Delicious Treats.

A lot of people ask me about the food I’ve been eating. And as I’ve probably said in past entries, I can’t complaint…I mean aside from too much oil, carbs and salt that is. But since I like Indian food and I have a resident mother cooking for me every lunch and dinner, it’s a pretty good situation. There are few things I don’t eat. Since Mrs M doesn’t eat or cook meat or eggs I never hesitate to try anything new. I have no fear of strange vegetables. But this outlook doesn’t necessarily hold true for Mrs. Moule’s dairy dishes—usually served in the form of sweets. During the first week she served me delicious rice pudding that really got me excited for the dessert to come. A few weeks later she handed over a bowl of what I thought was the same rice pudding and I exclaimed my excitement to my roommates. I didn’t understand their lack of enthusiasm for such a yummy treat…but I quickly came to find out. Although it looked and smelled like rice pudding, it was in fact a milky ‘pudding’ made with gee and what seem to be rice noodles. We have been given this gee and noodle pudding several times and each time I try it thinking I may like it, but never do. I just can’t warm up to the mixture of noodles, sweet warm milk, and the layer of oil that covers the top.

Today my roommates and I went to pick up our lunch and were met at the door by Mrs. M holding a dish of white squares we had never seen before. Every time Mrs. M gives us our food she lists off what it is. If it is common, like rice, dal, or cauliflower, we can understand, but anytime something new is introduced we have no idea what she is saying. Of course we all nod like we understand, but usually have no idea. Sometimes she makes us try it in front of her so she can see if we like it. We all agree this is not our favorite tactic b/c of course we have to pretend we like everything even if we don’t. My roommates have an especially hard time taste testing food Mrs. M gives them to see if it’s too spicy. This afternoon played out in a similar manner. Mrs. M came out of the house with a dish of white cubes. She was telling us the name, why it was special, and insisted on us all trying it on her front stoop. Of course we didn’t understand what it was, but I nodded in comprehension when I thought I understood she was telling me it was made from the milk of a baby cow—like veal, but in milk form. When she went inside to get her husband, who speaks a lot more English, I realized I clearly hadn’t understood b/c that would be impossible. When her husband came outside I came to find out I wasn’t completely off the mark. He explained this ‘special,’ expensive milk was the first milk of the cow after it gives birth and it has special properties. It took me a little while, but I realized walking back to the house that it was in fact sweetened colostrum curd. It didn’t taste bad, but I couldn’t bring myself to think about anything else than the fact that it was colostrum and all of the highly scientific things I have learned in my nutrition classes about human colostrum. As it turns out there is a bit of a colostrum frenzy around the campus today. My roommates returned from visiting their boss’s home this evening and informed me they were offered colostrum koa (a sweet dairy cookie-like treat). Apparently this milk fetches higher prices than regular milk and is often sold for that reason. Our organization discourages this practice because the colostrum is beneficial to the newborn calves. But when several cows calve at once there is an abundance of this ‘special treat’ and it is sold to the residents along side the regular milk—at a higher cost of course. Im just sad we missed the run on colostrum at the daily milk wagon! It must have been like a blue light special…unless you’re paying attention and willing to throw elbows, you will miss out on this one day sale. We were brought a second, very sugary, colostrum treat for dinner too. Maybe we will be able to sell our now stockpiled colostrum treats on the black market once the milk wagon runs dry. We’re going to make a killing!

I believe, I believe!!

So a few of you may remember a couple of entries back when I may have questioned the existence and strength of the monsoons…well, maybe I take that back. If the monsoon gods are reading this, let it be known that I was wrong, I believe the monsoons exist and I realize they are a bid deal. So you can stop trying to prove it to me. Even though the past two days have been mild, with just a sprinkle here and there with really strong winds, the weekend was a different story. It didn’t stop raining for at least 48 hours and on Sunday (my only precious day off) it poured buckets all day. My roommates and I still trudged into Pune on the train as we always do, only to walk around soaking wet all morning and afternoon. After a certain point you can’t care anymore and you give up trying to be dry, but it was pretty uncomfortable up until that point.
It rained so much and so hard that even my supposed ‘waterproof’ bag malfunctioned and my cell phone was put out of commission for 2 days until it dried out. In Pune we ate lunch at a coffee house/bakery with covered and enclosed seating, but my roommate still had to sit under her umbrella b/c rain was coming in the gap between the wall and the roof. No wonder everyone keeps all their possessions covered in plastic (furniture, cell phones, computers..). The first few weeks I was here everything was covered in dust, now it’s hard to keep anything dry.

Happy 4th of July to everyone! While you are all watching fireworks and eating hot dogs, I will be showing my patriotic colors by eating rice with curried vegetable, and watching the neighborhood cats eat out of the trash pit in front of my house. Maybe if Im inspired I will perform a musical montage of patriotic songs for my French roommates. Not that Im particularly patriotic, but it is the only way I can think to repay them for making me listen to their French show tunes all the time.

I will probably keep my opinion of their music to myself since I will be spending a lot of time with them over the next week and a half. I have finished my interviews, so I will be spending a lot of time in the office at my computer. Since I share an office with them, live with them, and eat with them, I suppose I can grin a bare the show tunes for another 10 days to keep the peace. Otherwise they may not offer their canned pate and processed cheese cubes to me. That would be a shame.

It’s not where you’re going, but how you get there…

Last week my roommates and I had been invited to attend a wedding. We had not met the man before he invited us, but he works in the accounting department of the organization and his son was getting married in the village. I think almost everyone in the office was invited, but it was still very nice of him to extend the invitation. I had been told if I got invited to a wedding while I am here, to definitely go! It would be quite a show. So I was highly anticipating the event. I was also having a little withdrawal from the wedding scene. Having attended 7 weddings last year and only 1 so far this year, I was really in need of some good old fashioned nuptial celebrations. I had informed my boss of my plans, with the wedding lunch happening 12-3 and the ceremony happening at 630pm. He said it would be no problem and I could conduct my interviews for the day in the morning and get to the wedding by 12 or 1230. No problem! (Ya right.)

Of course our scheduled departure for the village interviews at 9am turned into a 10am departure. The village was about 7km away and right off the main highway. It was arranged that four of us would go to the village on 2 motorbikes. I would ride on the back of my translator’s motorbike and the other two coworkers would ride together. Well my translator is a girl who is, maybe, 21 years old. My boss has known her family for many years and thought having her as my translator was a great idea b/c she can speak English (although not very well) and she is a licensed motor bike drive with her own two wheeler. Well as you are speeding down the four lane highway on the back of a scooter with no helmet, going 30mph as huge cargo trucks wiz by you, knowing that the 20 year old who has your life in her hands has a ‘license’, is not that much of a comfort. It was even less of a comfort on the way back, when we rode on the shoulder of the highway going against traffic for 5km to get to the next opening in the highway divide. This experience was topped off when it started pouring rain and the rain drops were like needles hitting my face. I happened to notice that my trusty driver must have felt the same way b/c she was trying to cover her eyes with one hand while driving the scooter with the other, and turning her head to the side so it would not hurt her face. I definitely had white knuckles from holding on to the back luggage rack for dear life. We then had to stop two times along the way to wait out the heavy rain in shelters along the highway. Needless to say, by the time I made it to the reception hall, it was 245 and I had missed the lunch. Since I was sopping wet and a little beaten down, I didn’t mind coming home, getting dry, and having a cup of hot tea. But I was determined to make it to the evening celebration!

Because of the timing, the only option was to walk the 5km to the wedding hall. At about 5:30 I was leaving the office to meet my roommates at the compound gate and they called to say they didn’t want to walk in the rain. I was a little disappointed, but couldn’t blame them. Just then a rickshaw passed me coming into the compound. This is rare and only happens when someone is taking one back from town. I managed to wave it down and then explain to the driver I wanted to go into town, but first he needed to take me back home so I could pick up my roommates (not a small task when you don’t speak the same language). But I was a woman on a mission. So we swung back to pick up my roommates and after we all piled into the back, the driver couldn’t start the rickshaw back up. Keep in mind we are sitting about 20 yards from our house, but we sat in the rickshaw for about 25 minutes while the driver tried to fix it. He tried hot wiring it, he tried pushing it down the hill to get it started, but nothing. Finally, and very surprisingly, another rickshaw arrived and the three of us piled into the back of that one. We waited for another 10min while both drivers attempted, and failed, to fix the first rickshaw. Finally, it was decided it wasn’t going to start. So I thought clearly solution would be to abandon the broken rickshaw and bring back the needed parts. But apparently I was wrong. Instead our driver drove the whole way into town with his left foot out the side pushing the broken rickshaw from behind (while the first driver steered it). Of course anytime an oncoming car or motor bike approached us, he had to give the broken rickshaw a good shove and fall behind it b/c we were taking up both sides of the road. It was quite a show for all the people along the road. But we made it to the wedding, although half way through.

When we got to the hall we were pulled around the side and directed to sit in the front row. Which I guess was convenient for the photographers and video recorders who then took our picture several times. After the ceremony was over everyone stood up and my roommate and I were taking a few pictures. Seeing this it was insisted we come on stage to get a better picture of the bride and groom as they posed for us. It was all a little surreal and we left shortly after.

He must have been debate club president

This morning I found myself in a strange discussion that I thought was worth sharing. I was quietly working and minding my own business when two male co-workers sat down next to me at the desk. Both of these workers are around my age and are clearly curious to talk to me. We were making small talk about my work and their work, when one of them said very seriously, “Can I ask you some questions about the US?” He then asked “Do you have information about the 911 World trade center attacks?” I was a little confused at first as to exactly what he meant, but he clarified he just wanted my thoughts on it and to talk to someone from the US b/c he has had some questions that he is curious about and does not the know the answers to. So of course I agreed to answer any questions he had. Well, I didn’t realize that when he said ‘questions’ he meant he had theories and ideas about what happened that he wanted me to listen to. When I would try to correct him about blatant inaccuracies about the facts, he would argue with me. For instance he kept insisting that he did not understand how the US, being so powerful, could let a foreign airplane fly into US airspace and circle the building for 5 min without reacting. Why had the military not protected the building? Since it is one of the most important buildings in the world, he didn’t understand why the military did not shoot down the plane, b/c clearly they had plenty of time and knew what was going to happen. His line of questioning all had this similar accusatory tone with large misconceptions. He also said that he had read that the building was built to last thousands of years, so why hadn’t it been able to withstand two airplanes crashing into it?! And how could one airplane take down the whole building, why didn’t the top just break off? There had to be another bomb involved! All of these questions, if asked in a different tone, would not have surprised me as much, but they were all asked as if I had to defend myself and the entire US defense system. When I would try to explain things to him and correct some misconceptions (which there were a lot of), my responses were almost completely disregarded. I quickly realized he didn’t really want my thoughts and to discuss what I knew, but wanted to make accusations and point out what he thought were lies, cover ups, or weaknesses in the US, that I was supposed to defend. Now Im not one to shy away from a political discussion or entertain conspiracy theories, but his were so off the mark and clearly misinformed that they weren’t debatable. The worst part of the situation was after every comment I made contrary to what he wanted to believe, he would comment in Maharati to the other guy. I don’t understand Maharati, but I do understand male cockiness and the international language of snide side comments that were surely saying I was wrong. I think in the end I was able to get some misconceptions straitened out, but who knows what he will choose to believe. I was just shocked at the strange information he had about the subject and his aggressive way discussing the subject. As the discussion continued I tried to get across the point that it is not possible to predict every possible scenario and protecting airplanes doesn’t safeguard against attacks in other areas. The other man, who was significantly less confrontational, casually suggested that clearly the answer was a national curfew. Hmm…maybe. That’s when I realized that it wasn’t just incorrect facts that were creating the divide in this conversation but a much larger difference in the interpretation and way of viewing the situation. A conversation I was not willing to take on this morning.

Monsoon Shmonsoon

So the newspaper and my ‘reliable’ sources have said the monsoons have finally come…but I still don’t believe them. Since I have arrived I have been waiting for these so called ‘monsoon rains.’ What’s the big deal with these things anyway? When I would ask people about them they would always say, “oh, next week,” no matter when I asked. Then last week I was able to do a little research and discovered they were delayed by a cyclone storm in the Arabian Sea …or possibly because of global warming. So they are about 10-12 days later than other years. I guess the storms that I had been enduring were just pre-monsoon rains, which made me a little scared for the real deal. But after officially declaring the monsoon arrival in Pune on Monday, I am a little skeptical. I am about 30km from Pune and it has only rained twice this week overnight. Im beginning to think they may not exist. Not that I’m complaining. I say bring on global warming if it means more time without moldy clothes, mud caked shoes, nasty garbage strewn calf- deep puddles, and without swarms of malaria infested mosquitoes circling me while I sleep. Ok, ok, I recognize that the economy of over a billion people in this part of the world may rely on the monsoons, but Im on vacation! I think I’ve endured quite a bit already, with taking showers out of a bucket, washing my clothes by hand, having to quite coffee cold turkey, and now I just found out mango season is ending!! I think I deserve a little reward for putting up with all of these hardships. So is it too much to ask the impoverished rural farmers that are waiting for the rains to just to hold off a little longer? I don’t think Im being that unreasonable.

On a less important note, yesterday I conducted my first interview with a woman that lives in the area. It was the first interview to really test my survey, and it went pretty well. This woman is a little atypical of the women I will be interviewing because she has done very well over the past several years. Mainly a result of the women’s self help groups my organization runs she has started her own business of making vermicelli noodles and shipping them to stores in Pune and Mumbai. She also is taking a few courses at the local university, she helps manage her family’s land, and leads several of the women’s groups in town. It was pretty impressive. And she spoke openly about how these factors have led to her gain respect from her husband and in-laws. She said they used to tell her to be quiet when she would make suggestions, but now they listen to her and she makes most of the family decisions because she brings in a good deal of the family’s money. It will be interesting as I talk to more women and am able to compare the different situations.

staring contests

I think one of hardest adjustments I’ve had to make so far has been dealing with the incessant staring and gawking where ever I go and whatever I do. I know I mentioned this before, but it’s worth dedicating an entire entry to. Before I came here I knew this would be the case and this is not a complete surprise to me. I wasn’t expecting to blend when I walked down the street, especially since the rural area Im in isn’t quite the tourist hub of India. But Im still struggling with how I should react. When someone stops in his or her tracks just to watch you walk by, it’s a little hard to know what to do. My American-conditioned social behavior is sent into a tail spin, what does this situation call for? Sometimes I keep looking straight ahead and pretend they’re not there, or sometimes I decide to challenge them to a stare-off and give it right back to them, maybe ending the eye contact with a polite half smile. Sometimes, when im feeling salty, I will squint my eyes a little, as to say “what are you looking at chump”. Of course I get no reaction and Im always the first to back down, but at least I try.

I’ve been living here for 2.5 weeks, and this still happens every time I walk around the foundation I live on. I mean, im sure its not everyday people see a blonde haired girl power walking in sporty sandals with water bottle in hand, but you would think it would get old b/c it has happened everyday since I’ve been here. But just this morning I was talking to a veterinarian that lives on the campus and I asked him which housing colony he lives in (there are three on campus). He replied by saying it was the one on the hill. The one I had walked past twice last night, going in the same direction. Great, it’s good to know someone (or everyone) is keeping track of my exercise routine.

Just like back in the good ol’ US of A

Since the arrival of my roommates (1 week ago) I think I have mentioned some the changes to my lifestyle, with some of the most amusing things revolving around food. I think I have already mentioned their breakfast of choice, a large piece of chocolate on two slices of white bread with a side of mango. But they are also forever on a quest for meat. I had no idea how much the French love their meat. I should have guessed since one of my roommates’ father is a beef farmer, but I am still a little surprised. They have a significant stockpile of cans of pate, strange French hot dogs, and various types of canned fish. They said every Sunday they try to find restaurants that serve meat b/c it is so hard to find. They have been here since February, so I guess they have earned a little slack. For those of you who are wondering what im talking about, I can give a little background. India on a whole is largely vegetarian. There are pockets where meat is eaten more often, and Im sure in cities it can be found more readily, but the large majority of people in this region are vegetarian, so all our food is vegetarian. I can’t complain really, since I don’t eat a lot of meat anyway, I’d prefer to have no meat than a lot of meat, or mystery meat. This feeling was confirmed when I tried a little of my roommates ‘country’ pate. Which come to find out was not liver, but the cheap ‘country’ version, consisting of hot dog like ingredients. It looked so much like cat food I had to re-read the label to double check.

To top it all off, they introduced me to an Indian McDonald’s yesterday. It was very strange. I don’t think it would have been my first, or even 10^th choice, in eating establishments, but I didn’t feel like I had much bargaining power. Being the new girl, I didn’t want to shoot down their suggestion especially since I didn’t have any of my own. I also was hitting a bit of a rough patch, on account of not eating enough for breakfast I think, and didn’t have the strength to walk around, let alone discuss the situation. Any place with food, drink and A/C sounded like heaven at that point. So I ate my McVeggie burger with fries and Diet coke in the food court of the mall and didn’t complain. I even topped it off with a mango sorbet from the fro-yo stand next door! (When in Rome!) My roommates seemed to really enjoy their chicken sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies from the cookie stand, so who am I to stand in their way. Maybe next week I can try out the Subway stand or the Belgian waffle stand!

After we ate we went next door to the movies and saw the latest Bollywood film. Much to my surprise and enjoyment, it turned out to be a romantic comedy (one of my favorite genres of film). So even though I couldn’t understand the Hindi dialog, I could understand the international language of romantic comedy. And I have to say it didn’t disappoint. There were a couple slow dialog scenes, but the semi-regular singing and dancing scenes, as well as the final ‘dance contest’ scene really kept my attention. For those of you not familiar with bollywood films, no this wasn’t a musical, it was just a normal, over the top movie. But seeing it in the theater is really what made the experience. It is so loud that even if I wanted to nod off during the boring scenes, I couldn’t, and people in the audience cheer, whistle, and yell the whole time. (When they aren’t talking on their cell phones of course.) They really love their movie stars! For those readers out there that enjoy a romantic comedy as much as I do (you know who you are) don’t worry, my roommate already has a bootleg copy I will be downloading and bringing back.