Boy do things change. I went to my teacher's class this morning. Only three years ago i would not have missed one of his classes if I was anywhere within a 20 mile radius. Now, he has been in Rishikesh for a full month and today was the first time I got up at 5 to make it to his 6am class. Boy times change.
He didn't disappoint. Me and 50 other eager beavers sat and soaked up his kundalini class today, with a chakra focus. He doesn't always teach kundalini, but sometimes yes he does. So it was a LOT of chanting and breathing. Which was great. Think I loosened up some stuff.
The older the get, the more my feeling is that yoga is healthy science. All the mythology and mumbo jumbo associated perhaps serves a purpose for some. But when it comes down to it, it was a bunch of guys with lots of time on their hands and a LOT of curiousity about how the body systems work, energy, physical and otherwise. So really, all those trippy exercises you do: closing your right nostril and inhaling through your left, engaging mula bhanda and pulling energy up from the base of the body to the crown, tucking your chin to your check to create an energy lock and THEN folding forward into janushirsasana (i apologize deeply to you non-yogis out there to whom this mumbo jumbo for sure, please then just ignore) .... is merely just play, merely to create the desired affect of fine tuning up the body. Yes, i can feel it, i can feel it in places you would never DREAM of feeling that. Not in my hamstrings, not in my low back, not even in my lungs (although i CAN feel it in ALL those areas) what i notice, peculiarily is that this exercises is directly affecting this tweak i've had in my thoracic back. It is opening it up and nourishing it with fresh oxygenated blood and getting the flow back in the of energy and removing the blockages. I can FEEL this happening, this wonderful opening. So really it is just a science.
I am not sure if yogic techniques will bring "enlightenment" per se. They will bring altered states, for sure, increased sensitivity and sense of lightness, definately. But that unshakable state of constant pure joy of living? hmm, i'm not totally convinced. But it is sure a great way to take care of yourself.
Have a great day everyone!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
more kitchen adventures...
I am sure that Ritu must be getting tired of having a non-Hindi speaker as her kitchen assistant. On the other hand, who could turn down a full time dishwasher? When there IS no actual electric dishwasher, a human one comes in MIGHTY useful. So maybe she is not so tired of me after all. Hee hee.
Adventures in the kitchen continue. This morning (before my shower, my yoga, AND my breakfast, but NOT before my chai) we cooked suji halva, which is a sweet dessert made from semolina, kind of like a pudding, and a whole shwackload of puri, which are like deep fried chapattis. I must have stood in front of that stove for the better part of an hour roasting the semolina in ghee, stirring constantly, and then melting the sugar, one small granule at a time. Ya, about 45 minutes i’d say. But i love halva, so i’m sure it will be worth it.
Then, after washing the dishes, i was put in charge of deep frying the puri while Ritu’s mom made them and rolled them out for me. After that was done, i accompanied Ritu on her rounds in the neighbourhood. We went house to house (4 houses) to give and get blessings from the children. We took the Prasad, the halva and puri, among other things and distributed it all. I was still in my pajamas. Aaah, the adventure and surprises of India never end.
Adventures in the kitchen continue. This morning (before my shower, my yoga, AND my breakfast, but NOT before my chai) we cooked suji halva, which is a sweet dessert made from semolina, kind of like a pudding, and a whole shwackload of puri, which are like deep fried chapattis. I must have stood in front of that stove for the better part of an hour roasting the semolina in ghee, stirring constantly, and then melting the sugar, one small granule at a time. Ya, about 45 minutes i’d say. But i love halva, so i’m sure it will be worth it.
Then, after washing the dishes, i was put in charge of deep frying the puri while Ritu’s mom made them and rolled them out for me. After that was done, i accompanied Ritu on her rounds in the neighbourhood. We went house to house (4 houses) to give and get blessings from the children. We took the Prasad, the halva and puri, among other things and distributed it all. I was still in my pajamas. Aaah, the adventure and surprises of India never end.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Sewing?
Domestic goddesses look out! I just sewed a button on a child’s jeans! It’s not that i DON’T know how to do these things, i know how, i have just chosen not to for the past 38 years. That being said, I am having fun. Its hard work but i am having fun. It’s been 5 days I think since I’ve been “in charge” around here. My stint as Indian housewife, head chef and bottle washer, fort holder-downer is almost at an end. It’s been a lot of fun, very satisfying and i learned a lot. Not planning to do it for the rest of my life, mind you, but it’s a nice change of pace to be of service in this way. Its a nice change from what i normally do.
Bathing and braiding
Have you ever bathed a child before? Well, I’m sure most of you have. Shockingly, in my 38 years, it is something i have never done before.
I have never been a babysitter. I never did that as a job when i was a teenager. Maybe once, but the kid was already clean.
I am not a “kid” person. Never have been. Never gravitated towards them. Not the person who, when a baby comes in the room, runs to hold them. No, not me. I hang in the back and offer to make dinner. Haha.
Today I bathed my first child, and it was a revelation. What a primal experience, right up there with building a fire, swimming in the ocean or making love. It is something your ancestors have been doing for generations and nothing about it changes. Nothing.
At first when presented with the prospect of having to clean a child, i was daunted for sure. Why me? HAHAHA. Well, because no one else is home and she is too young to do it all herself and well... she’s dirty. Haha. Ya. So i can step up to the plate. Its just a little girl, how hard can it be.
She already knows the drill, she is 6 after all (or 8, i can’t remember. Not much emphasis is put on age around here. Nakul can’t remember if he is 27 or 28. Kind of echoes my own situation where for the first 30 years of my life my mom was constantly confirming with me: “were you born in ‘73 or ‘74?” Anyhow, i digress, as usual), so it was easy as pie. I just didn’t expect that strange sensation of... what to call it? Calm? Peace? I don’t know, it had a slightly different quality than that, I cannot name.
She gets out her clothes while i go next door with a bucket to get hot water that has already been boiled by Nakul’s cousin’s wife. It is almost exactly 10 steps from my kitchen door to their door, our houses are about 5 feet apart, separated by a low wall. (Power is out so the hot water geyser’s don’t work of course when that happens). Thank you Rupa for the hot water.
The water is scalding so she pours only a few precious cups into the bottom of my bucket. As I walk back over to our house and down the hall to the bathroom carrying this bucket I marvel at how little water is taken or used to have a bath around here. I believe most Indians can and DO bath in half a gallon pail full (excuse my non-metric measurements here) of water on a regular basis. Wow. Impressive. For me at least I have to pour one full bucket full to get satisfyingly clean. Another point worth noting here is that... I am becoming a convert to the bucket-style Indian bath. This involves pouring warm water over your body using a large cup with a handle. This can be done either sitting, standing or squatting, your preference. It just feels good. Sensual even. And it is environmentally more friendly in that it uses much less water than a shower. Of course sometimes i am too lazy to mix a nice bucket of water the right temperature and just have a shower instead. But slowly slowly I am noticing its not quite as satisfying as the bucket method.
Ok.
So, back to Manu...
She finds her clothes herself. I have our bucket of scalding hot water in the bathroom now and I am adding cold to get it to a nice temperature for her. She comes in in her underwear (again, Indian style, bathe in your underwear and you get the two-in-one effect of giving your underwear a pre-soak cleaning before washing them). I gently begin to pour warm water over her head. We leave the door open to the outside because the sun is pouring in beautifully onto her tiny body and as anyone knows, it is much preferable to bathe with the sun kissing your skin, than it is to bathe in the shade.
First we shampoo. That is fun. We both join forces to scrub her hair so four hands are at the task. She does her own feet, hands, arms, legs. She is very thorough. I help her with the hard to reach places like her back and assist with the pouring on of water. But basically she is self sufficient. The hair part was the only tricky part.
So then i scrub her dry. She dresses. And to show off this fresh and clean girl, we finish with two French braids in her hair. Done. One clean child ready to go. So cool.
I have never been a babysitter. I never did that as a job when i was a teenager. Maybe once, but the kid was already clean.
I am not a “kid” person. Never have been. Never gravitated towards them. Not the person who, when a baby comes in the room, runs to hold them. No, not me. I hang in the back and offer to make dinner. Haha.
Today I bathed my first child, and it was a revelation. What a primal experience, right up there with building a fire, swimming in the ocean or making love. It is something your ancestors have been doing for generations and nothing about it changes. Nothing.
At first when presented with the prospect of having to clean a child, i was daunted for sure. Why me? HAHAHA. Well, because no one else is home and she is too young to do it all herself and well... she’s dirty. Haha. Ya. So i can step up to the plate. Its just a little girl, how hard can it be.
She already knows the drill, she is 6 after all (or 8, i can’t remember. Not much emphasis is put on age around here. Nakul can’t remember if he is 27 or 28. Kind of echoes my own situation where for the first 30 years of my life my mom was constantly confirming with me: “were you born in ‘73 or ‘74?” Anyhow, i digress, as usual), so it was easy as pie. I just didn’t expect that strange sensation of... what to call it? Calm? Peace? I don’t know, it had a slightly different quality than that, I cannot name.
She gets out her clothes while i go next door with a bucket to get hot water that has already been boiled by Nakul’s cousin’s wife. It is almost exactly 10 steps from my kitchen door to their door, our houses are about 5 feet apart, separated by a low wall. (Power is out so the hot water geyser’s don’t work of course when that happens). Thank you Rupa for the hot water.
The water is scalding so she pours only a few precious cups into the bottom of my bucket. As I walk back over to our house and down the hall to the bathroom carrying this bucket I marvel at how little water is taken or used to have a bath around here. I believe most Indians can and DO bath in half a gallon pail full (excuse my non-metric measurements here) of water on a regular basis. Wow. Impressive. For me at least I have to pour one full bucket full to get satisfyingly clean. Another point worth noting here is that... I am becoming a convert to the bucket-style Indian bath. This involves pouring warm water over your body using a large cup with a handle. This can be done either sitting, standing or squatting, your preference. It just feels good. Sensual even. And it is environmentally more friendly in that it uses much less water than a shower. Of course sometimes i am too lazy to mix a nice bucket of water the right temperature and just have a shower instead. But slowly slowly I am noticing its not quite as satisfying as the bucket method.
Ok.
So, back to Manu...
She finds her clothes herself. I have our bucket of scalding hot water in the bathroom now and I am adding cold to get it to a nice temperature for her. She comes in in her underwear (again, Indian style, bathe in your underwear and you get the two-in-one effect of giving your underwear a pre-soak cleaning before washing them). I gently begin to pour warm water over her head. We leave the door open to the outside because the sun is pouring in beautifully onto her tiny body and as anyone knows, it is much preferable to bathe with the sun kissing your skin, than it is to bathe in the shade.
First we shampoo. That is fun. We both join forces to scrub her hair so four hands are at the task. She does her own feet, hands, arms, legs. She is very thorough. I help her with the hard to reach places like her back and assist with the pouring on of water. But basically she is self sufficient. The hair part was the only tricky part.
So then i scrub her dry. She dresses. And to show off this fresh and clean girl, we finish with two French braids in her hair. Done. One clean child ready to go. So cool.
Bathing and braiding
Have you ever bathed a child before? Well, I’m sure most of you have. Shockingly, in my 38 years, it is something i have never done before.
I have never been a babysitter. I never did that as a job when i was a teenager. Maybe once, but the kid was already clean.
I am not a “kid” person. Never have been. Never gravitated towards them. Not the person who, when a baby comes in the room, runs to hold them. No, not me. I hang in the back and offer to make dinner. Haha.
Today I bathed my first child, and it was a revelation. What a primal experience, right up there with building a fire, swimming in the ocean or making love. It is something your ancestors have been doing for generations and nothing about it changes. Nothing.
At first when presented with the prospect of having to clean a child, i was daunted for sure. Why me? HAHAHA. Well, because no one else is home and she is too young to do it all herself and well... she’s dirty. Haha. Ya. So i can step up to the plate. Its just a little girl, how hard can it be.
She already knows the drill, she is 6 after all (or 8, i can’t remember. Not much emphasis is put on age around here. Nakul can’t remember if he is 27 or 28. Kind of echoes my own situation where for the first 30 years of my life my mom was constantly confirming with me: “were you born in ‘73 or ‘74?” Anyhow, i digress, as usual), so it was easy as pie. I just didn’t expect that strange sensation of... what to call it? Calm? Peace? I don’t know, it had a slightly different quality than that, I cannot name.
She gets out her clothes while i go next door with a bucket to get hot water that has already been boiled by Nakul’s cousin’s wife. It is almost exactly 10 steps from my kitchen door to their door, our houses are about 5 feet apart, separated by a low wall. (Power is out so the hot water geyser’s don’t work of course when that happens). Thank you Rupa for the hot water.
The water is scalding so she pours only a few precious cups into the bottom of my bucket. As I walk back over to our house and down the hall to the bathroom carrying this bucket I marvel at how little water is taken or used to have a bath around here. I believe most Indians can and DO bath in half a gallon pail full (excuse my non-metric measurements here) of water on a regular basis. Wow. Impressive. For me at least I have to pour one full bucket full to get satisfyingly clean. Another point worth noting here is that... I am becoming a convert to the bucket-style Indian bath. This involves pouring warm water over your body using a large cup with a handle. This can be done either sitting, standing or squatting, your preference. It just feels good. Sensual even. And it is environmentally more friendly in that it uses much less water than a shower. Of course sometimes i am too lazy to mix a nice bucket of water the right temperature and just have a shower instead. But slowly slowly I am noticing its not quite as satisfying as the bucket method.
Ok.
So, back to Manu...
She finds her clothes herself. I have our bucket of scalding hot water in the bathroom now and I am adding cold to get it to a nice temperature for her. She comes in in her underwear (again, Indian style, bathe in your underwear and you get the two-in-one effect of giving your underwear a pre-soak cleaning before washing them). I gently begin to pour warm water over her head. We leave the door open to the outside because the sun is pouring in beautifully onto her tiny body and as anyone knows, it is much preferable to bathe with the sun kissing your skin, than it is to bathe in the shade.
First we shampoo. That is fun. We both join forces to scrub her hair so four hands are at the task. She does her own feet, hands, arms, legs. She is very thorough. I help her with the hard to reach places like her back and assist with the pouring on of water. But basically she is self sufficient. The hair part was the only tricky part.
So then i scrub her dry. She dresses. And to show off this fresh and clean girl, we finish with two French braids in her hair. Done. One clean child ready to go. So cool.
I have never been a babysitter. I never did that as a job when i was a teenager. Maybe once, but the kid was already clean.
I am not a “kid” person. Never have been. Never gravitated towards them. Not the person who, when a baby comes in the room, runs to hold them. No, not me. I hang in the back and offer to make dinner. Haha.
Today I bathed my first child, and it was a revelation. What a primal experience, right up there with building a fire, swimming in the ocean or making love. It is something your ancestors have been doing for generations and nothing about it changes. Nothing.
At first when presented with the prospect of having to clean a child, i was daunted for sure. Why me? HAHAHA. Well, because no one else is home and she is too young to do it all herself and well... she’s dirty. Haha. Ya. So i can step up to the plate. Its just a little girl, how hard can it be.
She already knows the drill, she is 6 after all (or 8, i can’t remember. Not much emphasis is put on age around here. Nakul can’t remember if he is 27 or 28. Kind of echoes my own situation where for the first 30 years of my life my mom was constantly confirming with me: “were you born in ‘73 or ‘74?” Anyhow, i digress, as usual), so it was easy as pie. I just didn’t expect that strange sensation of... what to call it? Calm? Peace? I don’t know, it had a slightly different quality than that, I cannot name.
She gets out her clothes while i go next door with a bucket to get hot water that has already been boiled by Nakul’s cousin’s wife. It is almost exactly 10 steps from my kitchen door to their door, our houses are about 5 feet apart, separated by a low wall. (Power is out so the hot water geyser’s don’t work of course when that happens). Thank you Rupa for the hot water.
The water is scalding so she pours only a few precious cups into the bottom of my bucket. As I walk back over to our house and down the hall to the bathroom carrying this bucket I marvel at how little water is taken or used to have a bath around here. I believe most Indians can and DO bath in half a gallon pail full (excuse my non-metric measurements here) of water on a regular basis. Wow. Impressive. For me at least I have to pour one full bucket full to get satisfyingly clean. Another point worth noting here is that... I am becoming a convert to the bucket-style Indian bath. This involves pouring warm water over your body using a large cup with a handle. This can be done either sitting, standing or squatting, your preference. It just feels good. Sensual even. And it is environmentally more friendly in that it uses much less water than a shower. Of course sometimes i am too lazy to mix a nice bucket of water the right temperature and just have a shower instead. But slowly slowly I am noticing its not quite as satisfying as the bucket method.
Ok.
So, back to Manu...
She finds her clothes herself. I have our bucket of scalding hot water in the bathroom now and I am adding cold to get it to a nice temperature for her. She comes in in her underwear (again, Indian style, bathe in your underwear and you get the two-in-one effect of giving your underwear a pre-soak cleaning before washing them). I gently begin to pour warm water over her head. We leave the door open to the outside because the sun is pouring in beautifully onto her tiny body and as anyone knows, it is much preferable to bathe with the sun kissing your skin, than it is to bathe in the shade.
First we shampoo. That is fun. We both join forces to scrub her hair so four hands are at the task. She does her own feet, hands, arms, legs. She is very thorough. I help her with the hard to reach places like her back and assist with the pouring on of water. But basically she is self sufficient. The hair part was the only tricky part.
So then i scrub her dry. She dresses. And to show off this fresh and clean girl, we finish with two French braids in her hair. Done. One clean child ready to go. So cool.
Friday, February 24, 2012
a unusual sight
They’re exotic, they’re hard to find.... having a white Indian housewife is the ultimate status symbol. Of course, most Indian men in their right minds wouldn’t even consider taking it on. My guy must either be crazy or really in the mood for adventure and challenge at every turn. Indian wives know how to cook properly, they understand your language, your mannerisms, all the unspoken cultural things and they will be able to raise your children with good Indian values.
I love to see the look on people’s faces the last couple days when they come to the gate and see me in my apron, a little masala splashed on my sweater, sweet smells of curry wafting from the kitchen as i poke my head out. There are no other adults on the premises, perhaps just a child or two to whom I am doling out cookies or telling to do their homework. Too funny. People just freeze when they see me, for a moment, unsure how to proceed, what language to speak. You can see their minds searching for an explanation, a box to fit this scenario into. Everything about me is Indian, my clothes... everything, except my language, my hair, skin and eye colour. It is probably even more unusual because even though our house is the newest in the neighbourhood, our neighbourhood is the oldest and most exclusively Indian in all of Laxman Jhula. It’s the last place you would expect to see a white woman in the kitchen really.
I think I mentioned before, this blog an Australian in Mumbai is writing called “Diary of a White Indian Housewife”. But i am laughing. She’s got NOTHING on me. White Indian housewife indeed. She is living in the big cosmopolitan city of Mumbai, where she can probably get things like... brie and well... cosmopolitans. Ha. Yes, she’s married to an Indian man, but they have no kids, she has a writing career, they don’t live with his family, they have their own house where she spends alone all day doing whatever she likes, writing, going for walks, no one relying on her for anything. Her husband is a dj. The only thing “housewifey” about her is that she has a house and she’s a wife, a cosmo-drinking, brie-eating wife. Out here I can’t even get a beer and a wedge of cheddar! Hahahahha. White Indian housewife indeed. (For another 3 days). Hee hee.
I love to see the look on people’s faces the last couple days when they come to the gate and see me in my apron, a little masala splashed on my sweater, sweet smells of curry wafting from the kitchen as i poke my head out. There are no other adults on the premises, perhaps just a child or two to whom I am doling out cookies or telling to do their homework. Too funny. People just freeze when they see me, for a moment, unsure how to proceed, what language to speak. You can see their minds searching for an explanation, a box to fit this scenario into. Everything about me is Indian, my clothes... everything, except my language, my hair, skin and eye colour. It is probably even more unusual because even though our house is the newest in the neighbourhood, our neighbourhood is the oldest and most exclusively Indian in all of Laxman Jhula. It’s the last place you would expect to see a white woman in the kitchen really.
I think I mentioned before, this blog an Australian in Mumbai is writing called “Diary of a White Indian Housewife”. But i am laughing. She’s got NOTHING on me. White Indian housewife indeed. She is living in the big cosmopolitan city of Mumbai, where she can probably get things like... brie and well... cosmopolitans. Ha. Yes, she’s married to an Indian man, but they have no kids, she has a writing career, they don’t live with his family, they have their own house where she spends alone all day doing whatever she likes, writing, going for walks, no one relying on her for anything. Her husband is a dj. The only thing “housewifey” about her is that she has a house and she’s a wife, a cosmo-drinking, brie-eating wife. Out here I can’t even get a beer and a wedge of cheddar! Hahahahha. White Indian housewife indeed. (For another 3 days). Hee hee.
victory
Well, i’m back. Just a small triumph, one of life’s little miracles and surprises happened today. I was feeling a bit apprehensive and even a little scared of whether i could step up to the plate and fill the HUGE shoes of Ritu while she is gone. Could I take care of the kids? Could I cook food that they and the boys will eat? I was excited to try but a little trepidatious. I am cooking Indian food in an Indian kitchen for true blue Indians. Believe me, we are not in Kansas anymore and this is not grilled cheese and macaroni territory. Everything is not like it is in Canada, and even though I have been everyday watching and helping Ritu, there are so many subtle things that happen that... I didn’t even realize. How do i tell the coriander from the garam masala? How much tomato paste is right? What is the appropriate ratio of ginger to garlic to green chilli? And where the heck is the mango powder?? Oops and “watch out for the monkey Angie!” yells Nakul’s cousin’s wife from next door and sure enough, as i poke my head out the kitchen, there is a big nasty monkey peering around at me and seriously considering joining me in the kitchen for something to eat. I try to scare him off but he calls my bluff and fakes a lunge at me coupled with his best mean face, teeth bared. BAH! It works! He wins. I retreat, closing the kitchen door behind me. Rupa, her mom and I laugh but she advises me to keep my door closed if i don’t want company and she shakes an umbrella at the pest.
The kids are in school. I have 2-3 hours to prepare some vegetable, dahl and rice. Really I only need to make rice and dahl, i am told, and veg if you want, forget chapatti, just make rice. But I am not having it. I am going to make everything as close to how Ritu does it as I can. Why not? Its a challenge. I have already made chapatti three times in the last day and they turned out totally edible, so yay.
Now, i consider myself a fairly accomplished home chef back in Canada. I make good food. People always rave. I am confident there. Sushi, Mexican, Thai, Italian, Greek, you know, i figure i’m good. But here its another ball game, its cricket as compared to baseball. How do you get that chapatti to balloon up over the open flame? How do you get it to cook all the way through AND stay nice and soft AND come out nice and thin?
I think i must have put on a good show for aunti-ji as she sat in the sun about 20 feet away next door with a clear view inside my kitchen.
Nakul came home for lunch and we ate together. The food was good. I dare say as good as Ritu’s. This is really the first time I have had free range in the kitchen, all by myself, to cook Indian food and i realized that... there are some basic different things than cooking Indian at home in Canada. Our pots are different, the oil is different and i can’t find these skinny green chilis in Canada like the ones they have here. Who knows what other differences there are. Different flour... the list is probably long. So that is why my Indian food in Canada tastes so different from here.
But I DID learn one thing today while cooking. I am too scared to burn things. When cooking Indian food, it is important to get a good roast on the spices and on the tarka and on the vegetables. You have to let them brown really nicely to get the flavours to fully develop and i am always terrified of this. I am always scared to let it burn too much, but as it turns out... this is where the flavour comes from. Without that, the food can taste insipid, like something is missing, and no amount of adding ingredients can remedy this if you don’t give it a good roast in the pan.
But the true big triumph of the day that brought me such a great feeling of satisfaction was when the kids came home and i fed them. Manu, the little girl asked for seconds! Now listen. This is a girl who never eats. I mean, she is picky, and it’s hard to get her to eat. I have seen them bribe her with sugar to eat her dahl and rice. And here she was, not only was what i cooked good enough, she wanted seconds and i didn’t even have to bribe her! YAY! I did it!
The kids are in school. I have 2-3 hours to prepare some vegetable, dahl and rice. Really I only need to make rice and dahl, i am told, and veg if you want, forget chapatti, just make rice. But I am not having it. I am going to make everything as close to how Ritu does it as I can. Why not? Its a challenge. I have already made chapatti three times in the last day and they turned out totally edible, so yay.
Now, i consider myself a fairly accomplished home chef back in Canada. I make good food. People always rave. I am confident there. Sushi, Mexican, Thai, Italian, Greek, you know, i figure i’m good. But here its another ball game, its cricket as compared to baseball. How do you get that chapatti to balloon up over the open flame? How do you get it to cook all the way through AND stay nice and soft AND come out nice and thin?
I think i must have put on a good show for aunti-ji as she sat in the sun about 20 feet away next door with a clear view inside my kitchen.
Nakul came home for lunch and we ate together. The food was good. I dare say as good as Ritu’s. This is really the first time I have had free range in the kitchen, all by myself, to cook Indian food and i realized that... there are some basic different things than cooking Indian at home in Canada. Our pots are different, the oil is different and i can’t find these skinny green chilis in Canada like the ones they have here. Who knows what other differences there are. Different flour... the list is probably long. So that is why my Indian food in Canada tastes so different from here.
But I DID learn one thing today while cooking. I am too scared to burn things. When cooking Indian food, it is important to get a good roast on the spices and on the tarka and on the vegetables. You have to let them brown really nicely to get the flavours to fully develop and i am always terrified of this. I am always scared to let it burn too much, but as it turns out... this is where the flavour comes from. Without that, the food can taste insipid, like something is missing, and no amount of adding ingredients can remedy this if you don’t give it a good roast in the pan.
But the true big triumph of the day that brought me such a great feeling of satisfaction was when the kids came home and i fed them. Manu, the little girl asked for seconds! Now listen. This is a girl who never eats. I mean, she is picky, and it’s hard to get her to eat. I have seen them bribe her with sugar to eat her dahl and rice. And here she was, not only was what i cooked good enough, she wanted seconds and i didn’t even have to bribe her! YAY! I did it!
hiatus
Sorry about the brief hiatus. At least i got some pictures posted. From Goa and from Ukhimath.
The trip up into the Himalaya was really incredible. You would think mountains are mountains. I mean, I have one of the greatest mountain ranges, the Rockies, in my own backyard. That’s why i can’t understand why the Himalayas are so different. They are still mountains but they LOOK different, they FEEL different...
We stayed in a little government run tourist guest house that had some little cabins on a ridge looking out over a valley and onto some snowy peaks. It was a relaxing and peaceful place.
It was a 6 hour harrowing car ride to get there, but it sure was better than the bus and share jeep i took the first time i came on this road. Sheer crumbling drop offs on one side and crumbling cliffs straight up the other side, sometime with overhanging rock, often the road is reduced to barely one “lane” of traffic due to poor road conditions and landslides. The strange thing is that you get used to it. At first it is pure terror but after awhile of being tired of being terrified you get lulled into an uncanny sense of trust in your driver and putting your life in god’s hands.
We visited an important temple there that houses the temple of the important Hindu site at Kedarnath in the winter, because Kedarnath is snow bound and cannot be reached in the winter months. So they move the statue to Ukhimath to winter it there so that pilgrims can still visit all year round.
Then we hiked up about an hour and a half from the village to a sweet water lake. It was a gorgeous hike on an old cobblestone path up into the snow. Along the way we met an old man who was also hiking up. Turns out he is a relative of our taxi driver who called him up to tell him we were making the hike. The man owns a canteen or a dabba up at the top and was coming up to cook for us. We didn’t ask for this of course, but it is quite a remote location and all we had with us was chips and nuts and water, so it was nice to learn that we would have a full hot meal at the top. That’s India for ya. One man hikes 1.5hours up a mountain to feed 4 people. That is his work for the day. And all this happens without us pre-arranging anything. And of course who would refuse a home cooked meal of traditional Garhwali mountain food at the top of a long hike into the hills? Perfect.
When we finally reached the top we were rewarded with a most god-like view. Snow, yes, a sweet water lake, yes, and then a full panorama of snow-capped peaks in the background. Not a soul was there, except for our guy and us. We had the place to ourselves to explore and roam. So of course we had chai, and then began to look around. Walked around the perimeter of the lake, built a couple snow men, had a few snowball fights, did some sliding... you know... typical Canadian stuff.
Lunch was unbelievable. Rice, mountain raised local spinach and the local delicacy called Chosi Bhat, which is sort of like a form of daal bhat (Indian lentil soup) but made with some other mountain grown thing(s) and very very delicious. All cooked over a real wood burning clay stove. So, so tasty, probably made even more so by the high elevation and stunning remote setting. We spent the whole day there before finally walking back down.
Ya, so it was fun.
We are back now at home. The rest of the family has gone on a trip now, and we are basically home alone for 5 days. Nakul’s cousin is here but he works all day, and the kids are at school until 2 or so. So we are in charge. Well, I am in charge, because Nakul is running the family shop while his brother is out of town.
Hope everyone at home is healthy and happy. Miss you all. All my love.
The trip up into the Himalaya was really incredible. You would think mountains are mountains. I mean, I have one of the greatest mountain ranges, the Rockies, in my own backyard. That’s why i can’t understand why the Himalayas are so different. They are still mountains but they LOOK different, they FEEL different...
We stayed in a little government run tourist guest house that had some little cabins on a ridge looking out over a valley and onto some snowy peaks. It was a relaxing and peaceful place.
It was a 6 hour harrowing car ride to get there, but it sure was better than the bus and share jeep i took the first time i came on this road. Sheer crumbling drop offs on one side and crumbling cliffs straight up the other side, sometime with overhanging rock, often the road is reduced to barely one “lane” of traffic due to poor road conditions and landslides. The strange thing is that you get used to it. At first it is pure terror but after awhile of being tired of being terrified you get lulled into an uncanny sense of trust in your driver and putting your life in god’s hands.
We visited an important temple there that houses the temple of the important Hindu site at Kedarnath in the winter, because Kedarnath is snow bound and cannot be reached in the winter months. So they move the statue to Ukhimath to winter it there so that pilgrims can still visit all year round.
Then we hiked up about an hour and a half from the village to a sweet water lake. It was a gorgeous hike on an old cobblestone path up into the snow. Along the way we met an old man who was also hiking up. Turns out he is a relative of our taxi driver who called him up to tell him we were making the hike. The man owns a canteen or a dabba up at the top and was coming up to cook for us. We didn’t ask for this of course, but it is quite a remote location and all we had with us was chips and nuts and water, so it was nice to learn that we would have a full hot meal at the top. That’s India for ya. One man hikes 1.5hours up a mountain to feed 4 people. That is his work for the day. And all this happens without us pre-arranging anything. And of course who would refuse a home cooked meal of traditional Garhwali mountain food at the top of a long hike into the hills? Perfect.
When we finally reached the top we were rewarded with a most god-like view. Snow, yes, a sweet water lake, yes, and then a full panorama of snow-capped peaks in the background. Not a soul was there, except for our guy and us. We had the place to ourselves to explore and roam. So of course we had chai, and then began to look around. Walked around the perimeter of the lake, built a couple snow men, had a few snowball fights, did some sliding... you know... typical Canadian stuff.
Lunch was unbelievable. Rice, mountain raised local spinach and the local delicacy called Chosi Bhat, which is sort of like a form of daal bhat (Indian lentil soup) but made with some other mountain grown thing(s) and very very delicious. All cooked over a real wood burning clay stove. So, so tasty, probably made even more so by the high elevation and stunning remote setting. We spent the whole day there before finally walking back down.
Ya, so it was fun.
We are back now at home. The rest of the family has gone on a trip now, and we are basically home alone for 5 days. Nakul’s cousin is here but he works all day, and the kids are at school until 2 or so. So we are in charge. Well, I am in charge, because Nakul is running the family shop while his brother is out of town.
Hope everyone at home is healthy and happy. Miss you all. All my love.
Monday, February 13, 2012
4 airports and a sense of humour
I'm back in Rishikesh at Nakul's home, safe and sound. Yesterday was a whirlwind tour of India's airports: Goa, Mumbai, Delhi and Dehradun, our home airport: the "Jolly Grant" it is called. gotta love that eh!
it was a long day full of long lines and packing and unpacking my laptop from my carry on everytime i went through a security gate. From Goa to Mumbai, Mumbai to Delhi, Delhi to Jolly Grant, no one flight was longer than 2hrs. So it was a whole lot of loading, unloading, transferring, etc. etc. and YES, my bag DID make it back with me, somehow, miraculously.
It was all an interesting study of human nature in airports, in India. I love watching people and I got lots of that in yesterday. I watched a security official pour the contents of an entire 40oz of Crown Royal into the trash disposal (don't ask me why or what infraction prompted him to do so) probably the ban on carrying on any fluid container more than 125ml. HAHA. So sad though. Then i proceeded to watch said trash receptable leak the entire 40oz onto the airport floor. I think his act was more a showy display than a really well thought out plan.
There were too many incidents throughout the day to name here. Its late and i'd like to go to bed. Goa was nice. Got a tan, but its also nice to be back in northern india where i feel more at home. Nakul met me at the airport with a car and when we got back to the house and walked up to the door, Ritu, Gunnu and Manu all spilled out into the street and surrounded me with hugs. So much love, going both ways. I was so happy to see them all and so happy to be back. Nothing like a little hiatus to put everything in perspective. I was lonely in Goa. No obligations, no responsibilities, no one to live for but myself.
Oh and just a heads up, we are going a little ways up into the Himalayas for 5 or 6 days, so i will be off the grid, so to speak. But promise to come home after that and post some pictures, finally :D love you all!!!
it was a long day full of long lines and packing and unpacking my laptop from my carry on everytime i went through a security gate. From Goa to Mumbai, Mumbai to Delhi, Delhi to Jolly Grant, no one flight was longer than 2hrs. So it was a whole lot of loading, unloading, transferring, etc. etc. and YES, my bag DID make it back with me, somehow, miraculously.
It was all an interesting study of human nature in airports, in India. I love watching people and I got lots of that in yesterday. I watched a security official pour the contents of an entire 40oz of Crown Royal into the trash disposal (don't ask me why or what infraction prompted him to do so) probably the ban on carrying on any fluid container more than 125ml. HAHA. So sad though. Then i proceeded to watch said trash receptable leak the entire 40oz onto the airport floor. I think his act was more a showy display than a really well thought out plan.
There were too many incidents throughout the day to name here. Its late and i'd like to go to bed. Goa was nice. Got a tan, but its also nice to be back in northern india where i feel more at home. Nakul met me at the airport with a car and when we got back to the house and walked up to the door, Ritu, Gunnu and Manu all spilled out into the street and surrounded me with hugs. So much love, going both ways. I was so happy to see them all and so happy to be back. Nothing like a little hiatus to put everything in perspective. I was lonely in Goa. No obligations, no responsibilities, no one to live for but myself.
Oh and just a heads up, we are going a little ways up into the Himalayas for 5 or 6 days, so i will be off the grid, so to speak. But promise to come home after that and post some pictures, finally :D love you all!!!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
catamarans and coconuts
Perhaps i should clarify my last post. When the waiter said “everything is possible”, he was meaning yes, the kitchen is open and everything is open and you can have anything (everything) you want at this restaurant.
Tide is waaaaay out tonight. Way out.
Saw the same men turn out to pull that 20 foot sailboat in out of the surf this morning. Except it turns out it is a catamaran, i didn’t see that yesterday. But today they only had about 9 men instead of the 16 they had yesterday, and they couldn’t do it, they didn’t have enough man power to pull and push her in. So they anchored her to the shore while the tide continued out. That was this morning. Now, just a moment ago, I watched the whole performance again. This time they had TWELVE guys and a bunch of greased rolling sticks. They use these to place under the vessel so that it will roll easily across the beach. I guess unless you have 16 men, you need the help of greased poles. Anyhow. It is quite a performance to watch this mish mash of both westerners and foreigners, all men, convening to help this one guy get his boat safe above the high tide line before nightfall. Amazing human feats. And it’s cool to watch too, because they all get behind this boat, and once it starts to move, it seems to give the whole group a burst of morale and then they are all pushing and shoving as if their lives depend on it and the boat literally jumps to life and lurches forward. They get quite far with the momentum of 12 men and the help of greased poles before they have to reset the poles and do it all again. It’s amazing to watch and you can see the men feel quite powerful after accomplishing this task too. Makes me think about human potential, physical, mental and otherwise.
One more story: On my way to my meeting today I ran across a “road closure”. No, it wasn’t road construction, or an accident, no, nothing like that. There was one large palm frond laid across the road sideways to indicate a “road blockage” and several people on the other side onlooking. Then i see it. Coconuts. Many coconuts, falling out of the sky. There is a tree about... oh... i dunno, more than 100feet, perhaps 200feet, or at least 150 high, with someone in it, cutting down coconuts. They have shimmied up and are now sending coconuts down in rapid succession. Coconuts falling even a short distance have the ability to kill if you get hit on the head. Several people die every year in the state of Goa from getting hit on the head by a coconut. This goes on for several minutes and i am getting antsy because i don’t want to be late for the meeting. I start thinking of an alternative route. I see off the left side that i can sneak around and through a gate and shortcut over to the other side. I start making my way over there towards the wall and the gate when a woman stops me and starts yelling at me, she thinks i am going to walk right under the coconut thrower. In india i have learned not to make a ruckus if you can help it. I try to follow along, even if its just to make everyone happy. So i stop, to pacify her, because i fear if i continue she will continue to yell and might take chase and to be honest, i am already kind of afraid of her. So we are both stopped dead and standing there. Then it happens. One of the coconuts hits a high wire (or rather, a low wire) and i realize that both she and i are standing right under a power line about 5 feet above our heads. Well. We hear a ZAP and a sizzle and i see the line bounce in front of me and ... you never seen two people move faster in your LIFE! We hightailed it out of there. The ironic thing is if i had just snuck through and continued on my shortcut, i wouldn’t have been hanging out under this silly power line anyways. So we wait until he is finished and stand there and count my lucky stars, one, two... finally he shimmies down (barefoot of course) while his wife pops out and starts gathering up the fruit. Man. Crazy things that happen in India. Here we are, dropping coconuts on power lines.
Tide is waaaaay out tonight. Way out.
Saw the same men turn out to pull that 20 foot sailboat in out of the surf this morning. Except it turns out it is a catamaran, i didn’t see that yesterday. But today they only had about 9 men instead of the 16 they had yesterday, and they couldn’t do it, they didn’t have enough man power to pull and push her in. So they anchored her to the shore while the tide continued out. That was this morning. Now, just a moment ago, I watched the whole performance again. This time they had TWELVE guys and a bunch of greased rolling sticks. They use these to place under the vessel so that it will roll easily across the beach. I guess unless you have 16 men, you need the help of greased poles. Anyhow. It is quite a performance to watch this mish mash of both westerners and foreigners, all men, convening to help this one guy get his boat safe above the high tide line before nightfall. Amazing human feats. And it’s cool to watch too, because they all get behind this boat, and once it starts to move, it seems to give the whole group a burst of morale and then they are all pushing and shoving as if their lives depend on it and the boat literally jumps to life and lurches forward. They get quite far with the momentum of 12 men and the help of greased poles before they have to reset the poles and do it all again. It’s amazing to watch and you can see the men feel quite powerful after accomplishing this task too. Makes me think about human potential, physical, mental and otherwise.
One more story: On my way to my meeting today I ran across a “road closure”. No, it wasn’t road construction, or an accident, no, nothing like that. There was one large palm frond laid across the road sideways to indicate a “road blockage” and several people on the other side onlooking. Then i see it. Coconuts. Many coconuts, falling out of the sky. There is a tree about... oh... i dunno, more than 100feet, perhaps 200feet, or at least 150 high, with someone in it, cutting down coconuts. They have shimmied up and are now sending coconuts down in rapid succession. Coconuts falling even a short distance have the ability to kill if you get hit on the head. Several people die every year in the state of Goa from getting hit on the head by a coconut. This goes on for several minutes and i am getting antsy because i don’t want to be late for the meeting. I start thinking of an alternative route. I see off the left side that i can sneak around and through a gate and shortcut over to the other side. I start making my way over there towards the wall and the gate when a woman stops me and starts yelling at me, she thinks i am going to walk right under the coconut thrower. In india i have learned not to make a ruckus if you can help it. I try to follow along, even if its just to make everyone happy. So i stop, to pacify her, because i fear if i continue she will continue to yell and might take chase and to be honest, i am already kind of afraid of her. So we are both stopped dead and standing there. Then it happens. One of the coconuts hits a high wire (or rather, a low wire) and i realize that both she and i are standing right under a power line about 5 feet above our heads. Well. We hear a ZAP and a sizzle and i see the line bounce in front of me and ... you never seen two people move faster in your LIFE! We hightailed it out of there. The ironic thing is if i had just snuck through and continued on my shortcut, i wouldn’t have been hanging out under this silly power line anyways. So we wait until he is finished and stand there and count my lucky stars, one, two... finally he shimmies down (barefoot of course) while his wife pops out and starts gathering up the fruit. Man. Crazy things that happen in India. Here we are, dropping coconuts on power lines.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
full moon and deep thoughts
It’s windy here these days: full moon, dead-eels-on-the-beach weather. There were fireworks. Don’t know what the connection is. Just a bunch of random occurrences... strung together. Just like life.
WHY am i getting so philosophical here? I dunno, there just seems to be so little “rhyme or reason” to life. Very little cause and effect. Sometimes. And while i’m getting philosophical... why does it seem as i get older, life seems less magical. Why is that?
It’s the full moon. It draws me out to have dinner on the beach. Waves at my feet, moon overhead, sand ON the table and a candle as well.
The conversation goes something like this:
“Hello. Hello. Is the kitchen still open? Yes, have a seat. Thank you. What country you from? Canada. Everything is possible, everything is possible.”
Hey thanks, random Tibetan-looking restaurant guy. That is just what i needed to hear tonight. What a relief! (I don’t verbalize this of course, i keep it to myself, and no sarcasm by the way, i am NEVER sarcastic.)
To appreciate the sentiment "everything is possible" more completely, a little background is necessary. It is very, very, “kholaveri” common to hear the expression “anything is possible” (or the hindi version “sab kuch milega”) while travelling in India. Anything IS possible both metaphorically speaking and literally. An elephant could just... walk across your car or... you could pay someone a little extra to find and bring you some hard-to-procur item from somewhere, somehow, someone will know something. “Everything is possible” is a slightly more exciting version of the old standby. This is the first time i’ve heard it and i am glad to hear it tonight when the words fall like balm around my ears. SO philosophical this evening. Maybe i should just stick to sea eels and tide reports ;)
WHY am i getting so philosophical here? I dunno, there just seems to be so little “rhyme or reason” to life. Very little cause and effect. Sometimes. And while i’m getting philosophical... why does it seem as i get older, life seems less magical. Why is that?
It’s the full moon. It draws me out to have dinner on the beach. Waves at my feet, moon overhead, sand ON the table and a candle as well.
The conversation goes something like this:
“Hello. Hello. Is the kitchen still open? Yes, have a seat. Thank you. What country you from? Canada. Everything is possible, everything is possible.”
Hey thanks, random Tibetan-looking restaurant guy. That is just what i needed to hear tonight. What a relief! (I don’t verbalize this of course, i keep it to myself, and no sarcasm by the way, i am NEVER sarcastic.)
To appreciate the sentiment "everything is possible" more completely, a little background is necessary. It is very, very, “kholaveri” common to hear the expression “anything is possible” (or the hindi version “sab kuch milega”) while travelling in India. Anything IS possible both metaphorically speaking and literally. An elephant could just... walk across your car or... you could pay someone a little extra to find and bring you some hard-to-procur item from somewhere, somehow, someone will know something. “Everything is possible” is a slightly more exciting version of the old standby. This is the first time i’ve heard it and i am glad to hear it tonight when the words fall like balm around my ears. SO philosophical this evening. Maybe i should just stick to sea eels and tide reports ;)
What IS that?
Standing on my balcony this morning, taking in the scene, i spot something washed up on the tide line. Looks like a fish. I watch as passersby pass by and I observe that no one, NOT ONE, can go past this thing without stopping and getting a good look at it. For awhile i watch their reactions. Its the same with everyone, they see it from a distance, they do a double take, then they move closer, everytime, for a more detailed inspection. Some take pictures. Then usually, after their curiousity is satisfied, after a certain time, they turn away kind of in disgust. I watch this over and over. And i watch two separate fathers with young children who won't let their kids go near it. What is so damn interesting about a dead fish washed up in the tide? And creating this ... rather unusual reaction from everybody? Finally I can't stand it anymore, i throw on some pants, lock my door and stroll out there in my bare feet to check it out for myself.
What it is is ... a moray eel, one guy says a leprachaun eel, but i am unsure about eel varieties. It's dead, for sure. But the thing is that... it has the most spell-binding pattern all over it. Like... psychadelic giraffe skin or something. It is simultaneously gruesome and gorgeous, not unlike life can be at times, no? Its no wonder we are mesmerized.
What it is is ... a moray eel, one guy says a leprachaun eel, but i am unsure about eel varieties. It's dead, for sure. But the thing is that... it has the most spell-binding pattern all over it. Like... psychadelic giraffe skin or something. It is simultaneously gruesome and gorgeous, not unlike life can be at times, no? Its no wonder we are mesmerized.
Monday, February 6, 2012
high tides and life with the ocean
"Bogging" yes, not blogging, is amazing. Check your "page views" in stats and you have one person following you from italy, one from israel, sweden...and about 5 other equally obscure places i've never been to and never had friends from. Well, i should never say never. You NEVER say never. Anyhow, daily it is revealed to me what an insidious and viral thing the internet can be.
So, on with life in goa:
The ocean did NOT look inviting today. Tides are high, full moon must be imminent. No, she has that look to her like... the top layer, the surface, is pulling back out, moving over the bottom layer, a riptide, and you can see this phenomenon continueing waaaay out to sea. Not a friendly swimming situation. I am grateful for my time spent amongst the surfers at Mal Pais in Costa Rica; they taught me many things about the ocean that have probably saved my life: how to duck dive, how to recognize, avoid and swim out of a riptide. Funny, no one else is in the ocean today either as i can see from surveying off my balcony.
Being near the ocean.... always makes me feel about 6 degrees saner. Isn’t it amazing that both the oceans AND the cycles of women are greatly affected by the gravitational pull of something as celestial as the moon. Wow. When i think about all that, it really makes me say wow!
Say.... have you ever googled the effects of the moon on ocean tides? I sort of remembered this from high school but... it was really fascinating to reread it. How it all works. Also LOVE the pictures of the Bay of Fundy at high and low tides. Bay of Fundy of course being the place in the world with the most extreme difference between high and low tides. Wow again.
I LOVE watching the tides. The oceans are such a living breathing organism. I love to see the changes day to day, like the sea has a personality, a mood, much like a woman.
So, on with life in goa:
The ocean did NOT look inviting today. Tides are high, full moon must be imminent. No, she has that look to her like... the top layer, the surface, is pulling back out, moving over the bottom layer, a riptide, and you can see this phenomenon continueing waaaay out to sea. Not a friendly swimming situation. I am grateful for my time spent amongst the surfers at Mal Pais in Costa Rica; they taught me many things about the ocean that have probably saved my life: how to duck dive, how to recognize, avoid and swim out of a riptide. Funny, no one else is in the ocean today either as i can see from surveying off my balcony.
Being near the ocean.... always makes me feel about 6 degrees saner. Isn’t it amazing that both the oceans AND the cycles of women are greatly affected by the gravitational pull of something as celestial as the moon. Wow. When i think about all that, it really makes me say wow!
Say.... have you ever googled the effects of the moon on ocean tides? I sort of remembered this from high school but... it was really fascinating to reread it. How it all works. Also LOVE the pictures of the Bay of Fundy at high and low tides. Bay of Fundy of course being the place in the world with the most extreme difference between high and low tides. Wow again.
I LOVE watching the tides. The oceans are such a living breathing organism. I love to see the changes day to day, like the sea has a personality, a mood, much like a woman.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
There's more...
oh god there's more. He swims back. He gets the attention of a father and his small son of Indian decent and waves them to bring him his crutches. The father does this without faltering and the man leverages himself back up to standing. I am inspired and crying now. This man does what he CAN do and doesn't focus on what he CAN'T do, and by that... he can do a whole lot. Just like the rest of us.
Triumphs of the human spirit
Every day I watch a grey haired man on double crutches make his way out into the surf. His legs are shrivelled and atrofied from whichever disease has afflicted him. Once he reaches the water, he sits down. With his hands he scooches his way back into the sea, lifting his torso and setting himself down a few inches further. He repeatedly throws his cruches back into shallow water when they float back out to him until they get washed up permanently on the sand. I wonder if this well-skilled maneouver is something he can only do when the tide is coming in, rather than going out, otherwise his crutches might get washed out to sea. Abandoning and what looks like throwing his crutches away in disgust, he edges himself out, until the water frees him from gravity, and then i see him swim stronger and freer out to sea than ever. i cry. There he is now... a head bobbing in a glittering sun kissed ocean. Free as any fish or bird.
Friday, February 3, 2012
hmmm
Intercultural relationships require you to take VERY little for granted. I mean... everything is a discovery of sorts. Moment to moment.
Russian mafia at Goa
i think i just saw the Russian mafia order a bottle of "Old Monk" for breakfast. This not like "Old Spice", it will get you drunker.
Russian pop music and cooling off
My neighbours are great but i'm discovering i'm not a huge fan of Russian pop music.
There are two ways to come home each day from my meetings at Balanced View centre (www.balancedview.com): dodging scooters, motorbikes and other motorized vehicles honking loudly along shop-lined streets in the heat or rolling your pants up and splashing your feet in the cool water all the way home with soft ocean breezes blowing in your hair. Guess which route i take?
There are two ways to come home each day from my meetings at Balanced View centre (www.balancedview.com): dodging scooters, motorbikes and other motorized vehicles honking loudly along shop-lined streets in the heat or rolling your pants up and splashing your feet in the cool water all the way home with soft ocean breezes blowing in your hair. Guess which route i take?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
swimming
Ya, had to go for a swim. The heat would have it no other way. Amazes me how the ocean brings out the child. There is no feeling like it, her saltiness, the waves....
The salt water succeeds in cleaning out any residual allergens that may have been still lurking in my nasal and sinus passages.
There is something so sweet about walking out your front door barefoot, wearing only a sarong and a key tied to your bathing suit and walking into the sea; remembering my old trick to drop my sarong nearby a fellow sunbather who looks like she'll be there awhile so your items don't go "missing" while you are having a frolic in the sea.
The salt water succeeds in cleaning out any residual allergens that may have been still lurking in my nasal and sinus passages.
There is something so sweet about walking out your front door barefoot, wearing only a sarong and a key tied to your bathing suit and walking into the sea; remembering my old trick to drop my sarong nearby a fellow sunbather who looks like she'll be there awhile so your items don't go "missing" while you are having a frolic in the sea.
bye bye power
And one more power outage... JUST for good measure.
Bacha, I'm GLAD you like the picture your brother took of me with my tongue hanging out. If you don't love me THIS way, you will love me NO way :*
Bacha, I'm GLAD you like the picture your brother took of me with my tongue hanging out. If you don't love me THIS way, you will love me NO way :*
wi fi
The wi-fi MAY be free but it is slower than molasses in january (in Canada, NOT Goa ;) ) Also, i turn into a pumpking after around 9:30pm when the cafe closes downstairs. no more wi-fi. :)
culture quibbles, bikinis etc. in Goa
Reggae streaming as i take in the beach parade that goes on daily below my balcony, there are so many random and totally disassociated thoughts that are passing through my mind today. Let's see if I can share a few musings....
First of all... weather. Why does it seem so much hotter yesterday and today than my first two days here? Could it be that my bones and muscles were literally "de-frosting" during my first couple of days here? Well, not LITERALLY, because the temp never drops below zero in Rishikesh, but i could SWEAR that the last couple of days have been sweatier than usual. Mmm, yes, just checked the weather online and it IS 34 today, rather than 30-31 the first couple days i was here, so ya, its hot. There is zero percent chance of rain over the next ten days. The surfers are out even though the waves are closing out, unlike two days ago when there was a decent sized nicely formed right that a couple guys were riding.
Anyhow,
Where to begin?
My skin has sloughed off an outer layer due to being in the tropics, which is quite lovely. I love this. I feel like a snake or an iguana, shedding a new skin. And my new skin is soft and glowing. How confused it must be, going from minus twenty ice and snow to plus 5 cool and windy to now plus 34 and sweaty.
Goa is a trip, as usual.
Every time i see a mother begging with a baby i wonder “why her and not me???” some lucky twist of fate? I just won the lottery and happened to be born into the circumstances that i did in a rich country like Canada? It could have been me. Some might say “karma”, what do YOU say? All smells are equal? Rich/poor, hungry/well fed....
I still can’t get used to the male Indian “sightseers” in Goa, for whom it is a recreation to come to the beach and see all the “loose” foreigners flaunting themselves in their bikinis and some topless Europeans unable to grasp the concept of a conservative culture like India’s. I can see both sides. As the Indian tourists stare, the blonde Scandinavian is thinking “well, its not my problem if he is perverted and twisted. I am comfortable in my body and have nothing to be ashamed of, its his own fault”. While the Indian thinks “well, if she wants to show it all and has no shame, then i am going to look, its her own fault”.
To put this in perspective for the variety of audiences who might be reading this post.... to a conservative traditional Indian man in India, a woman in a bikini would be akin to a North American seeing a woman go topless on the beach in public, and akin to a European seeing a totally nude woman on the beach in Europe, or perhaps even a public sex act. The truth is that for many Indian men, the women they see every day have their legs and shoulders covered. The same way us North Americans would expect women to cover their breasts in public in Canada or the U.S. All of this is subjective, of course. No one can judge based on culture alone.
Still, this dance disgusts me, and i am not sure if i am more disgusted by the Indian male tourist going out of his way to leer at the flesh on display or the foreign female tourist, seemingly oblivious to the customs and norms of the country that SHE is visiting. It’s just an unsavoury situation all around caused by vastly differing outlooks and cultures.
I am reading two things these days: both fascinating.
One is http://www.whiteindianhousewife.com/about/
The other is a book called “the Hindi Bindi club” about second generation Indians living in the U.S. Both offer incredible insights into the cultural differences between India and abroad. My research continues.... I am completely fascinated by how each culture views eachother. I can see the wisdom and rational of BOTH sides, even though those ensconced in either side find it near to unfathomable to understand how the “other half” live. I think that that is what i find so fascinating about it. That it is all a matter of opinion, perspective, and upbringing. That means that anyone, almost regardless of colour or race, can be brought up in ANY culture and thus take on the belief system of said culture according to the ferocity that each society believes in their own system. So ... basically... nothing is fixed, as we sometimes come to believe that it is when we remain unexposed to different cultures, people and beliefs. When we ARE exposed to different cultures, people and beliefs we come to realize that... underneath it all, we are just human, no one way is “right” or “wrong”, we all want happiness, we all want love, we all want health and wellbeing for our families and prosperity.... it is basic to being human. My Jamaican Amazon sociology professor at Capilano College was right, right, right.
I realized today that i was incredibly STUPID not to bring Nakul with me on this trip. I don't know where my brain was at one that one. I don’t think i was thinking straight with all the allergies and cold symptoms i was experiencing ... i don’t think my brain was working. Anyhow, there is nothing i can do about it NOW but i look forward to seeing him again in ten days. We are planning a 5 day trip into the Himalayas if the roads are not closed due to heavy snow.
I miss my sweetheart. I can't help myself.
I'm still having one or two sneezing fits per day but the difference is that things are draining right out of me... I can feel my body shedding toxins thanks to the natural cleansing process of hot weather and sweating. My goal is to become so tired and fed up with hot weather and sweating that I will welcome the cool breezes of my home in Rishikesh once again.
First of all... weather. Why does it seem so much hotter yesterday and today than my first two days here? Could it be that my bones and muscles were literally "de-frosting" during my first couple of days here? Well, not LITERALLY, because the temp never drops below zero in Rishikesh, but i could SWEAR that the last couple of days have been sweatier than usual. Mmm, yes, just checked the weather online and it IS 34 today, rather than 30-31 the first couple days i was here, so ya, its hot. There is zero percent chance of rain over the next ten days. The surfers are out even though the waves are closing out, unlike two days ago when there was a decent sized nicely formed right that a couple guys were riding.
Anyhow,
Where to begin?
My skin has sloughed off an outer layer due to being in the tropics, which is quite lovely. I love this. I feel like a snake or an iguana, shedding a new skin. And my new skin is soft and glowing. How confused it must be, going from minus twenty ice and snow to plus 5 cool and windy to now plus 34 and sweaty.
Goa is a trip, as usual.
Every time i see a mother begging with a baby i wonder “why her and not me???” some lucky twist of fate? I just won the lottery and happened to be born into the circumstances that i did in a rich country like Canada? It could have been me. Some might say “karma”, what do YOU say? All smells are equal? Rich/poor, hungry/well fed....
I still can’t get used to the male Indian “sightseers” in Goa, for whom it is a recreation to come to the beach and see all the “loose” foreigners flaunting themselves in their bikinis and some topless Europeans unable to grasp the concept of a conservative culture like India’s. I can see both sides. As the Indian tourists stare, the blonde Scandinavian is thinking “well, its not my problem if he is perverted and twisted. I am comfortable in my body and have nothing to be ashamed of, its his own fault”. While the Indian thinks “well, if she wants to show it all and has no shame, then i am going to look, its her own fault”.
To put this in perspective for the variety of audiences who might be reading this post.... to a conservative traditional Indian man in India, a woman in a bikini would be akin to a North American seeing a woman go topless on the beach in public, and akin to a European seeing a totally nude woman on the beach in Europe, or perhaps even a public sex act. The truth is that for many Indian men, the women they see every day have their legs and shoulders covered. The same way us North Americans would expect women to cover their breasts in public in Canada or the U.S. All of this is subjective, of course. No one can judge based on culture alone.
Still, this dance disgusts me, and i am not sure if i am more disgusted by the Indian male tourist going out of his way to leer at the flesh on display or the foreign female tourist, seemingly oblivious to the customs and norms of the country that SHE is visiting. It’s just an unsavoury situation all around caused by vastly differing outlooks and cultures.
I am reading two things these days: both fascinating.
One is http://www.whiteindianhousewife.com/about/
The other is a book called “the Hindi Bindi club” about second generation Indians living in the U.S. Both offer incredible insights into the cultural differences between India and abroad. My research continues.... I am completely fascinated by how each culture views eachother. I can see the wisdom and rational of BOTH sides, even though those ensconced in either side find it near to unfathomable to understand how the “other half” live. I think that that is what i find so fascinating about it. That it is all a matter of opinion, perspective, and upbringing. That means that anyone, almost regardless of colour or race, can be brought up in ANY culture and thus take on the belief system of said culture according to the ferocity that each society believes in their own system. So ... basically... nothing is fixed, as we sometimes come to believe that it is when we remain unexposed to different cultures, people and beliefs. When we ARE exposed to different cultures, people and beliefs we come to realize that... underneath it all, we are just human, no one way is “right” or “wrong”, we all want happiness, we all want love, we all want health and wellbeing for our families and prosperity.... it is basic to being human. My Jamaican Amazon sociology professor at Capilano College was right, right, right.
I realized today that i was incredibly STUPID not to bring Nakul with me on this trip. I don't know where my brain was at one that one. I don’t think i was thinking straight with all the allergies and cold symptoms i was experiencing ... i don’t think my brain was working. Anyhow, there is nothing i can do about it NOW but i look forward to seeing him again in ten days. We are planning a 5 day trip into the Himalayas if the roads are not closed due to heavy snow.
I miss my sweetheart. I can't help myself.
I'm still having one or two sneezing fits per day but the difference is that things are draining right out of me... I can feel my body shedding toxins thanks to the natural cleansing process of hot weather and sweating. My goal is to become so tired and fed up with hot weather and sweating that I will welcome the cool breezes of my home in Rishikesh once again.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
weather's fine
So, tell me.... has my writing totally changed since I left Rishikesh and came to Goa? I'm just wondering. Not much to report. Weather's fine. Took a swim today, it was heaven. Something about swimming in the ocean makes me feel like I am about ten years old again. So sweet. The days are long. Was a lot warmer last night in my new digs, in fact, a LOT warmer, too warm. I guess a concrete building holds the heat through the night alot more than a thatched hut. Go figure.
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