Self Worthiness

I find that I am asking myself very heavy questions today. I would say that I go through this—what I will call the “oblivious-over conscious” cycle—maybe once a week or so here in Delhi. I always start off hitting the big, cheap, markets in town. Then, as the week moves forward I begin to feel slightly guilty as I pass the beggar children on the street; eventually, I begin to feel hopeless with the wide array of missing body parts and improvised living arrangements of the street people. I hear things like parents, in certain desperate situations, disfiguring and amputating their children’s body in order to provide them with a more likely income on the streets. You see women holding babies, begging for money to buy food, and all I can ever think: is the baby really their own. Then I begin to get angry at India. I see children flipping cartwheels and donning costume mustaches. All for what? Change? What will this child do when he can no longer fit through the small circle he shoves his body through to entertain the stalled driver? There is an education act in India that says all children must go to school. Where is this child being educated? Will he know how to fish when he is grown?

All these things I was thinking about today. I decided that since I didn’t wouldn’t to go home right away I would look for a non-shopping activity to bide my time. I walked the 3 km or so to a Tibetan museum and bookshop house. I have wanted to learn more about Tibet, especially since there is the refugee community here in Delhi.

It is quite remarkable how two different worlds—many different worlds—can live simultaneously on the same street that am driven up and down on twice a day, four days a week. As I walked out of my gated school, I ventured down a street I often go down. Autos and bikes are parked along the street, cars and buses drive along casually and sparingly. A market lies across the street behind the large, fenced in, houses, private guards posted at every mailbox. As I came to the end of my street, I walked through the roundabout and came to one of the more famous Dargahs (monument/ tomb) that are speckled throughout the city. Behind this Dargah lies a whole world of a community, big and narrow alleyways winding and turning, full of life. Sheep and goats adorn the thin sidewalks, thick slabs of meat hang from a handful of shops—this is (usually) how you know when you’re in a predominately Muslim community.

***

Okay…Here, I have to be honest with myself. I would never blame my upbringing or my country; I wonder if it is even accurate to attribute these thoughts to America’s recent political and global events and/or to my faith. It’s actually extremely hard to type this, I’m just going to say it and lay it on the table: I have noticed that when I am in an area where I know there to be a large percentage of Muslims, I get nervous.

I pause here to wonder if the issue at hand is one of me being a woman? To be an issue of potential ignorance—half heresy—of women’s treatment in the Middle East…and being closer than ever to the Middle East than when I was in the states?

Now, I know this is silly—that the events in the middle east, America’s war, the constant fighting between Israel and Palestine, the Jews and the Muslims—should not hinder me from observing and interacting with a group of people that are unrelated to these events…and yet? However, when I was winding my way through this predominantly Muslim neighborhood, I felt my self becoming attuned to women in burkas and men in taqiyahs. I do wonder if what it was more than anything was me as a female, and not being sure if I was dressed appropriately for the Muslim faith (burkas/Hijabs). I did see some women without head coverings, dressed as I was. From an outside perspective of myself, I really dislike having noticed this about me. I have had many Islamic friends and neighbors in the states. Should being on the other side of the world change a faith? A group of people? I think there is nothing worse than a Jewish person harboring any intolerance amongst any other group of people...and yet that appears to be me?

If you are Muslim, I do apologize for how I feel. Let me work on this and provide updates.

Bricks and Balloons *UPDATED pictures and video*

Never feed a monkey... especially when 

dude behind you yells that their dangerous.

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For those of you that don’t know, bricks and balloons is a “game/ice breaker” where a person lists one negative (brick) and then a positive (balloon). As one of my friends once said, “You have to tie balloon around the brick to make the brick float away.” So here it goes…

Brick: 

Dorris is gone. I went to wash my face this morning and my saheli (Hindi for girlfriend to be used only among girls) was gone. I stared at the spot where she use to curl up in the corner and hang upside down. There was this little pang in my heart…and then I washed my face.

Balloon: 

I went to Agra this weekend, which is where the Taj Mahal and many other old ruins/tomb sites/ forts are located. It was a fun weekend, though I had to wake up at 5 AM for two mornings in a row. While the Taj was beautiful and definitely worth seeing, it didn’t really do anything for me. Maybe on part because I have just seen so many tomb sites and old ruins that the grandeur and majesticness of them has dulled. Also, of all the tombs I have been to, the Taj felt most like an actual tomb. When I walked inside the Taj I immediately saw the tomb where Shah Jahan had had his wife buried. A small lantern dangled above the tomb; otherwise, the room was eerily dark, giving off a somber feeling. The walls of the room were beautiful marble with flower designs, and a matching fence like barrier that circled the tomb. As I exited the Taj and came out onto he back terrace area, I was able to look out over what seemed like all of Agra. It was a rainy day, so there was this magical light mist encircling the Taj and its gardens. Of course, all us girls on the trip just assumed the Taj was one of those places where it never rains and the sun always shines, since every picture of the Taj is a clear blue sky kind of day. So you can imagine how we all felt on the bus when we finally arrived to the Taj at 6 in the morning, some of us wearing sarees—all of us wearing picture-makeup for our Taj photo.

Please check back soon for more photos! 

Delhi in a nutshell

Yesterday, I went back to the Tibetan market, which is located within the Tibetan Refugee camp in Old Delhi. Don’t think Rwandan refugee camp; it’s more like the Little Italy community in New York. (I couldn’t bring my self to compare it to China Town—though I suppose the China Town in NYC is not directly related to the problems in Tibet…)  The other day my friend and I ventured to this market and saw the beautiful yak and wool shawls. Unfortunately, I was low on cash and couldn’t buy any. I decided yesterday to go back, even though I couldn’t find anyone that was free in the afternoon to go with me. I actually really enjoyed having the chance to travel through Delhi alone and take complete charge of getting to the market and back home by myself. (Mom, it was safe. I didn’t get raped, kidnapped, or murder.) Having now gone to the Tibetan community twice, I think it may be one of my favorite areas in Delhi so far. It’s not particularly pretty or clean, it’s not 100% quiet or friendly, but there aren’t many foreigners around.

In fact, I always walk the mile or so from the metro to the market and back; I find the walk exposes me to a raw and unfiltered view of Delhi life. There are people milling about the streets, children walking to and from school, cows and pigs digging through trash—I really like it. There was this group of piglets digging through a pile of trash. All of a sudden they started playing like puppies do. It was basically adorable…Along the street sidewalks, which are impossible to walk on because shops, parked bikes, and people line them, are various stores. I like the motorcycle-bike-auto repair shops because as you walk along there will be mechanical parts lying everywhere and usual some guys talking in Hindi about how to fix something (I like to think that’s what they’re talking about).

Once I actually arrive at the Tibetan market/refugee community, I always feel like I’ve stepped out of Delhi and into somewhere else. Tibet maybe? People don’t speak in Hindi, of course that’s because they aren’t Indian/from Delhi. In this market, you can find pretty much what would be found at any other market. Except, I don’t know of any other market, yet, where you can find such beautiful, plush, wool and yak shawls and scarves.

As I was leaving the market, many auto and taxi drivers asked me, as always, if I wanted their services. This brings me to something I have noticed about Delhi, and Indian culture—the loudest words are spoken the quietest. What do I mean? For instance, when I wanted to tell the auto/taxi drivers “no,” I merely bobbed my head once to the side and put my hand out as if to say “enough.” (Head bobbling is done by most people as a sign of “yes/okay,” but also as sort of an all answer kind of motion.) You would be surprised how often this works. I do it when beggars come to my auto at stop lights, and use it all the time when auto drivers are pestering me to take their vehicles. If I say “no” verbally, I find it is not respected as much, especially when people come up to me for money.

In a similar way, I find Delhi to also be a quiet city. Of course, it’s a city, and the horns of cars and clanging metal in cooking pots fills up the crowded streets. But honestly, because I can’t understand most—okay basically all Hindi being spoken, there actually isn’t that much for my ears to pick up. If I’m walking through a crowded, noisy, market, I feel peaceful and calm, just as if I were walking down a nature trail.

This being said, there is certainly noise in Delhi…take the area outside and above my house. For some unknown reason, the person that lives above our apartment always, always, finds five in the morning a great time to start doing construction on their house. God knows what on! I’ll hear hammering and running water and just the universe being created! Also, right outside my bedroom there lies a small public courtyard, and in this courtyard is a Dhobi, which is a person who washes clothes. Actually, I think the person outside my bedroom irons clothes… Nonetheless, this person likes to get an early start— five am—and will start filling his buckets with water. The best one, Oh, the best one is on Sunday mornings. Sunday is the one day I, usually, get to sleep in. And by sleep in, we’re talking like 9-9:30 thanks to the fact that my body is used to waking up at 6 during the week. However, Sunday also happens to be the day this trash man comes to pick up the trash. I’m not talking the American style, where the huge stinky blue truck drives around and throws people's trash into the back mouth part—I’m talking Indian-style! This guy rides around on a bike for one, maybe a couple hours, yelling at the top of his lungs for people’s trash. And this starts maybe around 7 or 8…

P.S. So guess who took another mildly cold shower with like only ONE gallon of water!! Me! Yay! Okay so here is the reason: in Delhi, pretty much everyone has to pipe in fresh, good, water into their house. The water out of the faucets you can’t drink, but it’s okay to bathe in. However, there are these tanks where you have to pipe in your water from, and they sometimes get low on water. When this happens you have to press a button and bring more water into the tank. But this morning when I woke up and went to the bathroom, I didn’t realize the water level was low. So I put my bucket under the faucet and turned on the hot water. I got a little water in before the water thinned into a small little stream, but the water hadn’t really heated up yet.  Anyways, it was all okay because I got to talk with my friend Dorris and was like, “Hey girl what up!”

My friend, Dorris...

This is my friend Dorris:

Dorris

She lives in my bathroom. Every couple of days, when I finally get to showering, we talk and catch up on life. At first, like any spider-human relationship, I was really scared of her. I thought she was going to eat me, possibly wrap me up in a silvery web, all while I was butt naked taking my bucket bath. Alas, she's not like that. She usually stays in her little corner. Sometimes, she gets thirsty and crawls along the wall. Then, I take a handful of water and splash it against the wall. She really likes this. She hunkers down against the wall and does what I assume to be drinking. There use to be another spider in the bathroom, but I don't know where he went. That's okay, because I wasn't particularly fond of him. I am now pretty fond of Dorris. You may think this is a not serious post. This is a completely serious post. Seriously! I get worried that someday she will be swept away. No! I like Dorris because she probably eats the mosquitos that are tying to give me malaria.

Peace out Dorry. See you tomorrow morning when I finally wash my hair.

P.S. Dad: this does not mean you are off spider duty when I return home. Spiders in Memphis are not my friends, thus you still have to come and kill them (and roaches) when I scream. xoxo.

P.P.S: Dad, guess what! Today in my economics class, we went over this whole regression table thing. We've been learning it for a couple of days know. Anyways. So today my teacher just like pulls out all this pre-calculus non-sense; he starts teaching us about logarithms (logs) and how it proves this whole regression table data stuff. I kind of got it. At one point he began to talk about fractions within logs, but I was like, "hold up," this was not in the class description. (He still talked about them.)  To make a whole story (and a lot of X and Y equations) short, I actually understand it. I'm just a tad upset though, because I thought once I got into college, math would be a thing of the past. Especially all the pre-cal math. Nope. Nope. They use math over here in India too, gosh darn it!

Adventure Land *updated--photos*

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Lately, it seems I have been doing less exciting stuff as my student life here in Delhi picks up. Though everyday I experience small and exciting (and challenging) adventures. It is only 8:30 here in Delhi and already I have had two great moments. One when I was swiping my metro card through the metro gate: When I swiped, the gate refused my card at first. I began to move over to the next gate where a man was also about to swipe his card through. He saw me coming and said, “Ap Karo,” telling me that my post now worked and to go back to it. Whenever people automatically speak to me in Hindi, I like to think that they see me as an Indian, since I have dark hair and a big nose and all. I later looked up what he said to me in my Hindi notebook and he said “You do.”

My second adventure today was when I was hailing an auto from the metro. I flagged down an auto and when he came over I told him in my broken Hindi, “Nizzamuddin East, railroad Station ke pas.” He continued to answer in Hindi and I continued to reply, “han, han,” which is “yes, yes.” I was very proud of myself. Then when I arrived at my school, I had to ask for change; my driver was trying to tell me, in Hindi, that if I gave him a ten he would give me a twenty (it was 40 rs, I gave him a 100 rupee, and he gave me a 50 rupee and I need 10 more.) Remembering the fact that anytime someone starts talking numbers I revert to my math phobia and math ineptness, I love having math conversations in Hindi. (It’s much better than tying to understand “regression tables for dummies” in my economics class…I think I prefer Hindi math conversations…)

Aside from my morning adventures, this weekend was a full blown adventure! My economics class explores India’s socio-economic development through examining education, health and health infrastructure, the Employment Guarantee Act, and microfinancing among the poor. While trying to get a grasp of India as a whole, we look to the heart of rural India to see exactly how India’s new social and economic policies affect and help the poor and extremely poor living in the villages. Thus, I spent this weekend in Haryana on a class field trip. Haryana is one of India’s richest states; economically it is doing very well but, it is not doing as well socially. There is a large sum of people living at and below $1 dollar a day. My class visited several villages within Haryana; the part of Haryana we were in was the Meirot Block, in the Malokhra village. Let me try and explain, though I still don’t fully grasp it. India’s government (s) go(es) in this order, from top to bottom. At the top is the Indian government, the “center”, then it goes: the states, the districts within the states, the blocks that make up each district, the “Tahsil,” which is a part of the local government that is comprised of the Panchai. The Panchai are 5 elected officials (think wise elders.) Within the Panchai is the Sarpanch, who is the leader/go to guy of the Panchai. (Spellings of the above listings may be incorrect.)

During the weekend, my class visited a local school of primary and middle school education, a hospital, talked with a Sarpunch about the affects of the Employment Guarantee Act, and talked with a group of women about how they established their inner group loans and monetary support system. The school was very interesting. The Indian government funds schools in certain ways, such as once there are 300 students in primary school, the school is granted money to build a middle school; the schools are also given money to feed the students lunches. To quote my teacher, the schools are just another way that shows India’s corruptness. For example, all schools must have boundary walls that enclose the school. However, most schools don’t have boundary walls, instead the school officials will ask for money to build, say, more classrooms. Then, instead of building classrooms that are 100% finished or adequate, the money will be pocketed by school officials. When we visited the school there was supposedly teaching occurring. However, all the students were running around the dirt courtyard and coming over to us to see what was going on. It is hard to know whether it was an off day, since a couple teachers were the ones talking to us, or if it was a usual day. When the midday meal was served all the children gathered around a huge metal pot full of rice and vegetables. The students are responsible for bringing their own dishes and silver ware to eat with. However this is an obvious as not all children have them. Some children were eating off of ripped off notebook. One thing that I was impressed with, and am now going to concentrate on for my class project, is that this school did offer certain accommodations to children with special needs. Well, maybe not accommodations per se, but the children participate in Special Olympic programs that are held at the local, state, and national level.

The hospital was…well let me put it this way: I got extremely sick the morning that we left for Haryana. I had gotten Delhi Belly (aka the runs) the day before. I thought it was over but it wasn’t; the entire bus ride I was throwing up and very uncomfortable. I did get better. When I saw the hospital, I made sure to tell everyone that if anything happened to me, just to drive the two hours back to Delhi. I’d rather die of dehydration that gang green. I can describe what the hospital looked like in three words: World War II.

Talking with the local Sarpunch about how the Employment Guarantee Act is working was enlightening on how the Indian government operates. The act is great in theory, but completely incompetent in practice. The act is supposed to provide 100 days of work for the poor so as to give them a way to support themselves. There are many problems with this on how workers hours and work is recorded to when the workers are paid. In recent times, there have been many complications with paying the workers; sometimes it is several months before workers receive their payments. Of course, if you need food and supplies “now,” you cannot afford to work when you won’t be paid right away…

I really enjoyed our talk with the local women. The woman we talked to was very educated compared to the other women; she had graduated from 12^th grade and received her BA (in what I am not sure.) Most women in the village we visited do not go past 5^th grade. It was definitely her education and her ability to read, write, and do math that made it possible for her and the other women to start up their self help group. What happens is that a group of (usually) women come together and put it about 100 rs. They go to a bank and take out a loan. Eventually they have enough money to loan it amongst themselves. For example, if one woman’s family has an ill child and needs expensive medicine, or if another family wants to buy a cow as a wedding present for someone, they can borrow money from the collective pot. Of course they have to pay it back with interest over time. This woman showed us meticulously kept money books that listed the incoming and outgoing expenses over the years.

Well, I have written a lot and I still fill like I only skimmed the surface of this past weekend. I will put pictures up of the weekend soon.

Things you're not supposed to do in Delhi:

So...I made a mistake. It turns out you're not supposed to try and have conversations with the street children that beg for money, when you are inside an auto. Here's what happened: I was sitting in the back of an auto, being driven to the metro station. When the auto driver stopped at a red light, three street children ran up and began begging me for food and money. The auto driver reached back and extended his hand. At the time, I thought he was, perhaps, extending his hand in a friendly gesture. So, I did the same and began to talk to the children in my little hindi. Of course, once I began to talk to the children they jumped on the auto and climbed inside, still asking me for money. When the red light changed to green, the children would not get off and my auto driver sort of slapped/gently pried their bodies off the vehicle. When he started driving he just turned around and gave me the scariest death stare I have ever received!

I asked my teacher about it, and no, you're not supposed to attempt interactions with on the street children. It's sort of like feeding a stray dog...and then the dog coming back for more, the children will swoop in and demand/beg for food or money with even more intensity.

Now I know.

Spiders and Spouts

Two Things:

1. It has been unusually rainy here for the past three days. Not a hard rain, just a pretty continuous soft rain that comes and goes every couple of hours with a little thunder and lightning sprinkled in.

2. I have no idea how monsoon season works here. Like for serious. The streets are all flooded with puddles of mud everywhere. In fact, the entire place gives of that freshly wet dog scent mixed in with the aroma of cow and a tinge of burning bush smell. I'm just sayin...

Love and other small things

Here I am, back from the land of Khajuraho. I have so much to say about the temples themselves, Khajuraho’s landscape, its people, and what I realized being on the trip.

What can I say really? There is no good adjective in the English language to describe the historical beauty of temples that have been around for 500 years, through India’s literal sands of time. I will resort to my recently acquired knowledge of the Hindi language:सेx टेम्प्लेस कहजुरहो में बहुत सुन्देर हुइन! I will say that I’m a very impressed with the ancient humans’ sexual imagination. I mean this as maturely as possible when talking about such deeds, but when I think of certain sexual acts, other than the basic man and woman action, I never think of how people were doing it in the old old days. I just never dawned on me that people knew about blow jobs before the eighties…okay maybe the sixties. I guess I just always assumed that that, and other positions, came with Love, Drugs, and Rock-n-Roll. Alas, I am wrong.

Thankfully, there was plenty to look at in Khajuraho both on and off the temples. Saturday, my girlfriends and I rented bikes and rode the distances from one temple to the other. It was a really beautiful ride that allowed us to see common people in and about small villages. The scenery was lush with the yellow blooms of mustard crops in front of the beautiful mountainous backdrops. As we rode, children and women would wave and say "hullo," "hullo," and we would call back, "Namaste! Ap Kasi/Kasa Hein," (how are you). Khajuraho, existing almost solely for the tourist that cattle in every couple of days, has some over the most persistently desperate and practically to the point of irritating salesmen. The main part of Khajuraho, the "town," consist of a couple blocks of shops sort of mazed in around each other, and then a stretch of rode, which leads to temples off in the distance, with more shops on the left and ride side. Our hotel, which I hardly believe the word hotel can be used to describe it--more like accommodating lodge although it was quite nice I have to admit--was setback into what would be where one tries to get the little pin ball when playing a hand held maze-game. As we would walk to and from out hotel, salesmen would comes up to us saying, "Madam, come to my shop," "Madam, you haven't been to my shop yet," "Madam, you said yesterday you would come to buy shop," "Just look--no buy," and my personal favorite one, "But Madam, it's not fair you went to his shop but not to my shop." To the later one, I always wanted to spin around and break my stone face and say, "You're right life's a bitch." (Okay, every teacher I ever had and Mom and Dad, I apologize for saying this like 5 times a day when you wouldn't let me go to what's her names party or go wherever it was I wanted to go.)  

I did buy several items, but only on my own accord, and I must say, I think potential Jewish mothers are damn good bargainers because we don't put up with meshugas-ness (thank you moses). This one guy tried to sell me a ring for 650 rs. I said absolutely not. He wanted to know what my "good" price was, so I told him 300 flat. Nothing more. He responds, "Okay, I make you good price, 500." I tell him he's kidding himself. "What's a couple rupees more," says he, "you can afford it, it's not that much." "I tell him if its not that much, then he obviously doesn't need it." "Fine, Fine, 375," he says.  I say, "okay," cause really I'm fine with that. But then he won't make the ring smaller so that it fits on my finger. "50 rs. extra--wear it on the other finger," he exclaims. "Absolutely not," I say. "It'll cost me just as much to make it smaller as it does to buy." "No," he says, so I grab the money from off the counter and say. "Alright. Then bye." Don't screw me over little man, American woman will keel you. 

 SO now for the reflecting... (harp music.) I am really glad to be back in Delhi where people don't come up to you every second and ask you to buy their products, or look in their stores. I'm glad to be back amongst the hustle and bustle. I feel stronger now, like if someone is going to try and rip me off I'm going to go Piranha on them. When we got back into Delhi around 7am, from our night train, all these auto drivers and taxi drivers kept asking it we wanted a ride. However, we were going to our school for class which is literally across the street from the train station. After the dozenth or so man asked us if we wanted a taxi or auto, I yelled back to the herd of drivers looking for someone to drive and said, "I do not want a taxi or and auto. Do not ask me. I am going across the street." Of course some smart one says, "Fine, ma'am, meter se," which means he's willing to give me the fair price.

Driving to the lake through rural Khajuraho:

Photos of the Weekend:

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deViant

Well, I’m off to the Sex Temples of Khajuraho this weekend. Photos will ensue...

!!!

So I get of the bus and start walking to my house. I see Hans curled up in his bush and cluck to him, but then see that he is sleeping. I think, "aw, how cute," and continue on my way home. I get home, and am in the process of unlatching the gate to the little garden that I walk through to get to the front door, when I hear what I think is a scooter or motorcycle. I turn to look at it to make sure the bike has enough room to get pass me without running me over, when I see--no, it's not a bike, it's Hans! He followed me home! :) So I scratched his ears. Yay!

Too Much for Words

I have done so many things since Friday!

Friday I went on a class field trip to remains of Tughlakabad, a medieval city/fort and tomb of Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq. Then I went to market/crafts festival, Surajkund Crafts Mela, on the border of Delhi and Haryana. I ate an amazing dosa and bought a beautiful blue and white skirt with a row of elephants and camels on it. Then, my two of my friends and I decided to venture to another market, Janpath market, and explore a bit. The Janpath area was quite tourist, but I did get some very nifty pants, which I am currently wearing, that are lightweight and good for hot weather.

Saturday, I had a lazy morning and went to a Sufi Celebration in the evening. At the celebration I listened to a Sitar Concert and some Dhrupad singing. Videos below:

Today, Sunday, I woke up early and met my friend near the Delhi Museum of Modern Art. We spent the entire day in the museum and saw so many beautiful paintings and an incredible exhibit by Anish Kapoor (the guy who did the Chicago bean!) Dad and Joseph, y’all would have totally loved this exhibit! We went to the Pandara Market area for lunch, which was more expensive than some of the markets I’ve been to because it is a touristy area. Nevertheless, my friend and I finally found a Chinese restaurant that didn’t rip us off. It was incredible! After lunch, we went back to the museum for the remainder of the day until it closed.


Pictures of the weekends extravagancies:

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(be patient with the Chipmunk mating call one. It's a video so it takes a while. You will love itttttt)





P.S. Joseph, I saw some little kids in soccer uniforms and soccer cleats today...

you know you fail when...

You know you fail at life when:

1. you go clubbing and get in free because it's ex patriot aka foreigners drink free night 
2. meet some cute guy and his friends, but politely decline giving them your number even though you had a great time
3. finally find the cab you called an hour ago speaking broken english over loud techno music
4. drive all the way back home in Delhi traffic that literally never sleeps (NYC you fail on this one)
5. open the door of the cab to get out and become extremely excited (more so than by cute boys) at the fact that the two local street dogs you've been trying to befriend recognize you and come say hello, so you pat them on the head and say "cutie puppiee what a good boy" and think that that one specific moment was BDE*.

*BEST DAY EVER 

Just like Goosebumps

So when I was in third grade I use to read R.L. Stine's books, Goosebumps —like one a day. For whatever reason, a good reason, I am reading so much here. I love it. I think it’s thanks to the fact that you can’t access Hulu or Netflix over here in India, so I have to use pilgrim like entertainment. Actually, it’s amazing. I love reading and am unfortunately reverting back to my third-grade book wormish self (Don’t worry Mom! I will not revert back to the part where I couldn’t spell words like “alligator” and had no idea how to multiply 1x1…math…ew.) Here are all the books I’ve been reading:

Stieg Larson’s The Girl Who Played With Fire
Stieg Larson’s The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest
José Saramago’s Blindness
Susan Colins’ The Hunger Games

And now I am currently reading Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie.

I <3 books. Yay, pipedream of being a writer!

P.S. I also feel like my blog posts have dropped about 10 levels in maturity... I will attempt to kind of work on that...but it's most likely due to all my smartness being sucked out by battling with autowallahs for correct fare, my hindi class, and socio-economics class; I am doing a presentation on comparing India and China's recent governmental-public interactions and their attempts to improve living conditions and reduce things like hunger, fertility rate, and illiteracy. Plus I am encountering cool economic terms I have never heard of before like Head-Index Count! YAY! Dad you're gonna be so proud of how globally smart I am when I come home (this summer and do nothing but write and watch Law and Order SVU)! YA!

Best Day Ever 2! Cows, Hans, Boys...

Okay seriously Best Day Ever.

I had a masala dosa for lunch today AND two laddus; laddu is an Indian dessert—very good.

I saw Hans and clucked to him. He came over to me and I finally was able to pet him. I don’t care if I get rabies, it made my day. He’s quite a big dog now that I have finally gotten up close to him.

I also got to pet a WHOLE HERD of cows today. I’m just saying. BDE. EVER! EVERRRRR! By the way Mom, Happy Times Farm was probably the worse thing for me, since now I want to pet and feed every farm type of animal I see on the street. The cows were so cool. My friend and I walked to a fabric market (okay it was a little stand that sold fabric so not really a market); on the way back, a whole bunch of cows were walking by. There was a bunch of big cows and then some baby cows! I was like OMG FRIEND (omit name) I want to pet them! And she was like, so go pet them. And so I went over to where they were and they all came up to me! The first one let me pet it, but then tried to horn me. But the second one let me pet it a bit more. AND THEN one of the baby cows came up to me and I pet it a lot, and my friend gave it some food! EEP. BDE to the extreme. (Look fellow Indians, I’m really sorry. I know it’s annoying when Americans freak out over everyday occurrences like animals on the streets. This is how I rationalize it in my mind. You have cows and such. Really cool. We have crosswalks at every corner of every street. Imagine being able to cross the street without fear of dying? Okay, now imagine by sheer excitement at seeing a cow on every street corner. Okay good.)

Well, I can’t think of any more particulars, but I’m sure more BDE stuff happened to me today. OH right, I saw a bunch of little cute school boys…some legal…some not so much.

Indian Tidbits #4: Pigeons

I was taking a walk on a street nearby my school, when a group of pigeons flew overhead and landed right in front of me where there was a big puddle of murky water. One pigeon flew so close to me that I heard the wind gush under its wing as it pulled them back to land. Amazing.