Mumbai: Day 23
I was all ready to write "Day 22" and everything. Tempus fliegt.
Here is a rundown of my life since Day 18. I routinely get stopped by men on the street who ask me where I'm from and whether I like India before disappearing into the omnipresent crowd. This happened last week, but instead of disappearing, my inquisitor seized the opportunity to tell me that his friend was accepted at CalTech and Michigan, and which of those are better engineering schools? And they are all engineering students, structural engineering, and did I know what kind of GRE scores were needed for structural engineering programs? And what's the average salary of a structural engineer in the United States? And is there prejudice against Indians in the United States? And is it true that there is still prejudice against women and African-Americans in the United States? Is Barack Obama going to be the first black president? What about Martin Luther King? When I left him at the Sahakari Bhandar (approx. 1 mile from where we first met), we were talking about the two-party system.
OH MY GOD THERE IS A LIZARD IN THE INTERNET CAFE
Friday is snack day in the afternoon session. Kajal-didi brought something called dhotlas (sp?) which are bright yellow sponge-cake type cubes flavored with mustard seed (I think). Weird, but good. And today she brought a mystery snack for the parents' meeting that was a deep-fried dough ball filled with some kind of "ground pulse" (her words). It was totally delicious and spicy. I ate 3. And this weekend was such a good food weekend! On Saturday I returned to the fabric market and ate at the magical unlimited-thali restaurant again. Thanks, Rajdhani, even though there was a cockroach on the table. On Saturday night I had my first Kingfisher Strong. On Sunday I had brunch at Indigo Deli, where I had excellent eggs florentine (and 110 rupee coffee).
After brunch yesterday, I got a pedicure. It was definitely the first time a man has painted my toenails. Then, on the way back, birds shat on me and my friend within a span of five minutes. Then I had an argument with a girl who wanted me to buy her a banana. There was no banana guy around (people sell bananas on the street, but not at noon on Sundays, I guess) so she asked for some chips from the telephone/xerox stand in front of the hostel. But she really wanted the tomato chips, which cost twice as much as the normal chips because they are Spanish-themed. I insisted on buying her normal chips. She was a little peeved. I felt weird about it, still do. When you are offering to buy someone food, do you have to buy them whatever they want? Even if they are seven years old? I went upstairs and watched V for Vendetta on HBO. Does this reflect badly on me? Discuss.
Monsoon: 4 HBW: eva
Labels: chips, eggs, mithai, xerox
Mumbai: Day 18
Whoa, have I really been here 18 days? That's crazy.
Last night the monsoon returned as I was on my way home from (you guessed it) the ice cream shop (one scoop of dark chocolate, one scoop of kulfi, which can only be described as sweet cream that's gone a little off; it's delicious). I got completely drenched and walked through a puddle. Unfortunately I was wearing my white choridaar, and puddles really do nothing for white pants. Today I wore black jeans. It was raining so hard this morning that I went without my a.m. walk and took a cab to work instead. Then I was bummed because Akshata arrived late and Pratidnya didi sent her back home. In the morning session we're working on parts of the body. In the afternoon session, it's photosynthesis.
I'm working my way through Siddhartha in German (eine indische Dichtung) and it's not as hard as I expected it to be. Plus today while I was browsing in the bookstore I looked up some key phrases in their German dictionary. Opfer=sacrifice. Purchases? One (1) copy of the Economist: 200 Rs. Serious journalism: Px-less. The bookstore has a cafe inside it, which is great, because it's the only place I've found here that has decent coffee. There is a Starbucks-esque chain called Barista, but it's just not cutting it; they put sweetener in their iced Americanos. No go.
I hear that people like to know about the food here, so before I have to run to dinner: the bananas here are tiny, like half of American bananas (yeah, I know there's no such thing as an American banana); my favorite dessert is warm milk with cardamom (I think) and vermicelli noodles in it, called falooda; my favorite drink is lime juice with soda water and cumin/garam masala, called, what else, masala soda.
In other news, I bought a train ticket to Agra AND made a hotel reservation, so that means I actually will see the Taj Mahal. While on my way into the train station an old man pinched my butt, so I hit him (discreetly, of course) with my umbrella.
Monsoon: 2 HBW: 4 (because yeah, I ruined some pants, but if I hadn't had that umbrella, I would not have been able to retaliate against the pervy old man!)
Labels: kulfi, monsoon, perverts, umbrella
Mumbai: Day 16
I've used a substantial chunk of my Internet cafe time here getting caught up on my food blogs, and if there's one thing I want to say, it's that you people better be taking advantage of the huge variety of pizza recipes hitting the web right now.
I would also like to note that I discovered a new form of complete protein, khichdi, which is amazing. Yesterday I walked up Marine Drive to Chowpatty Beach and went to Swati Snacks, a restaurant that serves Gujarati and Maharashtrian snack-ish food. This khichdi stuff is like a porridge of dal mixed with rice. It tasted like it had tomatoes in it, and was served with some yogurt (here called curd, which is a little unappetizing) with pickle in it. Needless to say I will be returning and attempting to figure out the secret of this khichdi, because I'm open to all sorts of variations on rice and beans.
I also had something called a "panki," which is a rice pancake steamed in banana leaves. When it arrives you have to peel it off the leaf and tear it into pieces with your right hand. Then you scoop up the mint chutney with the pieces. My panki had mint in the batter and was completely delicious. This is maybe a less practical dish to replicate at home.
Finally, a note on pickle. Pickles are served with every meal. My favorite is the hot mango pickle, which I thought was lime until someone informed me otherwise. It's covered in red chili and is salty, spicy and sour all at once. It's also not a pickle in the sense of being brined; it's more like a relish.
P.S. I eat ice cream every day. Yesterday I had a double scoop of mango ice cream with fresh mango pieces on top. Today I had a plum sorbet. Only the kitchen knows what tomorrow will bring.
Monsoon:2 HBW: at least 3, I would think
Labels: dal, glucose, panki, pickle, pizza
Mumbai: Day 14
Here I am again, at the secret internet cafe down the stinky hallway on a side street. What a haunt. Today I went back to the mega-bazaar that is Crawford (I mean, Mahatma Phule) Market and surroundings. One of the really weird things about this market area is the presence of men who want to "guide" you around, who when you decline, insist they don't want money and then produce the government-issued pewter badges that label them "coolies." I won't pretend to understand, but once you get into the maze of little streets in back of Crawford Market, they disappear.
I went with two of the women I met at the hostel, and one of them pointed out as we entered the fabric market that if they hadn't been with me I would have been "eaten alive." This is true, if ''eaten alive" means "forced to buy umpteen beautiful silk saris, madam, silk saris very cheap, only 250 rupees," etc. I bought about a bajillion metres of cotton fabric. Then we wandered up to Kalbadevi Road, one side of which is lined with aluminum shops, the other with steel. I bought some stainless steel prep bowls. Old habits die hard.
Then we were hungry so we went to a restaurant where they serve unlimited Gujarati thalis. This merits a separate paragraph. They placed steel plates about 16" in diameter in front of us, then six or seven small bowls for dal, vegetables, etc went on the plates. (Etc. is code for ''I don't really know what we were eating.'') There were two men whose jobs it was to keep the bowls full, one man to give us pickles, one man to bring us the big pitcher of hot water to wash our hands, one man to show us desserts, and the roti man. The roti man was our favorite. He was clearly mocking us. He swung by the table approx. every two seconds to give us more bread. This all cost 160 rupees--4 dollars--and was delicious.
To me, the fact that there are 16 million people in this city is most evident when I'm in a place of business that is ludicrously overstaffed.
Then we went to the train station and I was going to try to buy a ticket to Agra but couldn't muster the energy (ticket buying here is really complicated). So we took a cab back and I lay in a stupor on my bed for a while. Then I took some of my fabric to the Smart & Hollywood High Class Ladies & Gents Tailor to get skirts made.
I'm beginning to wish that it would rain again. The paper says that if it doesn't rain soon there will be "water cuts"! Already sometimes when I try to shower in the middle of the day, nothing comes out, though that might be due to the construction on the second floor of the hostel. I don't ask. Today I saw two sparrows in the hallway. Nevertheless the lack of rain is good in that I still haven't figured out a proper rain-footwear situation, so we'll call it a draw.
Monsoon: 2 HBW: 1
Labels: bread, mahatma, monsoon, tailor, ugly shoes
Mumbai: Day 10
Okay, so it's been a while since my last update, but I've been trying to find a cheaper place to use the netz. Done and done! Observation: India is very protective of its technology. If you aren't Indian, you have to produce photocopies of your passport to get a cell phone or to use this internet cafe that I'm in right now. I didn't have a photocopy on me (seriously, why would I?) but I finagled my way in despite this.
Since my last update, I have visited the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya, fmrly known as the Prince of Wales Museum; read all of
Atonement and
Unaccustomed Earth; visited the jewelry bazaar and the fabric market; eaten 6 puris in one sitting;
[okay, the dude next to me is talking baby talk to his girlfriend over webcam and has a freakishly high-pitched voice. he just kissed the computer screen.]
had two banana milkshakes; gone to Chowpatty Beach and walked on Marine Drive; and so much more! Actually, not really that much more.
Here are some awesome name changes that I really like.
Victoria Terminus->Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus
Regal Circle->SP Mukherjee Chowk
Flora Fountain->Hutatma Chowk
Churchgate St->Veer Nariman Road
Marine Drive->Netaji Subhash Marg
Essentially, everything here has two names, and it's really difficult to tell which one to use, which makes taxi-riding confusing. Also confusing is the meterage on cabs; because the meters are out of date, the drivers use a conversion chart, except when they are trying to rip you off, which is +/- 50% of the time.
[the man on the other side of me is looking at his telugumatrimony.com profile.]
About the kids? I already have favorites, which I feel a little guilty about. In the morning session I like Akshata and Nakshatra, the tiniest, baddest girls in the class. Today Akshata refused to sing "head shoulders knees and toes" so Pratidnya-didi pulled her off the mat and made her sit in the corner and sort paper shreds by color. I felt bad for her. Every time Akshata is about to do something bad she looks at me and grins. Then she usually hits someone. Nakshatra is the class tomboy.
[webcam dude to girlfriend: "Man, you look so glorious, man."]
She seems to be trying not to be bad, but is inexorably drawn to badness.
In the afternoon session I like Mahesh and Samir. Mahesh is the class smarty-pants. He has a shaved head and knows how to spell everything, but he's a little show-offy. Samir studies in an Urdu-medium school and so he's always writing things backwards. He is the cutest. Today I dictated all the days of the week and months of the year to him and made him promise to study at home. I think he's mad at me. Yesterday one of the girl students took her bindi off and stuck it on my forehead when I was helping her with the math classwork. Quid pro quo.
It didn't rain yesterday or the day before.
Monsoon: 2 HBW: 1
Mumbai: Day 5
So, let's talk about the monsoon. The monsoon happens every year. It rains every day for more than two months, but somehow it never gets cooler. Even though the monsoon happens every year, the municipal government is always taken aback when it actually arrives. They never do any of the things they're supposed to do, like clean out the street drains. Then the streets fill with water, the trains stop working, people get malaria and leptospirosis and dengue fever, and the U.S. consulate issues
travel advisories telling people to be careful and not fall into open manholes. Basically, it's a watery hell.
Questions:
How do people stay clean during the monsoon? I walked to and from work today, and the backs of my pant legs are completely mud-spattered. All the Indian women I see look completely pristine. How is this possible?
Why do people continue to wear open sandals even when the entire city is covered in smelly, sewage-y puddles?
Why do Mumbaikars think that the monsoon is a good time to drink hot chocolate and eat corn on the cob?
There are more questions where these came from.
Monsoon: 2 HBW: 0
Mumbai: Day 3
So today was my first day working in the Akanksha centers, and it's no use expending energy trying to verbalize how cute these children are, because I'm just not articulate enough. Instead I will just say that I'm working 5 days a week for the next 6 weeks. My morning assignment (9-11:30) is by the main train station here (I've not yet set foot on the train, I'm intimidated, but the horror stories about crossing the street were just a little off the mark, another story for another day, so maybe I'll brave the train this weekend) and the kids there are between 5 and 7. They are mostly girls, and they're starting their second year, so they really don't know much English. I feel only slightly crippled by not knowing Hindi because these kids speak Marathi anyway, and I would never have been able to pick that up in Texas. Anyway, it's an immersion program, so they're not supposed to speak Marathi in class. And they are very good about it.
This center is in some kind of shrine at the entrance of what I gather is a public housing complex (it's called "B.M.C. Colony," and B.M.C. stands for Bombay Municipal Corporation, but I haven't explored the area yet). I know it's a shrine because you have to take your shoes off outside it. Also because there's a brass figure of the Buddha and lots of paintings of the same man, adorned with garlands. And since, you know, it's raining buckets, and my fugly waterproof shoes don't go with my spiffy new salwar, I wore my converse. And then I had to leave them outside in the rain. Now I understand why people wear rubber flipflops at all times, despite the yards-long puddles. Goodbye, converse. I hate to see you go.
My afternoon assignment (3:30-5) is right around the corner from my hostel, at a boys' school, and these kids are slightly older and have slightly larger vocabularies. It's also a larger group--there are about forty of them--though equally cute. But there are also two teachers for this group, and it's split according to age and language level, so all in all I get to work with kids 5-10 from two different areas of South Mumbai and at very different levels of English and math capability. I'm super excited about spending time with so many adorable children.
Monsoon: 1 HBW: 0 Converse: -1
Mumbai: Day 1
"Heavy rains lash Mumbai for second day", TOI.
I still don't have a raincoat, but I'm so glad I bought those fugly walking shoes before I left, because the puddles here are not to be believed. I got caught in a cloudburst yesterday and by the time I got back to the hostel (all of two blocks away), the paper bag containing my new clothes had disintegrated in my hands. I could have taken shelter like everyone else, but the rain felt good after having been in the woefully unairconditioned Fabindia store. Mom, Fabindia is not at all like Macy's. It is kind of like the Gap, if the Gap had only trad-ish-ional Indian clothes and home furnishings. And no air conditioning. I have no words to communicate how oppressive this heat really is in a store with no fan. Fans are the only thing that make anything bearable. I felt like I was going to die.
The monsoon got to Mumbai on Friday night, and the Sunday paper was all about the city's inadequate storm response systems (or lack thereof). Also, of course, about Bollywood. I watched a really silly Bollywood film on the endless plane ride. It was called "Welcome." I recommend it.
Monsoon: 0 HBW: 0
Labels: bollywood, fabindia, rain, ugly shoes
preparing for homesickness
First there was
this, then
this, then I realized I was going to miss the season finale of Top Chef (I'm rooting for Stephanie, obviously). Then there was the conversation Mommy and I had in the kitchen tonight.
HBW: I saw a man running with his keys behind his neck, like this [demonstrates]. And I was like, "Dude, isn't that uncomfortable?" But he didn't answer.
Mom: Wait, did you actually say that?
HBW: No.
Mom: Well, today I asked an old man what time it was and he didn't hear me.
