Culture Shock

There are a few things in India that I am taking longer to get used to than others:

1. Drinking water from water bottle without putting my lips on the rim. I am a spilly person at the best of times and those that know me well will corroborate that I have a chronic hand eye coordination problem when it comes to getting food and/or beverages into my mouth without spilling. You can just imagine the carnage of trying to get the water into my mouth from a distance. I have given up and now drink directly from the bottle. I figure I would rather run the small risk of getting amoebic dysentery then the large risk of dehydration
2. The pollution that caused such a bad break our on my forehead I was convinced I was having an allergic reaction to something. I now have to clean my face daily with rubbing alcohol. Somehow I don’t think the people at Dove would approve.
3. The hocking and spitting done by a lot of the men with great gusto. The pleasure derived from this national occupation appears to be directly proportional to its volume and the amount of time spent doing it.
4. The mandatory three spoons of sugar in every cup of tea or coffee. The sugar is added right at the beginning of the brewing process. Ask for no sugar (cini) and you will be met with a blank stare. Except of course for the very nice guy at work who brings our coffee round and makes me a no (more like low) sugar cup especially.
5. The dearth of beefy Bovril. No explanation required.
6. No Pick n Pay where you can go and do all your grocery shopping.

A love story

I always thought that Indira Gandhi, previous prime minister of India, was related to the great Mahatma or Gandiji as he is affectionately know here. The real story is far more romantic…

Once upon a time there was a man named Nehru. He became prime minister of India after the Partition in 1947. This was a very big task because the situation was fraught with political tension. West Pakistan and East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) had been separated from India. Although they tried to create the borders to encompass predominantly Muslim and Hindu areas, thousands of people found themselves having to leave the land on which their ancestors had lived for generations and relocate. Often they didn’t have an opportunity to take their belongings with them. A large number of the people were very unhappy.

Nehru had a daughter Indira. Indira fell in love with a Farsee. When her father found out, he was furious. He told her that marrying him was just not an option and it would just undo all the work he was trying to achieve. Distraught, Indira turned to her godfather and close family friend Gandhiji. Together they devised a solution.

The next day, Gandhi went to Nehru and said “I have had a brilliant idea. I think that Indira should marry one of my sons”. Nehru was very pleased and agreed immediately. But when he saw Gandhi’s son he realised what he had agreed to. “But this is not your son! This is the man that Indira wanted to marry. I cannot allow it.” He said.

“Aaggh” said Gandhi “But he is my son now as I have adopted him”.

And that is why Indira Gandhi has the surname Gandhi.

NOTE: I was relaying this story to a colleague and he took great delight in telling me that although a common opinion, it is in fact completely incorrect. Feroze Gandhi (Indira’s husband) had the same surname merely by coincidence. He was not the adopted son of Gandhi.

Damn! Why did he have to go and pop my balloon like that? I think I’m going to go with common opinion on this one. It makes for a much better story.

ANOTHER NOTE: My faith in romance has been restored! I spoke to the original narrator of the tale and is willing to bet his life on the fact that it is true. He apparently did a paper on it at Varsity with lots of research etc. etc.

Delhi Belly

Everyone warned me about Delhi Belly but with all this good food the only Delhi Belly I have to worry about is the one of the more permanent affliction. This morning in the shower I composed a song about my favourite meals/snacks in Delhi

My favourite things
To be sung with gusto (preferably in a shower with good acoustics) to the Sound of Music hit sound track of the same name

Paneer (discovered in SA and still a hot favourite);
Mutton kebabs at the stall at the back of Kahn Market;
Dal at the guest house and sweet lime juice;
Chicken momos at the Gymkhana and pomegraaaanaaaaaatttte...

When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sssssssssssaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddddddddddd, I simply remember my favourite things and then I don’t [rousing crescendo] fffffffffffffeeeeeeeellllllll sooooooooo bbbbbaddddddd.

PS. Jennifer at the Linksfield Netcare travel clinic, you were completely over exaggerating. The lettuce here is absolutely fine and I haven’t even cracked open my bottle of Milton yet. I even ate Pan Leaf from the side of the road (the original breath mint) and was fine. I only found out afterwards that they often wash the leaves in dodgy water.
PPS. Asian 2 minute noodles are so much better than the SA equivalent. I had a couple of Coreen’s old stock. They have the powdery stuff and then soy sauce, chilli flakes and this cool flavoured oil

The Midnight Express

So it turns out the sleeper class on the train is neither AC first or second class nor the separate compartment that one might expect from the name. Coreen and I clambered onto the train only to realise that both the lights and the fans were not working in our very stuffy carriage. To make matters worse, a wallah leered menacingly at the window rattling a collection of dangerous looking locks and chains which we realised with horror were for the express purpose of securing our luggage to our beds.

As the thought "What have I got myself into?" reverberated around my head the train stuttered to life and with it the lights and the fans flickered on. Thank goodness. The light highlighted the fact that the bed covers had clearly seen cleaner days but it was nothing that an entire pack of Coreen's antiseptic wipes could not remedy. Coreen, what will I do when you go? The journey actually turned out to be relatively pleasant. At one point in the evening it got decidedly chilly and ill prepared for any cold weather as I was, I was decidedly relieved that we hadn't ended up in the AC compartment as I would have frozen my ass off.

In true style, I had demolished all my padkos before we had even left Delhi. Oh for the day when I haven't finished my popcorn and coke by the time the movie starts.

Highlights of Udaipur

1. The jewellery shop. We arrived a little drowsy but ready to hit the town. We dropped our bags off at a guest house situated right on the edge of the lake and ventured out only to be lured almost immediately into a jewellery shop about 10m up the road by the jewellery seductively glistening in the display case. Magpies that we were we couldn't resist. THREE HOURS LATER we reemerged completely exhausted from painstakingly deliberating and ineffectually bargaining over the equisite pieces. Needless to say we completely blew our budgets.
2. The Crystal Gallery at the City Palace houses the rare crystal Maharaja Sajjan Singh ordered from England in 1877. The maharaja died before it arrived, and all the items stayed packed up in boxes for 110 years later to reveal excess such as a crystal table, couch and even bed!
3. The Rajastani Dancers at the Bagore-Ki Haveli reminded me of bright parakeets with their bright colours and graceful moves
4. The biggest turban in the world is vaguely reminiscent of a large piece of pink boerewors
5. Dinner in a cuppola overlooking the lake with Octupussy playing in the background. The movie was filmed here more than twenty five years ago and today it is still played nightly at all the rooftop restaurants. The full moon joined us for dinner. This is possibly the most romantic place I have ever had the pleasure of eating dinner. I would have quite liked to have swapped Coreen with Brian for the evening although she still made very pleasant company
6. The cooking course at the Spice Box. I can now cook chai masala, paneer, aloo ghobi and biryani with the best of them
7. Learning to play the tabla