughter. And these just two of many, many stories). You can read the insanely long and complex paragraph here in Wikipedia describing everything that has been going on in the series (yes even more insanely long and complex than what I've just written, and no I didn't read the article).
...and I love every second of this show. Why?
1. The language. The Hindi isn't spoken nearly as quickly as in other serials so I'm actually able to pick up most of what is going on. And the vampires speak unusually large amounts of English for a Hindi serial, and their English is excellent (who knew vampires were multilingual?).
2. The fight scenes. They involve absolutely zero fighting but employ the classic Hindi serial technique of rapidly spinning the camera around the characters to the point of making the viewer dizzy and repeatedly zooming in on the same unmoving, unnaturally overexpressive faces (the expression during fight scenes: I am really, really, really mad and am going to kick your ass like no other ass has been kicked before) (but the ass-kicking never actually happens, you only see the threatening faces). One fight scene was put to an end when Siddharth and Abhay's father rushed to intervene and out-facially-expressed both of them into submission.
The teeth-baring (and associated hissing sounds) indicate that they are angry. The background is blurry because the camera is spinning around them at a very quick pace.
The father out-stares his sons, thereby putting an end to the fight.
3. Siddharth's art of seduction. He is super smooth and not at all creepy. ...that was a lie.
Siddharth seduces T by telling her she smells tasty. He even calls her "Tasty T" several times.
4. The aforementioned creepy hill forest scenes. Always at night and with lots of mist. Siddharth's favorite place to take girls on dates. Of course these girls find the forest romantic, despite the darkness, mist, middle-of-nowhereness, and scary music, and can't wait to jump into bed (er, under a tree?) with Siddharth. Also where fights take place. See all of the above pictures.
5. Vampire smell detection. Vampires use their sense of smell to detect the location of other vampires, even miles away. This involves several characters exaggeratedly sniffing for extended periods of time. These actors really know how to take a good, long whiff!
6. T's response to Siddharth dumping her. "How GAY are you?!" (said in English)
7. The intellectual challenge. There are so many characters with so many intertwining stories I could never possibly dream of understanding or following it all, especially starting in the middle of the series.
8. The ginormous amounts of drama. Did I mention the battles of the facial expressions?! The constant camera-spinning and face-zooming are not limited to the fight scenes, but happen every time something dramatic happens. Which is quite often.
9. The lack of logic. Nothing on the show ever makes any sense.
10. The frequency of new episodes. In America, our TV series give us a new episode once a week. That means we have to wait one entire week to find out what happens next, and god knows how agonizingly painful that can be! Not in India, folks. Here we only have to wait 23.5 hours, because there is a new episode every single day! (Except Sunday. After Saturday night's episode you have to wait 47.5 hours, and man will that be difficult for me!)
Ok so I guess several of these reasons are really the same reason: this show is HILARIOUS. Seriously it's like nonstop laughter for 30 minutes (ok, fine, there are stops for commercials) (actually, many of those commercials are also laughter-inducing). I can't wait to spend more quality time with my host family following the lives of these vampires and their human love interests.
In other news, I'm awake now because a gecko woke me up by landing on my face while I was sleeping. Yes, a gecko actually fell from the ceiling and landed on my nose, with one leg in my right nostril, another leg on my left eye, and the tail crossing my lips and curling around my chin. I had no idea what to do (screaming may have resulted in the gecko falling into my mouth so I stayed quiet) and just lied on the bed with my face paralyzed for about a minute before the gecko decided to move off my face and back toward the wall. The longest 60 seconds of my life, man. I didn't even know it was possible for geckos to lose their grip and fall (India is full of surprises, I suppose). And now I'm too scared to fall back asleep, so I decided to kill a few hours writing this blog post.
As I think I mentioned in a previous post, I'm currently in Varanasi studying Hindi. This is my second time in Varanasi; the other time was back in November 2007, when I was backpacking around India post-semester abroad program. And oh what a difference 3 years 4 months makes!
Last time I was in this city, I thought it was a truly magical place: sunrise on the Ganges, constant activity from simple daily bathing to extravagant weddings to cremation on the ghats (stairs leading to the Ganges), ancient architecture, mazes of tiny alleyways, etc. I had described this city, which could be seen as India's Jerusalem (Hinduism's holiest city and the oldest continuously-inhabited city on the subcontinent), to many as "India amplified" or "all those stereotypes of India rolled into one." No other place had so many animals in the streets, no other place had so much religious activity, no other place was so colorful, etc.
Or so my memory told me. Now, well, Varanasi seems like your typical mid-sized North Indian plains town with a dirty river and a splash of religious fervor. It doesn't really have more cows roaming the streets than other places in North India. To be fair, the last time I was here it was my first visit to a mid-sized North Indian plains town, and by now I've visited more than I can count.
A few things do set Varanasi apart from the rest, but the most obvious thing: tourists. So. many. tourists. And I know I'm about to go all hypocritical on you (if I'm here as a foreigner, obviously other foreigners should be allowed to come here too), but here's why that annoys me:
1. Tourists = hassle. Where there are tourists, there are people looking to get your money. People try to sell me things (anything); rickshaw-wallahs follow me asking "where you going, madam? rickshaw, madam?"; children run up asking me to buy them chocolate; beggars beg me for money; and then there are your creepy snake-charmers and monkey-handlers who want you to pay to take their photo. I cannot walk two feet down the street without being bombarded by someone. And it's exhausting. (I never had this problem in Delhi or Shimla, where I lived outside of tourist areas and people knew I was a resident and left me alone.) (My Hindi teacher teaches in a touristy area and I would like to live within walking distance, hence why I'm in a touristy area in Varanasi.)
2. A noticeably large minority of tourists dress inappropriately. This morning I saw a Western woman wearing a tube top and booty shorts. In Hinduism's holiest city. And you wonder why almost all Western women who come to India get unwanted attention at some point? Because of women like that, who dress with no regard for the local culture, who give off the image that Western women are overtly sexual and looking for action. A few Western women dress like whores and all Western women get treated like they're whores.* Anyway, almost nothing annoys me as much as people dressing inappropriately in someone else's culture, and I get irritated every single time I see some white chick in a tank top.
This #2 brings me to another topic: foreigner types. There are a few types of tourists that visit Varanasi, but I'll save that for another post. Let me gather some visual aids for you first (in other words, let me sneak some pictures of them).
I don't know why the tourists annoy me so much more now than they did over 3 years ago. My guess is that tourism is seasonal, and perhaps March is during high season and/or November is during low season. So maybe there were fewer tourists and thus less hassle.
I guess I'm not really being fair to Varanasi. There is something special about this city, that attracts pilgrims from all over India and tourists from all over the world. It is difficult to put into words, but you feel it in the atmosphere at certain ghats while watching the Hindu hair-cutting ceremony or a wedding, you feel it from a boat on the Ganges at 5am as the sun rises to illuminate the age-old riverside temples in a purplish hue. But you know what? That special element can easily get lost for the long-term foreigner in the everyday hassle. (And it's only been one week for me so far!)
In other news, this past weekend was Holi! Luckily, this year I wasn't arrested. I celebrated in my Hindi teacher's village in the state of Jharkhand. My skin is still stained rainbow. :)
*I am no way trying to say that the men who catcall and ass-grab are not at fault. Obviously they are behaving in a disgusting manner. However, that doesn't mean that Western women can dress however they want, outside of cultural norms. They are, in some ways, inviting the attention.
The day before I left Shimla, I decided to be a tourist for a day. I had never seen the sights before, and I didn't want to pull another Pondicherry (despite living there for an entire semester, I never visited the touristy places in Pondy).
First on the tourist agenda: Jakhoo Temple. That's right, I finally braved Hanuman's Lair, even though I swore I never would. All the tourists go, so I figured I had to see it.
And it was every bit as terrifying as I imagined it would be.
At the entrance, there was a man warning people to remove their glasses (so the rumors about monkeys stealing glasses off of faces are true!! luckily I had come prepared, with my contacts in) (I probably wasn't fully prepared. I bet monkeys can steal contacts out of eyes, too!) and renting out sticks. Apparently, these sticks are meant to ward off monkeys. Of course I had to rent one; I needed any form of protection I could get! Nevermind that I could have just walked two feet into the adjacent forest and gotten a stick for free--that would've required risking my life at the opposable thumb-clad hands of crazed forest monkeys!! I thought my life was worth the Rs 5 ($0.11).
monkey weapons for rent. Rs 5/stick. because you should only enter this temple fully armed.
Walking from the gate toward the temple felt like walking toward an electric chair, but the killing device would be even more "cruel and unusual." This was it; I was walking into certain death. I now know what it feels like to be on Death Row. I suddenly wished my previous dinner--my last supper, if you will (and you will)--was more extravagant than Maggi (though I knew it was the right way to go, and let's be honest, I wouldn't really have it any other way) (unless I had cheese) (or maybe some combination of Maggi and cheese. yes, that would have been divine perfection).
This walkway was crawling with monkeys on all sides. To my left was a playground--not that a child could ever play on it, mind you. Monkeys and their babies were climbing up and subsequently sliding down slides, thereby making it completely unsafe for young children. Or even adults. Fine, I must admit: I laughed. It was legitimately cute.
climbing up the slide (note the one in mid-air on the right)...
...and sliding down.
But I shouldn't have let my guard down. The monkeys must have sensed my vulnerability when I laughed, because suddenly I found myself surrounded. Desperately trying to hide the fear that must have been so obvious on my face, I semi-squatted into my basketball boxing-out position (...that I haven't used since middle school) and swung my stick around threateningly. This somehow seemed to work and the monkeys left me alone.
Upon reaching the temple, I saw something absolutely horrifying: a monkey jump on a woman and unzip the front pockets of her jacket. A MONKEY. JUMPED ON. A WOMAN. AND UNZIPPED. HER POCKETS. As you can imagine, I panicked. I didn't know if I should turn around and run as fast as I could out of the temple (not that I could ever dream of outrunning monkeys), or if I should keep going (I came this far, right?), or what. I defaulted into boxing-out position, holding my stick like a sword, and froze like a statue. Finally a group of Gujarati tourists approached my paralyzed, petrified (in that I was both terrified and turned to stone) self and calmed me down. (Ok not really, but they tried to call me down.) Somehow they convinced me to walk the last 50 feet to the temple, sword-stick at the ready.
The temple wasn't worth it. It just wasn't. It was tiny and simple. No fabulous architecture, no extravagant decorations. Nothing more than your average local temple. Just a small orange-roofed house with some idols inside. This is what so many people risk their lives to see?! I wasn't expecting anything nearly as spectacular as Konark or Khajuraho, but geez I was expecting something tourist attraction-worthy, especially for braving all those monkeys. I was baffled. I didn't get it. I still don't get it. I feel so robbed of a morning I could have spent without fear of death.
really? REALLY?!
The rest of my day was less eventful, other than the fact that I had been wearing only a thin fleece (it was 60 F when I left my apartment) and the temperature unexpectedly dipped 40 degrees and it SNOWED. Yeah, needless to say, I was freezing. And unprepared. But at least the Oxford-like Viceregal Lodge (where British India was ruled in the summer, where Partition was signed, and which now houses the Indian Institute of Advanced Study that has hosted such scholars as Aung San Suu Kyi) looked especially beautiful in the snow!
dancing in the snow on my way toward the lodge because activity keeps me warm when I'm wearing weather-inappropriate clothing
I left Shimla and am now in transit to Varanasi for an intensive Hindi course. More on that later. For now, here's how I spent my last day in Shimla:
Naturally, I couldn't take everything in my apartment with me, so I had to ship some stuff home. I put everything in two cardboard boxes and headed to the post office, thinking this would take only 20 minutes.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
At 2pm, I arrived at the Sanjauli post office to find my landlord's wife Geeta staring at me from across the counter. This was my first surprise: I didn't know she worked at the post office! I thought she worked at a bank. Anyway, Geeta informed me that the Sanjauli post office does not send "parcels," as they call packages here in India. "But it's the post office's job to send mail!" I insisted. "No parcels." "But parcels are mail! The post office sends mail! Therefore the post office must send parcels!" "No parcels." "But you received my parcels when my mom mailed them from the US!" "No parcels. Go to Shimla."
I went to the Shimla post office--not that close, by the way, especially when you're carrying two boxes amounting to 18.8 kg. En route I passed a few private couriers and decided to check them out, but they were all absurdly expensive. So back to the post office plan.
I arrived at the Shimla post office with my two packages, certain that these people would be able to send them. "Seal?" the postal employee asked me. I was prepared for this, I thought. I purposely kept my packages open, because in Delhi they had opened up my box anyway to see the contents. I knew not to waste any tape this time, and I assumed the guy was asking me for a seal because he saw my boxes were open. In response to his seal inquiry, I smiled and held up my tape. "I have a seal!" I exclaimed triumphantly. A look of confusion crossed his face. "No, not tape. Seal. SEAL!" Now a look of confusion crossed mine. "But... tape does seal the parcel. Tape is the seal." "No, no, SEAL!" then rapid-fire Hindi that was too fast for my slow mind to comprehend. Luckily Harsh was with me, so he explained that the postman was telling me that I needed my parcel wrapped in a very specific white cloth, said cloth must be sewn and not stapled, and a "M.O.M." seal made of red gooey stuff would have to be stamped along the seams. Now this sounded familiar to me; when I sent a package from Kolkata in June 2008, the postman there wrapped and sewed my package for me (but this had not been required in Pondicherry in November 2007 nor Delhi in June 2010). I handed my packages over to the guy, assuming he would do all this. But no no no, I was told to go to a tailor.
Thus began the hunt for a tailor with the right cloth--not just any ol' white cloth, mind you, but a very specific material--and MOM seal. I went to the alley of tailors in Middle Bazaar below the Mall and had to visit several tailors before finding one with the right material. First the tailor asked me to come back tomorrow, but (a) I wouldn't be in Shimla the next day and (b) I'm not leaving a box with semi-valuables at a tailor's!! I insisted it was an emergency, and he agreed to do the job right then and there. But the tailor took AN HOUR AND A HALF to wrap the packages. I have no idea why he took so damn long. In Kolkata, I swear it took the guy about 5 minutes. AND the tailor charged me more than I pay for a salwar kameez. Ridiculous.
And then the tailor didn't have the MOM seal. Even though he said he did. So I had to run around with my packages to find another tailor who did have the seal. Luckily, he turned out to be only two doors down.
Finally, FINALLY my packages were ready. I RAN to the post office--and I do not like running--to mail them. I showed up at 5pm, and the post office closes at 5:30pm. Barely made it! I thought. Or did I?
"We don't accept parcels after 3pm." "I was here at 3pm, and you didn't tell me that. And there is no sign that says that. The post office is still open." "But we don't accept parcels after 3pm." "Why not?" "Because that's when the day's parcels are sent." "So? I don't care if you send them tomorrow. Why can't you accept my parcels and just send them with tomorrow's batch?" "We don't do that, madam." "But that makes no sense." and the conversation went on like this for a while.
Then I remembered: this is India. When you keep your voice at normal decibels, nobody listens to you. I turned into the madwoman I would never recognize in the States but I so often turn into in this country. I yelled at the postman, telling him the whole story, starting from Sanjauli. I think I ended with "why on earth does one have to go to a TAILOR to MAIL a parcel?! and if you're going to require something as stupid as white cloth, then why don't you provide the wrapping services yourself?!" The postman sat there stunned (I think my ranting in English--when I'm flustered my Hindi pretty much goes out the window--was way too fast for him to understand), and he sent me to the postmaster, the guy in charge of the post office (and no, he was clearly not intending to get his superior involved before I raised my voice). Harsh came with me to explain the situation in Hindi, and the postmaster agreed to send the packages. By this time it was 5:30pm and the post office was closing. This of course led to another argument, because the employee didn't want to stay overtime, but I won. It took a surprisingly long time for the guy to register my parcels in the system, but at 6:02pm on March 11, 2011, my packages were put in the mail room for delivery.
As sad as it is, I will have to leave India in August. Thinking of that day pains me, but at least now I have something very exciting to look forward to upon my return to the States:
Here are my top 5 reactions to the news of my acceptance:
5. Mom: "My baby is coming back to the east coast!" (Implied: "my baby is coming home for Rosh Hoshanah!")
4. Brother Ben: "Welcome back to civilization!"
3. Someone, blanking on who: "You're going to die. (pause) ...in the snow, I mean."
2. Vijay the Dukanwallah (who is fluent in English): "MIT? Is that Massachusetts Institute of Technology? Which state is that in?"
1. Coworker: "Where...? Oh, N-IT." (NIT = National Institute of Technology, the second-tier Indian science and engineering university system [IIT being the first tier system].)
I lost my Stanford hoodie in Delhi (I have since replaced it, don't you worry).
An Indian guy, who did not attend Stanford, was wearing a Stanford hoodie.
Connect the dots...
Next time I see him (if there is a next time--he might now avoid my bus stop like the plague), I'll have to check if the drawstring in the hood is missing and the kangaroo pocket is unstitched and floppy on the left. If so, HE IS WEARING MY SWEATSHIRT. Like, a sweatshirt I actually owned for 5 years. THAT WOULD BE PURE INSANITY.
This morning, while waiting at the bus stop on my way to work, I noticed a cardinal-colored hooded sweatshirt out of the corner of my eye. At the angle he was standing in relation to me, all I could see were the letters "ORD." But that was enough.
I became stupid-excited. I ran up to this stranger, and as I expected, it was indeed the same Stanford hoodie that I have owned since high school and still wear with pride (oh how elitist I am). I practically yelled in Hindi, "मेरे पास यह स्वेटशर्ट है! मैं स्टन्फोर्ड गयी!!" ("I have this sweatshirt! I went to Stanford!" In retrospect, I'm fairly certain "sweatshirt" is not a word in Hindi, and I should've said "sweater.") His response? He spoke no words but shot me a look that whispered "please don't molest me."
Of course, I continued to molest him (not physically, only verbally, I promise):
Me: "Stanford? University? I went there!"
Victim: Stare pleading, "please get away from me."
Me: "Your sweatshirt! It says Stanford." Pointing at his chest: "See, STANFORD!"
Victim: Glance upwards, asking Vishnu or other Hindu god, "why won't this insane woman leave me alone?"
Me: "Stanford is a university, I attended that university, and I have the same sweatshirt you're wearing!"
Victim: Shifts his eyes back and forth, and then spins his head around, in a desperate search for someone, anyone, to rescue him from his attacker
Me, excitement subsiding: "FINE. I'll go."
Ok, I lied. My excitement still hasn't subsided. SOMEONE WAS WEARING MY FAVORITE STANFORD HOODIE, THE ICON OF MY UNDERGRADUATE EXPERIENCE, TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!111oneone.
(No, I do not know how Indians manage to get American university sweatshirts. I have seen Maryland, Florida, UMiami, Harvard, Ohio State, Nebraska, Brigham Young, etc. I assume these sweatshirts are donated by Americans to some organization or another, and then they end up being sold for super cheap in secondhand markets or on the street in India. How the sweatshirt travels from point A to point B is beyond my comprehension.)
Molly, both in a comment on my previous post and on her blog, added a third suggestion as to why the quarry workers don't want to return to agriculture:
"in nepal, anyway, there seems to be a stigma associated with traditional agricultural and husbandry livelihoods among the younger generations. even when other factors might make agriculture a more viable option, it is viewed as undesirable and "backward" to continue the backbreaking labor of your parents' and grand-parents' generations."
I'm honestly not sure if this theory could be applied to this particular situation or not. In many regions of India, there is a stigma associated with labor--exactly the kind of work in which these quarry workers are engaging. That's why many states, including Himachal Pradesh, must import laborers from other states, usually Bihar (but sometimes Uttar Pradesh and West Bengal).* In fact, this quarry employs Biharis in addition to local people, because although many local people do work in the quarry, there are still not enough laborers. I was a bit surprised, actually, that any Himachali (ok, these people are culturally Punjabi) would partake in such labor. Even MNREGA, India's national scheme to provide paid employment through village construction projects (for instance, the government will pay villagers to work as laborers to build their own roads), has not been successful in these villages due to their aversion to labor. So it is quite an anomaly, at least to me, that they are willing to work in the quarry. My only explanation is they've somehow determined that this "stone-crushing" labor is different in nature from the MNREGA labor, or that perhaps they view this as a stable job opportunity, whereas most construction labor, government-sanctioned or otherwise, is contractual.
Ok instead of addressing Molly's query, I went off on a labor tangent. So is there also a stigma associated with the traditional agricultural vocations? I'm not sure. In some circles in India, there seems to be a concept of the "noble small farmer," largely thanks to Gandhi (as in Mahatma, but perhaps some of the other Gandhis as well), who famously declared that "India lives in its villages." True to this statement, these circles of Indians view the villages as the strongholds, and thus the villagers as the guardians, of traditional values, the threads that hold the sari of Indian society together.** These circles, it should be noted, probably do not include the small farmer. (Farmers may very well believe that traditional values are better upheld in their village than in a city. What I mean is that farmers may not be among the circles of Indians who subscribe to the "noble small farmer" notion.)
Life is no piece of cake for small farmers. Sure, some lead successful farming businesses and can support their family, but for many life is extremely difficult, as evidenced by the very high and ever-rising suicide rate among small farmers in India. Droughts can wipe out their crops (and thus their income) for an entire season, middlemen between the farmer and the buyer cheat them out of a huge proportion of their money, incredible debt accumulates, etc. My bet is that many, if not most, small farmers would prefer wealth (at least enough to support their families) to "noble" poverty.
I think that, in the words of my friend Jhanvi,*** young people's "dream is to go urban and go big" mostly because they've seen the suffering of their parents and want out. We all want better lives, right? So agriculture is "undesirable," yes, because it means a life of struggle. But do young people stigmatize agriculture as "backward"? I think that depends on the region. In Himachal Pradesh, for example, the apple crop has made farmers relatively wealthy. Apples are a newish crop, first introduced by an American in 1916, so in a way they represent agriculture moving forward. Plus the wealth apples bring results in less dissatisfaction with the agricultural profession. Meanwhile, my coworker Shatabdi, who is from West Bengal, says that in her state, agriculture is "out of fashion" among the youth because of the struggle associated with it. She thinks there is a stigma against these traditional professions in regions where crops have been failing, but that no such stigma exists in areas with successful farming businesses, such as in Punjab. Really, it's a stigma against poverty more than against agriculture.
But what about the concerned villages in Nalagarh? These villages, which straddle the Himachal Pradesh-Punjab cultural and geographical divide, have not seen as much agricultural success as their neighbors on either side of the divide, due to lack of water for irrigation (remember from my previous post, the quarry has pretty much dried up the river). Thus it is likely the youth do indeed have a stigma against pursuing agrarian professions--maybe animal husbandry could become a more viable option than working in the quarry, but these young people have never witnessed that.
Speaking of small farmers, check out Digital Green. My friend Indrani has won a number of big awards for her fantastic work in both this organization and with her research at Microsoft Research and for her PhD at IIT Bombay. Her work focuses on empowering farmers, many of whom are illiterate or low-literate, through text-free cell phone applications, some of which could cut out the cheating middlemen mentioned above. If she sees this blog post, I'm sure she'll criticize it for having a very Western perspective (which, obviously, it does. I am Western, after all!). Perhaps I should ask for her opinion on all of this, because she has significantly more experience in development than I do, has a much better grasp on Indian attitudes than me (she is Indian, after all!), and would be sure to have better insight.
*Migrant labor within India is a whole other can of worms I'm too lazy to open right now, but it certainly warrants further discussion.
**Personally, I believe that values are maintained by individuals and families, so place, urban or rural, has little to do with how people stay true to their traditional values or not. Sure there are outside influences, but those exist in both urban and rural areas, and it's up to the individual how to incorporate these influences (or not) into their value system. However, it's probably true that outside influences are less strong in rural areas, so perhaps that is why many Indians believe villages are the support beams of Indian society.
***While I'm pimping out Indrani, I might as well pimp out Jhanvi some more too. Check out her films (a different link than above). Jhanvi is an aspiring filmmaker who can beautifully depict any story, from fashion to education, from Stanford to South Asia (she also taught some of her tricks to young filmmakers in Bhutan). She's even on IMDB!! You should also know that Jhanvi specifically asked me not to link to her stuff. That's how humble she is. Jhanvi, I know I just deeply embarrassed you, but I do so because I love you and think everyone should see your great films. So stop blushing.
I just returned from a field visit to two villages in Nalagarh Tehsil, Himachal Pradesh. Nalagarh is an industrial area and looks like that section of the Jersey Turnpike with all the smokestacks and polluted air and general nastiness. This was my first visit to industrial India (as opposed to rural and urban India, though I guess this is still technically rural). While Nalagarh's situation is probably not nearly as bad as the steel plants in Jharkhand or the mines in Orissa, it wasn't pretty.
One village we visited, Baglehar, is home to a "stone-crushing" operation. Turns out this means a quarry. The other village, Melheni, does not host any industrial projects, but its residents participate in the "stone crushing." Basically, villagers go to the quarry, cut out large rocks from the earth (I didn't catch what type of rock), fill up tractor-pulled truck beds with these rocks (I didn't actually see any crushed stone), and deliver these rocks to cement companies, who I suppose are the real stone crushers. The main road in the area is clogged with tractor traffic going to and from the quarry.
This quarry has caused a number of problems in Baglehar, Melheni, and surrounding villages. The quarry appears to sit on a riverbed, and the river has all but dried up. What little water does remain is heavily polluted and unusable for drinking water or even irrigation. Therefore these villages have no water, which is, obviously, a tremendous problem. I was shocked to see the toilets at Melheni's primary school were locked. Apparently they have no water to flush the toilets, so they cannot use them--better to lock them so people don't try to. Instead, children must practice open defecation and urination. Melheni gets water delivered by large tanker trucks every few months, and this limited water supply has led to many conflicts among villagers. While Baglehar utilizes ground water, it is not enough (not to mention far from clean), and when tankers come some women must wait for 3 hours or more to collect their share of water.
In addition to the water problems, the workers are exposed to all sorts of harmful chemicals and will probably suffer from (and possibly die young of) some avoidable respiratory disease, like at any quarry or mine. Plus much of the quarry activity is illegal and run by a cement cartel that exploits the workers. All sorts of health and human rights issues. The cement cartel, like all cartels in India, wields its power through big politicians, and this corruption means stopping the cartel is next to impossible, unless India can successfully eradicate corruption from its political and bureaucratic systems--a very, very difficult task in this country.
One coworker was particularly distraught over the situation. "We need to protest!" he proclaimed. "We need to stop these illegal, harmful operations!" Well, it's just not that simple. This quarry has been successful in providing much-needed income that the villagers have thus far been unable to earn otherwise, as evidenced by the relative wealth in Baglehar (this relative wealth incited another coworker to comment, "Why are we even here? Look at these houses! This village is wealthy and does not need our help!") If one were to protest and shut down the quarry, who would really lose? The villagers. The corporations would simply move the operation elsewhere and still make their money (and harm other environments and people), while these villagers would lose their jobs. But I don't think the villagers would support a protest in the first place, and if they don't support it, then the protest could not be successful.
The upset coworker went around asking villagers if they would leave the quarry if provided with additional buffaloes so that they could sell more milk. After all, they only make Rs 150 per day at the quarry, and they could certainly make more than that selling dairy products--plus they wouldn't have to suffer the health costs. Their answer? No. And I do not find this surprising at all. Why?
They don't understand the health costs. Sure, it may seem fairly obvious that if you're being exposed to harmful chemicals that you will have to seek expensive medical treatment. But (a) they don't know about the effects of the pollutants and (b) many will not seek medical attention anyway. (This is a big problem in the cookstove world. We say "hey all this smoke is killing your lungs" and they respond "well, everyone has a cough.")
They don't want to go back to agriculture and animal husbandry. Yes, breaking rocks and loading them onto a tractor is very labor intensive. But so is taking care of buffaloes. You need to feed them, bathe them, clean up their excrement, milk them, take them to a veterinarian when they fall ill. And caring for animals could cost more than going to the quarry--for example, you need to buy fodder (there are no forests in the area, and while the fields provide some fodder after harvesting, that is only once or twice a year, and it is not enough). Plus agriculture and animal husbandry can be unpredictable, whereas the quarry provides a stable source of income.
So how could you convince villagers to leave the quarry? Devise an alternative livelihood opportunity that provides them with a stable income greater than Rs 150/day. And that is quite difficult--new ventures come with a great deal of uncertainty.
To me, this problem is similar to the global oil problem, or the deforestation problem in Madagascar. You can only stop these environment-degrading activities if you cut the demand. As long as there is demand for cement--and as India continues to develop, pave more roads, and construct more buildings, and upgrade its infrastructure, this demand will not be declining any time soon--there will be quarries and the associated environmental and social damage.
My laptop died. I tried to borrow one of IIRD's 7 laptops, but none of them work either. So now I have no computer and thus no Internet at home. So no more blog posts for a while (even though I've been working on one particular post for a while). Sorry!
1. A week or so ago, two opposing troops of monkeys staged an epic battle utilizing my terrace as their boxing ring. After hearing an unusal amount of squealing (a little bit is normal), I looked out my window to see six monkeys fighting to the death. The result of the war? A sleepless night (so much squealing!) and a new carpet on my terrace--a carpet of feces. Unclear if these feces were flung as ammunition, or if the monkeys just had to poop as the battle raged on for hours (at some point, you just can't hold it in anymore). And guess who has to clean up their mess? Ugh, damn monkeys, clean up your own filth! I am not your maid!
2. I finally got my water back today, after a week with no water. I had to buy bottled water for everything, including bathing (I would boil water so as not to freeze, then add some cold water so as not to burn) (by the way, boiling enough water for a shower takes quite a long time). Naturally, this resulted in, well, not bathing (2 boiled-bottled water "showers" in 1 week. I'm so sorry for my stench). So why did I have no water? One word: monkeys. Apparently the monkeys had messed with the pipes feeding water into my apartment. These pipes were broken and leaking, so no water reached my faucets. (And my landlord had been away in his village for the week and only returned late last night, so no one could call the plumber until today.) It's like the monkeys want my life to be as stinky as possible. First they precipitate shit on my terrace so it's covering it like a blanket of brown snow, and then they cut off my water supply so I can't properly bathe. Thanks a lot, monkey assholes.
...or should I say, monkey terrorists:
Translation: "MONKEY TERRORISTS." And an explanation about how you shouldn't feed them, because that will only encourage them to terrorize you and all you love even more so. (ok, I think the literal translation is actually "monkey terror," but a friend explained to me that "terrorist" is what the sign means.) This sign is posted in colonial Shimla but should probably be placed at intervals of every 5 feet all over the greater Shimla area.
Today was the last day of work for a coworker, Tarachand. I think he found another job somewhere else, so he's leaving after a year and a half here. To thank him for his service and contributions, our organization threw a farewell party for him.
I had assumed this would be like TERI parties. There would be food and drinks laid out on a desk or table, and we'd all stand around in small groups schmoozing. You know, like a normal office party.
I was wrong. So, so wrong.
Everyone walked into the conference room (which is where I work because it's the warmest room in this freezing building) and sat down around the table. And everyone was completely silent. They didn't talk to me or each other. Not even a hello or namaste. This is strange, I thought. It's like they're coming to an execution, not a farewell party. Then the director and his wife walked in, and everybody stood up. Well, this is oddly formal for a party. Is this a meeting now? Or are we paying respects to the executioners? The director gave some brief farewell speech that lasted no more than 20 seconds. Everyone continued to sit in silence. You could taste the tension. Finally Bhim, the office cook, brought down some chai and pakoras (check my glossary if you don't know what this is), which taste significantly better than tension.
But the tension did not disappear. After 6 minutes of complete silence--no, I'm not exaggerating, I checked my watch--the ridiculousness of the situation hit me (a party of endless awkward silence sitting around a conference table?! qlwkasjdoarslkcs!!) and it took every fiber of my being to control myself from bursting into a giggle fit. I took my tea cup, though it was now empty, up to my face in an attempt to hide my toothy about-to-laugh grin. I had trouble breathing, it was so difficult to control.
Shreshtha, who was sitting next to me, noticed my suffering and passed me the plate of pakoras, just so that I would have to move the cup away from my face. I glanced at him and shook my head, keeping the cup in front of my mouth. "Kuch lena [take some]," he whispered, his voice dripping in sweetness. Switching into English, he continued menacingly, "You know you want to." It was a cruel joke. If I put down the cup and reached for pakoras, I would lose all control and crack into obnoxious cackling! And that would be beyond embarrassing in this room of deathly silence! Luckily Harsh saved me and broke the silence by posing a question to Tarachand about his experience at our organization and what his next step in life would be. Once Tarachand started talking, the awkwardness decreased slightly and I could regain composure. Sort of.
As soon as the "party" ended (by the way, it lasted all of 15 painful, painful minutes) and everyone left, I finally let the laughter pour out of me. I'm fairly certain my coworkers in the next room heard my chortling.
This story was probably neither entertaining nor funny to you. BUT THE AWKWARDNESS WAS SO INCREDIBLE. A new feat of awkwardness has been achieved today, and I think we should all be proud of ourselves.
One of my favorite foods in the whole wide world (perhaps second only to Maggi) is cheese. Unfortunately for me, finding cheese in Shimla is no easy task. There is no glorious heaven filled with angels and rainbows and sunshine and fluffy-white-clouds-that-somehow-can-hold-the-weight-of-happily-dancing-people-despite-being-composed-of-suspended-water-droplets-and/or-ice-crystals like The Cheese Ball in Delhi.
One Sunday back in October I spent seven hours looking for cheese. I wish I was exaggerating, but my watch, which as far as I know never lies, told me my hunt lasted from 11am to 6pm. I scoured Sanjauli, Dhalli, Chhotta Shimla, New Shimla, regular Shimla. All the Shimlas. But I found nothing. Not a single slice of edible non-paneer cheese (I did find plenty of slices of processed cheese, but those have the consistency and taste of plastic--actually, they taste worse than plastic--and frankly don't count as edible). Luckily, however, one shopkeeper informed me of a small grocery store (probably the only grocery store in the entire Shimla area) that carries Western goods but is closed on Sundays. So I went on Monday and voila! cheese! :)
Today I schlepped all the way to regular Shimla to this grocery store solely to buy cheddar cheese. (It legit takes an hour to get there from my apartment.) To my dismay, they were completely sold out of cheddar cheese. Don't these people realize how much I struggled to get there? (If they don't realize, I'll tell them: 15-minute walk, followed by a 20-minute wait for a bus, followed by a 20-minute bus ride, followed by a 10-minute walk. See, that's more than an hour!) After I undertook such an arduous journey, how could they not provide me with life-sustaining cheddar cheese? However, my spirits were quickly lifted when I found what would be my long-lost treasure chest of Aztec gold had I been a pirate of the Caribbean: a shelf fully stocked with the new Maggi flavors. I proceeded to buy 8 packs of Tricky Tomato and 6 packs of Thrillin' Curry.
Check the Glossary tab above. If you read a term in a blog post and think "huh, what the heck does that mean?" then click on the glossary. I will keep adding words and phrases.
Also, I am painfully aware of my complete abandonment of the Photo(s) of the Day page. I will start regularly updating it again. But no, not daily, sorry. I have clearly proven myself totally incapable of that.
Oh yeah, and I need to update my post tags. Blah blah blah this blog needs a lot of work. I'm trying to get on it. Key word: trying.
UPDATE:I just added 2 pictures to Photo(s) of the Day, so you can officially start looking at that page again. Yay!
I find that sometimes I have to explain terms in my blog posts, and sometimes I explain them in multiple posts because I'm not sure what the reader has or has not seen yet. It's kind of annoying for me (and probably for the readers who know these terms), so here's a glossary instead! I will continue to add to this list of words and phrases.
Angrez- "English" in Hindi (adj or noun as in a person from England; not the language). what Himachalis often mistaken me for. probably short for angrezi
Angrezi - "English" (noun as in the name of the language, or as an adj)
Autorickshaw, or auto - 3-wheeled vehicle with obnoxious drivers who try to overcharge you and my favorite form of transportation. unfortunately nonexistent in Shimla.
Bhangra - Punjabi music and dance
Cemetery - my neighorhood within Sanjauli. yup, I live in a place for dead people.
Chai - Hindi word for "tea," but also a specific type of tea with milk, sugar, and often spices like cardamom.
General shop - Indian version of a convenience store, and where I do my non-vegetables grocery shopping. Always pretty small and owned by a local person, almost never part of a chain.
Gompa - Himalayan Buddhist monastery (I almost typed Tibetan Buddhist, but technically these people are Indian not Tibetan. But the same type of Buddhism. Vajrayana, I guess. You know what I mean. ...maybe.)
Gora - fair-skinned/white (adj, male) or fair-skinned/white person (noun, male)
Gori- fair-skinned/white (adj, female) or fair-skinned/white person (noun, female); what I am called
Gurudwara - Sikh temple, usually white with onion-shaped domes
Hanuman - Hindu monkey god. Features in the Hindu epic Ramayana as the general of the monkey army that goes to Lanka to help Rama defeat Ravana and save Sita.
Himachal Pradesh - the state I currently live in. It is in the Himalayas in North India and entirely mountainous.
Himachali - of or pertaining to Himachal Pradesh (adj); a person from Himachal Pradesh (noun)
Jakhoo Temple - Shimla's temple dedicated to Hanuman, populated by legions of evil monkeys who steal glasses off faces and babies out of mothers' arms
Jangpura - my beloved Delhi neighborhood that I miss dearly here in Sanjauli
Lhakhang - the temple building of a Buddhist gompa/monastery. literally, "house of god"
Maggi - instant noodles that are my primary source of sustenance
The Mall - Shimla's upscale dining and shopping promenade, closed to vehicular traffic, and crowded with Bengali and Delhiite tourists Mandir - Hindu temple
Masjid - Muslim mosque
Pakora - a popular snack of vegetables or paneer deep fried in gram (chickpea) batter. also called bhajji.
Paneer - Indian soft cheese that does not melt when cooked
The Ridge - runs roughly parallel to the Mall, also populated by Bengali and Delhiite tourists, has some British colonial buildings and a decent view of the valley and towards the Himalayan peaks
Sanjauli - my hometown in Himachal Pradesh, about a 20-30 minute bus ride from Shimla proper
Shanan - the village in which my office is located, about 25 minutes from Sanjauli
Shimla - the capital of Himachal Pradesh and the erstwhile summer capital of the British Raj. Bengali and Delhiite tourists flock here.
Wait, let's back up a sec. What is Maggi? Maggi is basically ramen (instant noodles) for the Indian tastebuds. The basic Maggi is "masala" flavored. Obviously, as a person who is super lazy and can't cook, I eat Maggi with greater frequency than I should. Maggi was an integral part of my diet in Delhi, and it still is in Shimla. Yeah, I'm that ramen-eating grad student, but without the grad school.
traditional Masala Maggi: my source of sustenance.
And what is a "Me & Meri Maggi" story? Basically Me & Meri Maggi is Maggi's 25th anniversary ad campaign. Maggi eaters send in their personal Maggi stories ("meri" = "my" in Hindi), and the best stories get "published" on the backs of packs, made into commercials, or featured on the Maggi website. It is best explained by this video:
Now for my Me & Meri Maggi story:
Recently (as in a few months ago), Maggi came out with new flavors. Somehow some of these new flavors managed to be better--significantly better, in my opinion--than the original Masala flavor. I didn't know such a feat was possible, but I can't get enough of Tricky Tomato or Thrillin' Curry.
new Maggi flavors. om nom nom.
Unfortunately, neither can the rest of Sanjauli. I can never find Tricky Tomato or Thrillin' Curry. The general shops (as they are called; basically, little convenience stores) (Sanjauli doesn't have grocery stores) carry only a limited supply of the new flavors, and they are almost always sold out. Except of the Romantic Capsica flavor. Because honestly, who really wants capsicum-flavored instant noodles? And who thinks of capsicum as "romantic"? That was a poor choice, Maggi.
More times than I'd like to admit I visited every single general shop in Sanjauli in search of Tricky Tomato or Thrillin' Curry. And most of those times, I came up empty-handed and had to buy regular Masala Maggi. One time I got so frustrated with the search I even called my mom to whine. "I can't find Tricky Tomato Maggi! And I visited 20 shops already!" "Why don't you just buy a different flavor?" "Becaaaaauuuse I want Tricky Tomaaatoooooo! Waaaaah!" This is how I waste money on long-distance phone calls: calling from India to the States to complain about the unavailability of instant noodle flavors.
(By the way, a few minutes ago I talked to my mom on the phone and told her about this blog post I'm currently writing, and she claimed to have zero recollection of this conversation. I swear I'm not crazy, it really happened. She probably doesn't remember because at the time she was bored of my trivial noodle dilemma and zoning out.)
One time I found a general shop that actually had numerous Tricky Tomato packs (usually, since there is such high demand and such low supply, shops only have 1 or 2 left, if they have any at all, which they most often don't). I shamelessly bought every single one, so that I could hoard for the future. I have returned to this same shop multiple times in hopes of restocking my kitchen, but alas they have been sold out of both Tricky Tomato and Thrillin' Curry every single time.
So, Maggi makers: fix your distribution! Send more Tricky Tomato and Thrillin' Curry to Sanjauli!! I promise my demand can single-handedly consume your entire supply. For the entire town. Pinky promise.
I hope this tale of desperation ends up on the back of a Maggi pack one day.
(PS: "2-minute" noodles is a lie, especially here at altitude. It takes well over 2 minutes for my water to even boil! I'd say making Maggi takes me 8 minutes. And even in Delhi, which does not have the slow-cooking-at-altitude problem, it took me 5 minutes. I'm fairly certain making Maggi in 2 minutes is not possible. Maggi, I know you know I'll eat you anyway, but I don't appreciate false advertising. Please stop lying to me!)
(PPS: I'm aware that this blog post could come across as an ad for Maggi. I promise they are not paying me to write this. It's just that Maggi is such an important part of my life in India I thought I should share this with you all. ...I realize how pathetic I sound.)
(PPPS: This is my life: Maggi and monkeys. If you ever had the idea that my life in India was full of glamor and adventure, you thought wrong. My life is full of instant noodles and simian shit.)
(PPPPS: When I first wrote this post, I spelled everything the British way without even realizing it, e.g. flavour, glamour. I've been in India too long.)
I'm back from Cambodia and Thailand. It was awesome, as you can see:
Angkor Wat, Cambodia
a tree growing out of--and devouring--a temple Ta Prohm, Angkor Thom, Cambodia
Dr. Fish massage--the fish are eating the dead skin off my feet. and it tickles. Siem Reap, Cambodia
another tree swallowing a temple Ta Som, Cambodia
Cambodia's answer to India's autorickshaws and Thailand's tuk-tuks: the remork-moto. Yes, that's a motorcycle with a carriage attached to the back. road between Siem Reap and Beng Mealea, Cambodia
one of Angkor's temples was left as found, without cleanup or restoration, and you can still climb all over the place Indiana Jones-style. here, I conquered a pile of fallen stones, some with carvings. Beng Mealea, Cambodia
Vishnu between my legs is probably offensive. But fallen carvings and vines inside a temple! And vines you can sit on! Beng Mealea, Cambodia
Did I even take pictures in Thailand? Yes, but apparently none with me in them.
Now that that's out of the way, let's get to the real issue of the day (of every day, really):
Monkeys.
Remember when I bitched that the monkeys are multiplying? It's not my imagination. My neighbors are all commenting on how many monkeys there are--more than they ever remember, and some have lived in Sanjauli for 20 years. And they are all quite surprised by this. Apparently, Himachal Pradesh attempted to sterilize Sanjauli's monkeys. Key word: attempted. Fail. The monkeys and their impregnation abilities are clearly out of control.
And I'm here to tell you why. Or at least to tell you my neighbors' explanation.
Shimla recently completed constructing the largest Hanuman idol in the world, appropriately at Jakhoo Temple. According to my Hindu neighbors, the larger the Hanuman, the larger his monkey army must be. Thus, with the new huge Hanuman in town, Shimla's monkey army must grow. As a result Hanuman ensures that his troops are impervious to any population control efforts. (My Hindu neighbors claim that, as Hanuman is Shimla's protector deity, these simian soldiers are actually defending the town, but I have to disagree.)
I am 100% serious. Big Hanuman idol --> monkey population explosion. That is the only logical explanation anyone can think of here. ...and I might just believe them.
Siddharth seduces T by telling her she smells tasty. He even calls her "Tasty T" several times.
