Where in the world is Bhilai?

The following is an sms (read: text) exchange between michael and me re: scurriness in mumbai.

Me: Duuuude I'm scurred of mumbai
Michael: Nobody has even heard of Bhilai
Me: maybe we should do nye here?
Michael: How do u even get to bhilai?...

I think this is good news?

On a lighter note, I cooked my first Indian meal last night consisting of Bhindi (aka okra), khali daal (black lentils) and chowal (rice). Aside from the fact that the lentils were undercooked, the rice was still watery and the bhindi taste was covered by spices, I'd say it was a success. MMMM good. This meal was followed by my first attempt at ginger lemon tea, which if I may say so myself, turned out pretty good. Maybe I should stick to tea...and diet coke.

Reverse Migration?

Mama Bhatia asked me often, before I began my fellowship, why exactly I was going back to the place they had worked so hard to leave. It was something I couldn't explain, an innate curiousity about life as my parents used to live it and as cousins my age whose parents didn't shift (read: move) to the States were living it now.


"Which raises a heart-stirring question: If our parents left India and trudged westward for us, if they manufactured from scratch a new life there for us, if they slogged, saved, sacrificed to make our lives lighter than theirs, then what does it mean when we choose to migrate to the place they forsook?"

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/23/weekinreview/23anand.html?_r=1&em

I have no answers, only more questions.

Yay that I still have 8 months?!?

Time out.

It hadn't hit me until now that Thanksgiving is in 4 days. 4 days? 4 days.

What happened to Halloween? And apple cider? And my parent's anniversary?

Oh wait.

Time has a weird way of moving forward (and sometimes backwards) and swirling you up in a whirlwind and then dropping back down when the date is 23/10 and you think that 11 more months have been added to the calendar and then realize that, no, you've been drinking too much frooti.

I guess that's what happens when you take a 3 week vacation and then fall ill for a week with "Delhi/Pushkar/Puri belly."

Diwali in Delhi was amazing-- I spent time with my relatives and my brother, mom and dad in a city with all the modern conveniences one could ever want (read: Khan Market is the shit). Aside from playing cards (and losing lots of money) and eating a lot of "Non-veg" (which in retrsospect was good prep for my new home) it was so amazing to be able to leave and say "See you soon!"

After that I headed to Ajmer and Pushkar with a few fellows and we spent our time riding camels in the Rajasthani desert, eating paranthas and drinking lassis (yes, some would call them special). It was really great to be able to share our respective experiences in India-- which at the same time are so different yet on many levels very similar.

And then finally, after bringing my parents to Chhatisgargh for the first time so they could have a glimpse at my new life, the three of us headed to the state of Orissa with my Chacha and his family to experience the cleanliness of Bhubaneshwar and the Holy Temple in Puri.

...and of course, a few days of rest + relaxation, a 6-day course of Cipro and the new Hindi film "Dostana" and I'm ready to get to back to work...really...I promise.

home sweet be home by 10.

My bags are finally unpacked. After almost 3 months of being in India, 2 months in SE Asia and 1 month on Cait, Linds and Kat's couch (thanks again, btw), I have put away my Gregory backpack (that is, until my December vacay) and finally moved into the apartment I found and started paying rent for 1 month ago.

I moved out of my mentor's house two days ago and it was quite a scene.... Actually, Sanju (my mentor's sister-in-law) refers to it as me "running away" and still insists that I eat lunch at her house daily (mmmm, today she made Iddly). It's definitely going to be a big change-- I'm excited for this newfound psuedo independence (my mentor makes me give her a "missed call" when I reach home after leaving work) but at the same time am sad that Sanju and my late night gossip sessions about why India is crazy are over (don't be confused, India is still crazy, but now the sessions are shifted to evening chai time).

I am now living as a "paying guest" on the second floor of a Jain family's home. Aside from not being able to cook non-veg items in the house (I think eggs are included, but am unsure, so I'm going with Riley's advice and saying it's better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission), my Indian squatter toilet, the no toilet-paper in the "toilet" rule and my 10 pm curfew, I'd say it's the perfect place.

So now the question is, what's for dinner?

New-age or Age-old?

It was around 10:00 pm on a Friday night at Delhi's RPM Lounge (Yes, fellows, the same "chain" we went to during orientation) and I was sitting Indian-style in the "Reserved" section of the club with my cousins. It was my 2nd cousin's wife's birthday (name and age unknown until about 9:45 pm), so all of the "younger" cousins got spruced up, sent the adults to Pizza Hut and were excited to shake their booty's on the dance floor. 

After the grilled mutton and chicken kebabs, some delicious chocolate cake (Indian versions of American desserts have improved ten fold in the past 4 years) and a few pegs later, one of the cousin's started a game of "pass the pillow and whoever it stops on when the songs changes has to play truth or dare." 

Not so bad, eh?

Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" ended as the pillow landed inches away from me on Saurab's lap. 

Akhil to Saurab: "OK OK, since it is your wife's birthday and your wedding was only 2 weeks ago, tell us how you proposed to her."

Saurab to group: "Um, I never proposed to her. We were arranged."

Silence.

Akhil to Saurab: "OK, then tell us about your first dance together."

Saurab to group: "Um, we haven't had one yet."

Silence.

OK OK, so maybe Delhi isn't quite the same as America.