Joy is in the air. The sun is out, the weather has been getting warmer, and this weekend is Holi, a Hindu festival celebrating the triumph of good over evil. A goddess named Holika wanted the affection of Lord Krishna, and she got it, even thought Krishna's family didn't want the romance to happen. So in celebration, on Sunday everybody will get drunk and smear colored dyes all over complete strangers. Again, another religious excuse to get inebriated. Again, I digress. Needless to say, I've been asked by my chaperons to stay inside tomorrow. For one, the dye is very allergenic. Plus there’s nothing like the clean white canvas of my skin just begging to be pigmented. Yeah, I think staying inside will be a pretty good idea.
I’m typing this in Principal Ramdev’s office on Saturday. Many of the students have traveled home for the weekend for the holiday. Yet the ones that are here are getting a little bit of holiday cheer out of their system early. There’s screams, crashes from the rooms above me, colors flying, and general chaos. I look outside and everybody looks like a bowl of Froot Loops. The teachers are just sitting there calmly like it was any other day. Again, I think I’ll stay right here until the chaos dies down a little.
Alas, it didn’t work. I ventured outside when I thought the coast was clear, and I was ambushed. Fortunately, the attackers were only armed with yellow dye, and I was able to retreat in time before any permanent damage was done.
On another note, I presented the meal plan to Principal Ramdev and discovered that virtually nobody here eats nuts. He even used the word “allergic,” even though he admitted that it probably wasn’t the correct term. In truth, only 1-2% of people have true food allergies that prevent them from eating a certain item due to serious health concerns. Too many people simply avoid foods and use a made-up allergy as an excuse. Whether they are just lying through their teeth or they truly believe they are allergic, humans are able to eat and digest a huge variety of foods. Nuts are just seen as fattening and people here avoid them like the plague except for very small amounts used in sweets and desserts. So nuts are 86’d. The bad news is that it’s one important source of protein that they likely won’t be getting. The good news is that nuts were the most costly item on my proposed menu, and taking them off brings the price down a lot, which increases the likelihood of it getting approved.
Total price for this extra meal, which varies depending on what will be served or otherwise provided, ranges between 1000-2000 rupees per week. That’s 20-40 USD. Per week. For 40 girls. I am continuously amazed by the relatively cheap food prices here. Moreover, I love it. It gives me an excuse to play with my food more.
But I’m sure to be responsible about playing with food. Respect the food, remember? And respect people obnoxiously threatening you with colored dyes. Otherwise, you’ll be sorry.
27 February 2010
An Apple a Day
Time to get going on whatever it is that I’m doing here. Of course, I’m just saying that sarcastically, because I obviously do have an ultimate purpose to being here, and that is to work on the hostel menu. Principal Ramdev and I have decided that it would be a good option to add an extra small meal each day in between lunch and dinner, so I’ve written a plan for some items that can be prepared and/or provided.
The most important addition to their diet is fruit. Most of the girls eat 1-2 servings per week. The FAO, WHO and UN recommend at least 400 grams per day, while the USDA and the Indian Medical Association call it 5 servings, be it fresh, dried, squeezed or pureed. So, for 4 days a week all that’s going to be added is either a serving of fresh or dried fruit and a serving of nuts (which will add important fats and proteins, areas that need improvement). No, it’s not 5 a day, but it’s an introduction. I can’t be forcing raisins down their throat or injecting them with Tropicana. I’m just improving what’s lacking. If this small introduction encourages them to eat more fruit, then that’s a success in my book.
For the other 3 days a week, the snack will be a cooked or otherwise prepared item. Again, if they end up wanting more cooked items then fruit, then we’ll make the necessary changes and we proceed. My ideas: spicy peanut butter sandwiches, sweet peanut butter banana sandwiches, falafel with yogurt, pancakes, bean burgers, whole-wheat nachos (made by frying leftover chapattis until crisp), and PBC. The PBC is to add some sweet variety to their diet, because obviously it isn’t there for nutritional value. Everything else is there to use common Indian ingredients in a new way, to give the girls something new to put in their palates. The other motivation is to increase intakes of protein and healthy fats, which Principal Ramdev and I agree needs adjustment.
There are two more reasons for the extra meal. One is that most people here eat three big meals a day, which leads to unhealthy weight gain. Studies have shown that eating several smaller meals each day (4-6) leads to a healthier metabolism. The second reason is that Principal Ramdev wants them to get some more calories. My nutritional analysis showed that the average caloric intake meets the average requirements, but only just. He thinks, and I agree, that we should at least provide some extra, healthy food. They don’t have to eat it, but they probably will. Lunch at 1 and dinner at 8 means that most girls get hungry in between meals. They are forced to find unhealthy options to fill the gap, like chips, instant noodles and candy.
The plan is to add an extra meal every day in March. I will assist the cook in preparing the dishes with which she is unfamiliar, and we can make changes to the menu as needed based on the feedback of the girls. Budget also needs to be considered, and it is ultimately up to the administration to decide if spending a bit more on the hostel is worth it. That’s for them to decide; I can only make the recommendations. At the end of the month, we’ll decide if what we did was a good idea and should be continued. I will also have some more material on cultural observations that I can use in my final thesis at the end of the semester.
Cross your fingers for me. I’ll keep you all posted on the progress, if there is any.
The most important addition to their diet is fruit. Most of the girls eat 1-2 servings per week. The FAO, WHO and UN recommend at least 400 grams per day, while the USDA and the Indian Medical Association call it 5 servings, be it fresh, dried, squeezed or pureed. So, for 4 days a week all that’s going to be added is either a serving of fresh or dried fruit and a serving of nuts (which will add important fats and proteins, areas that need improvement). No, it’s not 5 a day, but it’s an introduction. I can’t be forcing raisins down their throat or injecting them with Tropicana. I’m just improving what’s lacking. If this small introduction encourages them to eat more fruit, then that’s a success in my book.
For the other 3 days a week, the snack will be a cooked or otherwise prepared item. Again, if they end up wanting more cooked items then fruit, then we’ll make the necessary changes and we proceed. My ideas: spicy peanut butter sandwiches, sweet peanut butter banana sandwiches, falafel with yogurt, pancakes, bean burgers, whole-wheat nachos (made by frying leftover chapattis until crisp), and PBC. The PBC is to add some sweet variety to their diet, because obviously it isn’t there for nutritional value. Everything else is there to use common Indian ingredients in a new way, to give the girls something new to put in their palates. The other motivation is to increase intakes of protein and healthy fats, which Principal Ramdev and I agree needs adjustment.
There are two more reasons for the extra meal. One is that most people here eat three big meals a day, which leads to unhealthy weight gain. Studies have shown that eating several smaller meals each day (4-6) leads to a healthier metabolism. The second reason is that Principal Ramdev wants them to get some more calories. My nutritional analysis showed that the average caloric intake meets the average requirements, but only just. He thinks, and I agree, that we should at least provide some extra, healthy food. They don’t have to eat it, but they probably will. Lunch at 1 and dinner at 8 means that most girls get hungry in between meals. They are forced to find unhealthy options to fill the gap, like chips, instant noodles and candy.
The plan is to add an extra meal every day in March. I will assist the cook in preparing the dishes with which she is unfamiliar, and we can make changes to the menu as needed based on the feedback of the girls. Budget also needs to be considered, and it is ultimately up to the administration to decide if spending a bit more on the hostel is worth it. That’s for them to decide; I can only make the recommendations. At the end of the month, we’ll decide if what we did was a good idea and should be continued. I will also have some more material on cultural observations that I can use in my final thesis at the end of the semester.
Cross your fingers for me. I’ll keep you all posted on the progress, if there is any.
25 February 2010
Calm as a Hindu Cow
I’ve always wanted a nice leather jacket. I know it’s kind of tacky and not always stylish. Plus, you have to do a lot to take care of it. But still, buying one has been one of those things that I’ve always wanted to do, like learning to skydive or having a giant python as a pet. I just never got around to forking over the dough, because a good one tends to be pretty expensive.
So not too long ago, my desire was rekindled because everything here in India is just so cheap compared to back in the U.S., and this goes doubly in the case of clothing. I thought, why not get one here and bring it back to the states? Not only would I look bad to the bone, but I would have a good story to go along with it.
Then I had another thought. ”Pat, you idiot, what are thinking? This is India, and leather is made from cows. There’s no way you’re going to get a real leather jacket here.” Well, it’s true. Everybody knows that cows are sacred here in India. I’m not sure why, it probably has to do with the nourishing milk they can produce or their ability to do lots of work. Moreover, cows are often seen as a blessing from the gods, as their way of providing something for the people. Nobody here even talks about killing or eating a cow. I mentioned beef once to a teacher here, and she gasped and recited a quick prayer under her breath. My bad.
Anyway, I thought it would be at least a funny story to tell Atul. When I did, he said, “Why wouldn’t you be able to get a leather jacket here? Of course you can.” I was confused. Turns out that Indians have no problems skinning the carcass of an already dead bovine, as long as the skin is the only thing they use. It’s just one more addition to the contradiction that is India. Here, stray cows walk the streets in the middle of traffic. Sure, everybody stops for them, but that’s no environment for a creature that’s supposed to be worshiped. Plus they often eat garbage on the side of the road. If a cow eats a large enough piece of plastic, it gets stuck in one of their four stomachs and blocks its ability to absorb nutrients from other foods, so the cow slowly starves to death no matter how much it eats. I also have frequently seen farmers and other people beating cows to get them out of the way or off their fields.
It makes me think about the different forms of worship. How could it be said that this animal is worshipped when the people here treat it so badly? It’s just a case of ignorance and limited knowledge of a situation, and this goes both ways. For example, Christianity is called a monotheistic religion, while Hinduism is polytheistic. Yet Hinduism actually believes in one true god that is expressed in many different forms. Brahmin the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer are the three main manifestations of the one god, and the countless other gods are other forms of those three, doing various aspects of their work in their name. So in a sense, Hinduism is monotheistic. Also, some people who don’t know much about Christianity would say that we worship more than one god. There’s God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit, as well as a litany of saints, disciples and prophets. It’s just hard for people who have not been raised Christian to understand that the Trinity is three-in-one, and that saints are not worshiped as gods.
Just another example of some cultural differences which are hard to understand from the outside. I’ll figure them out in time. Meanwhile, I’ll be making a trip to Dharmshala tomorrow for a leather jacket. Now I’ll really have a good story about how and where I got it.
So not too long ago, my desire was rekindled because everything here in India is just so cheap compared to back in the U.S., and this goes doubly in the case of clothing. I thought, why not get one here and bring it back to the states? Not only would I look bad to the bone, but I would have a good story to go along with it.
Then I had another thought. ”Pat, you idiot, what are thinking? This is India, and leather is made from cows. There’s no way you’re going to get a real leather jacket here.” Well, it’s true. Everybody knows that cows are sacred here in India. I’m not sure why, it probably has to do with the nourishing milk they can produce or their ability to do lots of work. Moreover, cows are often seen as a blessing from the gods, as their way of providing something for the people. Nobody here even talks about killing or eating a cow. I mentioned beef once to a teacher here, and she gasped and recited a quick prayer under her breath. My bad.
Anyway, I thought it would be at least a funny story to tell Atul. When I did, he said, “Why wouldn’t you be able to get a leather jacket here? Of course you can.” I was confused. Turns out that Indians have no problems skinning the carcass of an already dead bovine, as long as the skin is the only thing they use. It’s just one more addition to the contradiction that is India. Here, stray cows walk the streets in the middle of traffic. Sure, everybody stops for them, but that’s no environment for a creature that’s supposed to be worshiped. Plus they often eat garbage on the side of the road. If a cow eats a large enough piece of plastic, it gets stuck in one of their four stomachs and blocks its ability to absorb nutrients from other foods, so the cow slowly starves to death no matter how much it eats. I also have frequently seen farmers and other people beating cows to get them out of the way or off their fields.
It makes me think about the different forms of worship. How could it be said that this animal is worshipped when the people here treat it so badly? It’s just a case of ignorance and limited knowledge of a situation, and this goes both ways. For example, Christianity is called a monotheistic religion, while Hinduism is polytheistic. Yet Hinduism actually believes in one true god that is expressed in many different forms. Brahmin the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer are the three main manifestations of the one god, and the countless other gods are other forms of those three, doing various aspects of their work in their name. So in a sense, Hinduism is monotheistic. Also, some people who don’t know much about Christianity would say that we worship more than one god. There’s God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit, as well as a litany of saints, disciples and prophets. It’s just hard for people who have not been raised Christian to understand that the Trinity is three-in-one, and that saints are not worshiped as gods.
Just another example of some cultural differences which are hard to understand from the outside. I’ll figure them out in time. Meanwhile, I’ll be making a trip to Dharmshala tomorrow for a leather jacket. Now I’ll really have a good story about how and where I got it.
24 February 2010
Mi Comida Es Su Comida
I screwed up today. It was about noon, and lunch was still another couple hours away. I like to follow the plan of eating small meals throughout the day, so I always bring some snacks to work to keep my metabolism busy: an apple, a banana, some nuts, etc. Today, I grabbed an apple and walked outside to eat it. It was yummy. I finished the apple and threw the core into the trash.
Yesh, one of the teachers here, approached me a few minutes later. He explained that in Indian culture, what I just did was very rude. Anytime one eats food, it should be with other people who are also eating. That way, everybody can share their food so that everybody gets the same amount. For me to eat one thing only for myself without offering it to others was a big no-no. It means that I am very selfish. One can eat by themselves if they want, but they should do so in private.
Whoops. My bad. At least now I know that I should go into hiding when I want a snack.
Yesh, one of the teachers here, approached me a few minutes later. He explained that in Indian culture, what I just did was very rude. Anytime one eats food, it should be with other people who are also eating. That way, everybody can share their food so that everybody gets the same amount. For me to eat one thing only for myself without offering it to others was a big no-no. It means that I am very selfish. One can eat by themselves if they want, but they should do so in private.
Whoops. My bad. At least now I know that I should go into hiding when I want a snack.
A Dough by Any Other Name
A day devoted to food is a good day in my book, and that’s what yesterday was.
KLB students threw another party like last week’s for another departing class. I am not sure exactly how this class structure works, but I think they just set it up so that they can throw as many parties as they want. Fine with me, as long as they make more bhatura. Even better if you let me help make it, which they did. I was very appreciative of that, because during the beginning of the day, the teachers who didn’t have much to do that day were just sitting around and asking me questions. “What’s education like in America? What happens if a student doesn’t pass? What kind of classes do you take? What are your teachers like?” This is fine by me, except that they want three-word answers in simple English that they can understand, which is extremely difficult. I was getting really frustrated when Malkeet arrived and motioned for me to come with him. At that point, I didn’t care if he was going to abduct me on his scooter again, I just wanted a break from trying to answer impossible questions in broken English.
Fortunately, he wanted to show me how to make bhatura, and how to make a lot of it. I loved eating this last week, and it has turned into one of my favorite foods here. It’s very interesting dough that breaks all rules of dough making and still turns out delicious. First you start with 10kg white flour and 4kg whole-wheat flour. Then you use your hands to mix in 100g salt, 100g baking soda, and 100g instant yeast. That’s the first weird thing, using both chemical and biological leavening. After that, you add 15kg water and about 300-400g oil. More water than flour means you end of with a very wet hunk of dough, one that will have problems holding on to any gas produced by the leavening. Also, you only have to wait a half hour for it to be ready to cook, meaning that the yeast isn’t doing much work and won’t add much flavor. Again, you will be surprised by how well this turns out.
Well, maybe not that surprised, because you just fry hunks of it in oil. Hell, that makes anything taste good. Malkeet has an assistant to come in when they make bhatura whose name is Sanjeev, and he showed me how to pinch off small balls of dough from a big piece in such a way that it forms a skin like you would on a loaf of bread or pizza, yet you don’t have to roll it. Fascinating. Plus, since I work with dough a lot, I already had an idea of what needed to be done to get the right shape, so they were very impressed with how quickly I picked it up. That was a nice ego-stroking for me. Once the first round of dough was portioned, Sanjeev expertly manipulated of a piece of it into a thin, flat disk with a series of deft hand motions. He kind of slapped the dough against his hands several times, faster than one could see. Then he spun the disk into the pot of hot oil like you would toss a Frisbee. At first I thought that seemed dangerous, but then I realized that if he just dropped it in, more oil would splash around. Also, this made sure that one side of the dough evenly breached the surface of the oil so it would cook the same amount over the entire side. I tried doing this part of the process several times, but could never get it right. It negated the ego-stroking that I got from shaping the dough, so I just stuck to shaping the portions and moving them around while they fried. A well-shaped and properly cooked bhatura blows up like a balloon when it’s done. It was very cool to watch.
When he pulled the first bhatura out of the oil (with his bare hands), instead of placing it in the serving pot, he brought it to his lips, kissed it, then put it on the ground. He then kissed his fingers, touched his heart and looked to the sky. That first bhatura stayed on the ground underneath the frying pot for the rest of the day. I later learned that the first piece of food when cooking for large groups like this is always for the gods, to ensure a safe and successful day.
Anthony Bourdain writes in Kitchen Confidential that the recent phenomenon of celebrity chefs is a rather annoying paradox for those in the food service industry. That is because most of the time, the people who want to make food in restaurants are the ones who would rather be behind the scenes, out of the spotlight, because they simply hate people. I couldn’t agree with him more. The canteen crew today was an embodiment of that statement. Everyone just knew that food had to be made, and it gets made better and quicker when you don’t have to talk to your customers or do your work in front of a camera. I don’t exactly hate people, but I would much rather spend an hour taming a 30-kilo mass of wet dough then trying to get the complicated nature of the American education system understood in broken English. Malkeet and Sanjeev, on the other hand, talked very little, and I could tell that all of us were enjoying being absorbed in our work for the time being.
Also, I was impressed by how smoothly things worked with such minimal equipment. I spent several months working at MSU’s cafeteria, and most of my work was on the industrial fryers. There, I received small or large burns every day, even with that professional equipment and enough safety procedures to make a cow feel comfortable in a slaughterhouse. Yet here, with a big iron pot over an open flame and oil splashing everywhere, nobody got even singed. By the end of the day we had made at least 500 bhatura for the whole school, and Malkeet cooked a big pot of chickpeas over a fire pit to eat with the bread. Absolutely delicious. And I got to make food for hundreds of people. It may not have been for the gods, but when I cook for others, it certainly is for other reasons besides mine or their satisfaction. The look of their faces when I can see that they liked our food, the food that Malkeet, Sanjeev and I made together, even though we don’t even speak the same language… I don’t know, it’s just a really special feeling.
We finished the last piece, then I joined Sanjeev in thanking the gods once again for blessing our operation. There was more dancing, another beauty pageant, and we all went home. This time, however, I really felt a great sense of accomplishment, more so than most days. I fed people. What could be more rewarding than knowing that you helped people fulfill their most basic need?
KLB students threw another party like last week’s for another departing class. I am not sure exactly how this class structure works, but I think they just set it up so that they can throw as many parties as they want. Fine with me, as long as they make more bhatura. Even better if you let me help make it, which they did. I was very appreciative of that, because during the beginning of the day, the teachers who didn’t have much to do that day were just sitting around and asking me questions. “What’s education like in America? What happens if a student doesn’t pass? What kind of classes do you take? What are your teachers like?” This is fine by me, except that they want three-word answers in simple English that they can understand, which is extremely difficult. I was getting really frustrated when Malkeet arrived and motioned for me to come with him. At that point, I didn’t care if he was going to abduct me on his scooter again, I just wanted a break from trying to answer impossible questions in broken English.
Fortunately, he wanted to show me how to make bhatura, and how to make a lot of it. I loved eating this last week, and it has turned into one of my favorite foods here. It’s very interesting dough that breaks all rules of dough making and still turns out delicious. First you start with 10kg white flour and 4kg whole-wheat flour. Then you use your hands to mix in 100g salt, 100g baking soda, and 100g instant yeast. That’s the first weird thing, using both chemical and biological leavening. After that, you add 15kg water and about 300-400g oil. More water than flour means you end of with a very wet hunk of dough, one that will have problems holding on to any gas produced by the leavening. Also, you only have to wait a half hour for it to be ready to cook, meaning that the yeast isn’t doing much work and won’t add much flavor. Again, you will be surprised by how well this turns out.
Well, maybe not that surprised, because you just fry hunks of it in oil. Hell, that makes anything taste good. Malkeet has an assistant to come in when they make bhatura whose name is Sanjeev, and he showed me how to pinch off small balls of dough from a big piece in such a way that it forms a skin like you would on a loaf of bread or pizza, yet you don’t have to roll it. Fascinating. Plus, since I work with dough a lot, I already had an idea of what needed to be done to get the right shape, so they were very impressed with how quickly I picked it up. That was a nice ego-stroking for me. Once the first round of dough was portioned, Sanjeev expertly manipulated of a piece of it into a thin, flat disk with a series of deft hand motions. He kind of slapped the dough against his hands several times, faster than one could see. Then he spun the disk into the pot of hot oil like you would toss a Frisbee. At first I thought that seemed dangerous, but then I realized that if he just dropped it in, more oil would splash around. Also, this made sure that one side of the dough evenly breached the surface of the oil so it would cook the same amount over the entire side. I tried doing this part of the process several times, but could never get it right. It negated the ego-stroking that I got from shaping the dough, so I just stuck to shaping the portions and moving them around while they fried. A well-shaped and properly cooked bhatura blows up like a balloon when it’s done. It was very cool to watch.
When he pulled the first bhatura out of the oil (with his bare hands), instead of placing it in the serving pot, he brought it to his lips, kissed it, then put it on the ground. He then kissed his fingers, touched his heart and looked to the sky. That first bhatura stayed on the ground underneath the frying pot for the rest of the day. I later learned that the first piece of food when cooking for large groups like this is always for the gods, to ensure a safe and successful day.
Anthony Bourdain writes in Kitchen Confidential that the recent phenomenon of celebrity chefs is a rather annoying paradox for those in the food service industry. That is because most of the time, the people who want to make food in restaurants are the ones who would rather be behind the scenes, out of the spotlight, because they simply hate people. I couldn’t agree with him more. The canteen crew today was an embodiment of that statement. Everyone just knew that food had to be made, and it gets made better and quicker when you don’t have to talk to your customers or do your work in front of a camera. I don’t exactly hate people, but I would much rather spend an hour taming a 30-kilo mass of wet dough then trying to get the complicated nature of the American education system understood in broken English. Malkeet and Sanjeev, on the other hand, talked very little, and I could tell that all of us were enjoying being absorbed in our work for the time being.
Also, I was impressed by how smoothly things worked with such minimal equipment. I spent several months working at MSU’s cafeteria, and most of my work was on the industrial fryers. There, I received small or large burns every day, even with that professional equipment and enough safety procedures to make a cow feel comfortable in a slaughterhouse. Yet here, with a big iron pot over an open flame and oil splashing everywhere, nobody got even singed. By the end of the day we had made at least 500 bhatura for the whole school, and Malkeet cooked a big pot of chickpeas over a fire pit to eat with the bread. Absolutely delicious. And I got to make food for hundreds of people. It may not have been for the gods, but when I cook for others, it certainly is for other reasons besides mine or their satisfaction. The look of their faces when I can see that they liked our food, the food that Malkeet, Sanjeev and I made together, even though we don’t even speak the same language… I don’t know, it’s just a really special feeling.
We finished the last piece, then I joined Sanjeev in thanking the gods once again for blessing our operation. There was more dancing, another beauty pageant, and we all went home. This time, however, I really felt a great sense of accomplishment, more so than most days. I fed people. What could be more rewarding than knowing that you helped people fulfill their most basic need?
22 February 2010
Flap Jitenders
Like flap jacks, except with an Indian name. Get it? Well, I thought it was hilarious.
I made eggless flap jitenders over the weekend to bring to KLB for Principal Ramdev to try, and they went over very well. In addition to those, I also made chapatti chips and hard-crack candy. Why? Why not, Sundays are boring, and I was looking for stuff to do. Ramdev thoroughly enjoyed the candy, but he wished that it could be made into individual, regular shapes. I had just poured the molten syrup on a greased metal plate and cracked it into pieces. If you want shapes, you need molds, and that’s something that you can’t really get over here.
Which brings me to the subject of today’s blog post: jugard, a very popular Indian saying. It means “to manage,” and it’s what people around here do all the time. They make do with what they have, and I have seen it every day in every place, but mostly in the kitchen. I’m the kind of guy who, while not super high-maintenance, likes to have specific tools and pots and pans for his cooking and baking. I like things that multitask, so my stuff needs to be good quality and good for a lot of different uses. Yet coming here has opened up my imagination to what you can do in the kitchen with very little.
When making brownies here, I use an upturned portable space heater to melt the butter. It saves gas, don’t you know? I use a fork to whisk, because there are no metal whisks. I use a large spoon as a spatula, because plastic, rubber and silicone aren’t very common. No cooking spray, so I just use my fingers to spread a little bit of oil in the pan. To heat water for washing, it is very common to attached coiled metal to a wooden stick and place that whole contraption into a bucket of water. It doesn’t even have a proper plug for an outlet. You just take the two exposed wires and stick them into the socket. No, it’s not very safe at all, and I almost electrocuted myself unplugging it once. Everything is reduced, reused and recycled.
Even in the mud hut’s kitchen, I make do with so little. All of the pots and pans have no handles except for one, because they all broke. Shammi uses a filed piece of scrap metal as a knife (whereas I’m the kind of guy who has no problem spending 80-100 USD on a good quality chef’s knife). Need a container to store food? Just put a plate on top of that metal bowl and stick it in the fridge. Who needs Tupperware? Oh, and my favorite kitchen hack: to light the gas burners, instead of using a match, we use a lighter whose gas has run out. The flint still works perfectly, thank you very much.
I am sometimes amazed at Indian ingenuity, but on a closer look, what they do have is very good quality. It comes from 5000 years of using the same recipes, so you know how to do so much with very little. For example, every house has at least two, usually more, of good quality stainless steel bowls with a copper-plated bottom. Stainless steel is a very poor conductor, so it’s bad for cooking evenly, but it’s cheap, durable and easy to clean. Copper, while being an excellent conductor, is expensive, reactive with many different foods (like tomatoes), and a pain in the butt to clean and maintain. So, by coating the bottom of the stainless steel bowl with copper, you have a very strong, durable and cheap cooking bowl that’s still very easy to clean and lasts for years. You don’t have to worry about acidic or reactive foods spoiling the copper. And Shammi’s prison shank that he uses as a knife? Very good quality metal and very sharp. I almost cut myself a few times because I assumed that it was dull, when in reality, I was just the dull one.
So when I told Principal Ramdev that it would be almost impossible to make regularly-shaped candy without molds, Akshay, the architect at the college, suggested buying some in-shell peanuts. I could shell the nuts, save the husks, and pour the hot sugar into the empty shells. Once it cools, I could crack off the shells and have peanut-shaped candy. I was stunned, because there is no way I would have thought of that.
Jugard is starting to rub off on me. The first time I made something in the hostel kitchen, it took me forever because I was so used to using my silicone spatula, my good mixing bowl, a good oven, even burners, and all the space that I wanted. I just kept slowing down because I expected things to be the way they are in the states. Today, when I made pancakes again to show Malkeet, it was a snap. It was even quicker than making them at home, because I didn’t have so much unnecessary equipment to worry my mind. I make like Nike and just do it.
Maybe it’s the homemade syrup from scratch, maybe it’s the good quality ingredients, or maybe it’s the absence of any other decent American food, but I’ll be damned if Indian pancakes (flap jitenders, I swear its funny) aren’t the best ones I have ever eaten. Whatever the case may be, I owe a lot to jugard.
I made eggless flap jitenders over the weekend to bring to KLB for Principal Ramdev to try, and they went over very well. In addition to those, I also made chapatti chips and hard-crack candy. Why? Why not, Sundays are boring, and I was looking for stuff to do. Ramdev thoroughly enjoyed the candy, but he wished that it could be made into individual, regular shapes. I had just poured the molten syrup on a greased metal plate and cracked it into pieces. If you want shapes, you need molds, and that’s something that you can’t really get over here.
Which brings me to the subject of today’s blog post: jugard, a very popular Indian saying. It means “to manage,” and it’s what people around here do all the time. They make do with what they have, and I have seen it every day in every place, but mostly in the kitchen. I’m the kind of guy who, while not super high-maintenance, likes to have specific tools and pots and pans for his cooking and baking. I like things that multitask, so my stuff needs to be good quality and good for a lot of different uses. Yet coming here has opened up my imagination to what you can do in the kitchen with very little.
When making brownies here, I use an upturned portable space heater to melt the butter. It saves gas, don’t you know? I use a fork to whisk, because there are no metal whisks. I use a large spoon as a spatula, because plastic, rubber and silicone aren’t very common. No cooking spray, so I just use my fingers to spread a little bit of oil in the pan. To heat water for washing, it is very common to attached coiled metal to a wooden stick and place that whole contraption into a bucket of water. It doesn’t even have a proper plug for an outlet. You just take the two exposed wires and stick them into the socket. No, it’s not very safe at all, and I almost electrocuted myself unplugging it once. Everything is reduced, reused and recycled.
Even in the mud hut’s kitchen, I make do with so little. All of the pots and pans have no handles except for one, because they all broke. Shammi uses a filed piece of scrap metal as a knife (whereas I’m the kind of guy who has no problem spending 80-100 USD on a good quality chef’s knife). Need a container to store food? Just put a plate on top of that metal bowl and stick it in the fridge. Who needs Tupperware? Oh, and my favorite kitchen hack: to light the gas burners, instead of using a match, we use a lighter whose gas has run out. The flint still works perfectly, thank you very much.
I am sometimes amazed at Indian ingenuity, but on a closer look, what they do have is very good quality. It comes from 5000 years of using the same recipes, so you know how to do so much with very little. For example, every house has at least two, usually more, of good quality stainless steel bowls with a copper-plated bottom. Stainless steel is a very poor conductor, so it’s bad for cooking evenly, but it’s cheap, durable and easy to clean. Copper, while being an excellent conductor, is expensive, reactive with many different foods (like tomatoes), and a pain in the butt to clean and maintain. So, by coating the bottom of the stainless steel bowl with copper, you have a very strong, durable and cheap cooking bowl that’s still very easy to clean and lasts for years. You don’t have to worry about acidic or reactive foods spoiling the copper. And Shammi’s prison shank that he uses as a knife? Very good quality metal and very sharp. I almost cut myself a few times because I assumed that it was dull, when in reality, I was just the dull one.
So when I told Principal Ramdev that it would be almost impossible to make regularly-shaped candy without molds, Akshay, the architect at the college, suggested buying some in-shell peanuts. I could shell the nuts, save the husks, and pour the hot sugar into the empty shells. Once it cools, I could crack off the shells and have peanut-shaped candy. I was stunned, because there is no way I would have thought of that.
Jugard is starting to rub off on me. The first time I made something in the hostel kitchen, it took me forever because I was so used to using my silicone spatula, my good mixing bowl, a good oven, even burners, and all the space that I wanted. I just kept slowing down because I expected things to be the way they are in the states. Today, when I made pancakes again to show Malkeet, it was a snap. It was even quicker than making them at home, because I didn’t have so much unnecessary equipment to worry my mind. I make like Nike and just do it.
Maybe it’s the homemade syrup from scratch, maybe it’s the good quality ingredients, or maybe it’s the absence of any other decent American food, but I’ll be damned if Indian pancakes (flap jitenders, I swear its funny) aren’t the best ones I have ever eaten. Whatever the case may be, I owe a lot to jugard.
20 February 2010
Blood Work
I came to the college today to find some distressing news. One of the girls in the hostel had to go to the hospital the night before. Apparently she had fainted and was unable to be revived. It was discovered that she was suffering from anemia that was aggravated by the onset of her menstrual cycle. That’s bad enough, but when I learned about it from Principal Ramdev, he told me that this was a rather common symptom among Indian women.
Anemia is when you either do not have enough red blood cells in your blood or your hemoglobin decreases. Hemoglobin is a protein that binds to oxygen and is a necessary component in tissue oxygenation. I’m oversimplifying it, but basically, anemia is when your blood fails to deliver the necessary oxygen to your body.
One of the causes of anemia, and the likely culprit in this case (and the case of most Indian women) is decreased iron. Iron is an important part of the hemoglobin protein, and without iron, your red blood cells cannot carry oxygen. The problem for the culture here is that the best source of iron is meat and eggs, but so many people here are vegetarians. Even the ones that do eat meat consume it only about 2-3 times per week. It does come from other sources, such as dark green vegetables like spinach and whole-wheat products, but in much smaller amounts. It is also non-heme iron, which means that is not as readily absorbed and used by the body.
Iron supplements are not a solution. For one, any iron supplement is non-heme. Secondly, the human body cannot absorb large amounts of iron all at once; it needs to be taken throughout the day. Finally, too much iron is deadly.
As I may have mentioned before, this is a diet that has existed for the past 5,000 years, so it works on some level. Unfortunately, the introduction of a Western diet, as well as industrialization of foods, has been known to strip down the nutrition of raw ingredients and cause problems for developing societies. Plus, I know that I have stated before that I am not a registered dietician and I cannot make serious health recommendations to anybody here. I just feel bad to hear Principal Ramdev casually tell me about a serious nutritional deficiency that is common in over 90% of the women here. Maybe it’s my arrogant Western attitude, but I want to help. I just don’t know how it would be practical. Hopefully, the doctors and other health professionals here are trying to work it out.
UPDATE: I apologize for the poor wording when I first wrote (that they were unable to revive her). The girl is fine now, she didn't die.
Anemia is when you either do not have enough red blood cells in your blood or your hemoglobin decreases. Hemoglobin is a protein that binds to oxygen and is a necessary component in tissue oxygenation. I’m oversimplifying it, but basically, anemia is when your blood fails to deliver the necessary oxygen to your body.
One of the causes of anemia, and the likely culprit in this case (and the case of most Indian women) is decreased iron. Iron is an important part of the hemoglobin protein, and without iron, your red blood cells cannot carry oxygen. The problem for the culture here is that the best source of iron is meat and eggs, but so many people here are vegetarians. Even the ones that do eat meat consume it only about 2-3 times per week. It does come from other sources, such as dark green vegetables like spinach and whole-wheat products, but in much smaller amounts. It is also non-heme iron, which means that is not as readily absorbed and used by the body.
Iron supplements are not a solution. For one, any iron supplement is non-heme. Secondly, the human body cannot absorb large amounts of iron all at once; it needs to be taken throughout the day. Finally, too much iron is deadly.
As I may have mentioned before, this is a diet that has existed for the past 5,000 years, so it works on some level. Unfortunately, the introduction of a Western diet, as well as industrialization of foods, has been known to strip down the nutrition of raw ingredients and cause problems for developing societies. Plus, I know that I have stated before that I am not a registered dietician and I cannot make serious health recommendations to anybody here. I just feel bad to hear Principal Ramdev casually tell me about a serious nutritional deficiency that is common in over 90% of the women here. Maybe it’s my arrogant Western attitude, but I want to help. I just don’t know how it would be practical. Hopefully, the doctors and other health professionals here are trying to work it out.
UPDATE: I apologize for the poor wording when I first wrote (that they were unable to revive her). The girl is fine now, she didn't die.
19 February 2010
New Kids on the Block
Something new, something new. The past two days were a break from the rapt, attentive stares of post-adolescent college students in exchange for the wandering curiosity of toddlers. I observed Mother’s Touch School, a daycare and preschool center for 2-5 year olds. It was a chance to contrast my experience at Dhared Daycare, a free, public institution, with a private enterprise. The differences were astounding. Take a look at my report that I wrote for Atul this week.
“I have spent the past two days at Mother’s Touch school in Palampur, a privately-owned daycare and kindergarten. This contrasts with my experience at Dhared Daycare, a government institution. First I would like to highlight a few characteristics of Dhared that will soon stand out against Mother’s Touch. Dhared is free, government lunch is provided, the students are required to follow a syllabus provided by the government, and the children learn by rote memorization, studying just what is needed to complete the government lessons and pass the regular examinations.
“Mother’s Touch is a different story altogether. The first thing that I noticed as a huge difference was the facilities available. It is located on a renovated house that was well-painted, well-kept and fully furnished. It was covered with teaching aids, from posters of foods to a map of India. All of the signs were in English. It also had a very large yard with playground equipment and plenty of toys with which the children could play. Inside were three classrooms, a media room and an office for the principal, Brindula Karol. Her residence is upstairs.
“The 80+ children that attend are ages 2-5, and it was their attitude and actions that was the second significant thing that I noticed. At Dhared, all of the children were somberly sitting quietly with their books and there wasn’t much noise or interaction at all. At Mother’s Touch, the children were loud, happy and active. They start each day with an assembly reciting mantras, and then the children break off into their various age groups with their respective teachers (8 teachers total) to do their day’s activities. These activities include dancing, singing, learning manners, writing in their books (English and Hindi are taught) or playing on the grounds.
“The fee to send a child here is about 450 rupees per month (about 10 USD). It allows the student to stay on the premises from 9:30-13:00 every day. If the child needs to stay until 17:30, it costs an extra 300 rupees. This pays for the teachers’ salaries, the building, upkeep a backpack for the child and other various expenses. As a private institution, Mother’s touch is not required to follow a government-provided syllabus. In fact, there is no syllabus. Principal Brindula made it strictly clear to me on several occasions that the child’s happiness is first priority. If a child does not want to learn one day and just wants to play, that is allowed. Of course, all the children are strongly encouraged to follow along with their lessons, but if they want to go play, they can. I asked if she believes that the children are ready to proceed in primary school, and she does. I must agree. Most of the older children follow along well in their studies of English and math. I am not an expert in early childhood development, but I do believe from my observations that the children are progressing at a normal rate.
“One of the advantages to such a style of learning is that the children get more practical experience. At Dhared, the children only learn exactly what they need to learn to pass into the next level. They are learning the book and not much else. At Mother’s Touch, since no tests are required to be passed, the children learn whatever the teachers feel is important. In addition to math, Hindi and English, some trips are taken a few times a year to get the children out. Last week they went to a restaurant to learn table manners, and next week they will visit public buildings: the fire station, police station, bank and hospital. The goal is to get the children to enjoy learning, and she believes in trusting the children so that they will learn to trust others. Principal Brindula holds a feedback session with her staff at the end of every day to collect complaints, suggestions and reports of the students. She also has an open-door policy, not just with the staff, but with every single child. They often run into her office to share their latest accomplishment, show her a dance or even just to get a hug.
“At Dhared, the government provides a meal every day for their children. Mother’s Touch does not (it receives no funding from the government), and the children bring their lunches, but parents are asked to make sure their children bring healthy meals. This includes chapattis, vegetables and a serving of fruit.
“I would like to make one cultural observation about my two days’ experience, and that is children here are the same as in the U.S. The language is different, their skin is a different color, and they bring different lunches, but if you put an American child in this school, he or she will behave exactly the same as an Indian child, given the same situation. They will shout, dance, learn and behave just like everyone else. Likewise, if an American went to Dhared, he will be quiet, reserved, and shy and learn only what is asked of him, nothing else. I believe that this is because children at this age are too young for the intricacies of their respective cultures to set in yet. They will grow and mold themselves in whatever culture or society they are raised.
“Also, I experienced a bilingual learning institution for the first time. I had always wondered how children grow up learning more than one language, as schools like this are not prevalent in the U.S. Now I know: one simply has to use both languages in the presence of the child. These children hear Hindi or Pahari (the local language) at home almost exclusively. At the school, all of the general instructions are given in English. If there is a child that simply isn’t behaving or has trouble understanding and following directions, Hindi will be used. Eventually they will become accustomed to English commands, directions and phrases.
“On my first day there, I gave a simple geography lesson to the kindergarten class (4-5 years old), about 15 children. They sat down in front of a world map, and I pointed out to them the names of several countries on the map, choosing ones that were large and therefore easy to see, and/or help some importance to India: Australia, China, Russia, Japan, Iran, Egypt, the UK, Brazil, Greenland and USA. I also taught the four main oceans and the directions (north, south, west and east). Like any other under-5 class, there were those who paid rapt attention and those who couldn’t care less. Some remembered quickly, some didn’t remember at all. They all wanted to go to the bathroom at least once during the lesson, just like American youngsters, and the answers were shouted instead of spoken. Again, I would like to emphasize the similarities to American children. The only difference was their slightly diminished command of English, but frankly, that can even be expected of American kids.
“On the second day, I gave essentially the same lesson to see how much they learned. I was very impressed with most of the kids, as they remembered several of the countries from the day before. They had trouble remembering the names of Iran, USA and Brazil, and their Hindi accents made it difficult for them to pronounce the /th/ sound in “north” and “south,” but otherwise, they were very bright. In addition, I observed the kids eating lunch, and again, it was just like lunchtime at an American preschool. About half of the kids brought the recommended chapatti, vegetable and fruit. Several brought “unhealthy” foods like white sandwiches, chips and cookies.
“Finally, Principal Brindula asked me to write a flyer that could be sent home with the parents to make some more specific recommendations about their diet. Using the same data I had collected for my nutritional analysis of KLB hostel, I put together a simple way that the parents could calculate their child’s caloric needs based on age, sex and weight and provided examples for them. I also wrote a chart of healthy and unhealthy sources of fats, carbohydrates and protein that are common in what I have seen so far in Indian diets. While I am sure this will be helpful to the parents, I am not too worried about their overall health. Children have very strong and resilient bodies that can respond positively and healthily to a huge range of diets, whether they are American or Indian. “
All in all, it was a really great experience. Plus I was asked to make brownies for the staff. I swear, by the time I leave here, everybody in Palampur is going to know me just because of my baking. Whatever, I’ll take the ego-stroking when I can get it.
“I have spent the past two days at Mother’s Touch school in Palampur, a privately-owned daycare and kindergarten. This contrasts with my experience at Dhared Daycare, a government institution. First I would like to highlight a few characteristics of Dhared that will soon stand out against Mother’s Touch. Dhared is free, government lunch is provided, the students are required to follow a syllabus provided by the government, and the children learn by rote memorization, studying just what is needed to complete the government lessons and pass the regular examinations.
“Mother’s Touch is a different story altogether. The first thing that I noticed as a huge difference was the facilities available. It is located on a renovated house that was well-painted, well-kept and fully furnished. It was covered with teaching aids, from posters of foods to a map of India. All of the signs were in English. It also had a very large yard with playground equipment and plenty of toys with which the children could play. Inside were three classrooms, a media room and an office for the principal, Brindula Karol. Her residence is upstairs.
“The 80+ children that attend are ages 2-5, and it was their attitude and actions that was the second significant thing that I noticed. At Dhared, all of the children were somberly sitting quietly with their books and there wasn’t much noise or interaction at all. At Mother’s Touch, the children were loud, happy and active. They start each day with an assembly reciting mantras, and then the children break off into their various age groups with their respective teachers (8 teachers total) to do their day’s activities. These activities include dancing, singing, learning manners, writing in their books (English and Hindi are taught) or playing on the grounds.
“The fee to send a child here is about 450 rupees per month (about 10 USD). It allows the student to stay on the premises from 9:30-13:00 every day. If the child needs to stay until 17:30, it costs an extra 300 rupees. This pays for the teachers’ salaries, the building, upkeep a backpack for the child and other various expenses. As a private institution, Mother’s touch is not required to follow a government-provided syllabus. In fact, there is no syllabus. Principal Brindula made it strictly clear to me on several occasions that the child’s happiness is first priority. If a child does not want to learn one day and just wants to play, that is allowed. Of course, all the children are strongly encouraged to follow along with their lessons, but if they want to go play, they can. I asked if she believes that the children are ready to proceed in primary school, and she does. I must agree. Most of the older children follow along well in their studies of English and math. I am not an expert in early childhood development, but I do believe from my observations that the children are progressing at a normal rate.
“One of the advantages to such a style of learning is that the children get more practical experience. At Dhared, the children only learn exactly what they need to learn to pass into the next level. They are learning the book and not much else. At Mother’s Touch, since no tests are required to be passed, the children learn whatever the teachers feel is important. In addition to math, Hindi and English, some trips are taken a few times a year to get the children out. Last week they went to a restaurant to learn table manners, and next week they will visit public buildings: the fire station, police station, bank and hospital. The goal is to get the children to enjoy learning, and she believes in trusting the children so that they will learn to trust others. Principal Brindula holds a feedback session with her staff at the end of every day to collect complaints, suggestions and reports of the students. She also has an open-door policy, not just with the staff, but with every single child. They often run into her office to share their latest accomplishment, show her a dance or even just to get a hug.
“At Dhared, the government provides a meal every day for their children. Mother’s Touch does not (it receives no funding from the government), and the children bring their lunches, but parents are asked to make sure their children bring healthy meals. This includes chapattis, vegetables and a serving of fruit.
“I would like to make one cultural observation about my two days’ experience, and that is children here are the same as in the U.S. The language is different, their skin is a different color, and they bring different lunches, but if you put an American child in this school, he or she will behave exactly the same as an Indian child, given the same situation. They will shout, dance, learn and behave just like everyone else. Likewise, if an American went to Dhared, he will be quiet, reserved, and shy and learn only what is asked of him, nothing else. I believe that this is because children at this age are too young for the intricacies of their respective cultures to set in yet. They will grow and mold themselves in whatever culture or society they are raised.
“Also, I experienced a bilingual learning institution for the first time. I had always wondered how children grow up learning more than one language, as schools like this are not prevalent in the U.S. Now I know: one simply has to use both languages in the presence of the child. These children hear Hindi or Pahari (the local language) at home almost exclusively. At the school, all of the general instructions are given in English. If there is a child that simply isn’t behaving or has trouble understanding and following directions, Hindi will be used. Eventually they will become accustomed to English commands, directions and phrases.
“On my first day there, I gave a simple geography lesson to the kindergarten class (4-5 years old), about 15 children. They sat down in front of a world map, and I pointed out to them the names of several countries on the map, choosing ones that were large and therefore easy to see, and/or help some importance to India: Australia, China, Russia, Japan, Iran, Egypt, the UK, Brazil, Greenland and USA. I also taught the four main oceans and the directions (north, south, west and east). Like any other under-5 class, there were those who paid rapt attention and those who couldn’t care less. Some remembered quickly, some didn’t remember at all. They all wanted to go to the bathroom at least once during the lesson, just like American youngsters, and the answers were shouted instead of spoken. Again, I would like to emphasize the similarities to American children. The only difference was their slightly diminished command of English, but frankly, that can even be expected of American kids.
“On the second day, I gave essentially the same lesson to see how much they learned. I was very impressed with most of the kids, as they remembered several of the countries from the day before. They had trouble remembering the names of Iran, USA and Brazil, and their Hindi accents made it difficult for them to pronounce the /th/ sound in “north” and “south,” but otherwise, they were very bright. In addition, I observed the kids eating lunch, and again, it was just like lunchtime at an American preschool. About half of the kids brought the recommended chapatti, vegetable and fruit. Several brought “unhealthy” foods like white sandwiches, chips and cookies.
“Finally, Principal Brindula asked me to write a flyer that could be sent home with the parents to make some more specific recommendations about their diet. Using the same data I had collected for my nutritional analysis of KLB hostel, I put together a simple way that the parents could calculate their child’s caloric needs based on age, sex and weight and provided examples for them. I also wrote a chart of healthy and unhealthy sources of fats, carbohydrates and protein that are common in what I have seen so far in Indian diets. While I am sure this will be helpful to the parents, I am not too worried about their overall health. Children have very strong and resilient bodies that can respond positively and healthily to a huge range of diets, whether they are American or Indian. “
All in all, it was a really great experience. Plus I was asked to make brownies for the staff. I swear, by the time I leave here, everybody in Palampur is going to know me just because of my baking. Whatever, I’ll take the ego-stroking when I can get it.
17 February 2010
Can't Buy Me Love (But Food is Fair Game)
I guess you can say that as of today, I am a successful businessman. Yesterday Principal Ramdev and I had planned to finally sell something to the girls. After a couple of weeks of making food and just giving it away, it was time to break even on the accounting books. Since I was very comfortable with the recipe and it was something which had gotten positive reviews in the past, PBC’s were chosen.
The day before, I had purchased the necessary ingredients in the market. Eventually, if this is an operation that will be continued in the future, the ingredients will just be ordered along with the rest of the hostel’s food in their weekly or monthly purchases, because they get much better deals. At those prices, the cost of making one large tray of PBC’s, about 150 pieces, was estimated at 400 rupees. Unfortunately, buying the stuff in the market drove the price up to about 500 rupees. Still, we called it 400 for argument’s sake. Then, by selling each piece for 4 rupees, we would make 600 rupees, a (hypothetical) profit of 200. Needless to say, the profit is not mine, it’s for the college.
Enlisting the help of the canteen cook (his name is Malkeet, I finally learned) was like making a black market deal. Principal Ramdev told him that if we used his kitchen to cook and sell my recipe, and if he would lend a hand in selling it, he could take the profit. It was explained to me that this was the only way he would be okay with allowing me to continue. Kind of a shady guy, you know? He also requested that we don’t tell anybody else about this “partnership.” Whatever, dude. It’s not like we’re dealing drugs, but if that makes him happy, all the power to him.
It was planned that I would come into the college a bit early to make the mixture as soon as I arrived. That way it would cool and be ready to cut by lunchtime. Principal Ramdev surprised me by suggesting that it wouldn’t be a problem to keep them out for the next three days for selling. Three days? Come on, they taste better than that. Besides, do the math. There are 600-800 girls at the college, and we’re making only 150 pieces. Plus they’re delicious. Give me a second to put that in my calculator… carry the 9… yep, they’ll be gone in a day.
But I was wrong. They were all sold in 90 minutes.
It was actually quite amusing. We had pulled a table out of the canteen so that it would be easier to see that something new and different is being sold. As students came out of class, they would all pass by the table in groups of 5-15, stop to look at the table, whisper to each other, and then continue walking on by. Half a minute later, they would be back with money in hand. It was like taking candy from a baby, except I was giving the candy, which is even easier. Plus I would never take candy from a baby anyway. That’s just cruel.
Principal Ramdev also asked me earlier about advertising. At least in this subject, we both came to a consensus. When there’s a strange kid sitting out in front of a table, selling a weird-looking treat, no advertisement is necessary. My white skin and word of mouth was the only advertisement necessary.
From here, sky’s the limit. Although one of the teachers strongly suggested that I sell something savory next time, not sweet. Maybe another shot at falafel? Whatever it is, I’ll wait about a week or so before selling something else. Cervantes said, “El hambre siempre es la mejor salsa;” hunger is always the best sauce. Let’s make sure they’re hungry for more.
The day before, I had purchased the necessary ingredients in the market. Eventually, if this is an operation that will be continued in the future, the ingredients will just be ordered along with the rest of the hostel’s food in their weekly or monthly purchases, because they get much better deals. At those prices, the cost of making one large tray of PBC’s, about 150 pieces, was estimated at 400 rupees. Unfortunately, buying the stuff in the market drove the price up to about 500 rupees. Still, we called it 400 for argument’s sake. Then, by selling each piece for 4 rupees, we would make 600 rupees, a (hypothetical) profit of 200. Needless to say, the profit is not mine, it’s for the college.
Enlisting the help of the canteen cook (his name is Malkeet, I finally learned) was like making a black market deal. Principal Ramdev told him that if we used his kitchen to cook and sell my recipe, and if he would lend a hand in selling it, he could take the profit. It was explained to me that this was the only way he would be okay with allowing me to continue. Kind of a shady guy, you know? He also requested that we don’t tell anybody else about this “partnership.” Whatever, dude. It’s not like we’re dealing drugs, but if that makes him happy, all the power to him.
It was planned that I would come into the college a bit early to make the mixture as soon as I arrived. That way it would cool and be ready to cut by lunchtime. Principal Ramdev surprised me by suggesting that it wouldn’t be a problem to keep them out for the next three days for selling. Three days? Come on, they taste better than that. Besides, do the math. There are 600-800 girls at the college, and we’re making only 150 pieces. Plus they’re delicious. Give me a second to put that in my calculator… carry the 9… yep, they’ll be gone in a day.
But I was wrong. They were all sold in 90 minutes.
It was actually quite amusing. We had pulled a table out of the canteen so that it would be easier to see that something new and different is being sold. As students came out of class, they would all pass by the table in groups of 5-15, stop to look at the table, whisper to each other, and then continue walking on by. Half a minute later, they would be back with money in hand. It was like taking candy from a baby, except I was giving the candy, which is even easier. Plus I would never take candy from a baby anyway. That’s just cruel.
Principal Ramdev also asked me earlier about advertising. At least in this subject, we both came to a consensus. When there’s a strange kid sitting out in front of a table, selling a weird-looking treat, no advertisement is necessary. My white skin and word of mouth was the only advertisement necessary.
From here, sky’s the limit. Although one of the teachers strongly suggested that I sell something savory next time, not sweet. Maybe another shot at falafel? Whatever it is, I’ll wait about a week or so before selling something else. Cervantes said, “El hambre siempre es la mejor salsa;” hunger is always the best sauce. Let’s make sure they’re hungry for more.
16 February 2010
Respect the Food
India really does have a good food culture. That means something more than just how good the food is. For me, it means that they have a way of thinking about food that, while maybe not unique, is something that they cherish and celebrate every time they walk into the kitchen.
It’s what I call a closet-case food culture. That’s because it’s not very well-known on the world stage. People hear all about French and Italian cuisine all the time, about foie gras and risotto alla Milanese, about expensive and rare ingredients and fancy plating techniques. It’s no surprise that Indian cuisine, with its simple recipes and rice every day, tends to fall by the wayside. This is a mistake that I hope to remedy here.
This morning, Shammi, my cook (I always feel guilty when I mention that I have a cook, it’s very embarrassing) came in to prepare a breakfast of bread pakoda. Pakoda just means that the dish is fried. Indians like to pakoda the hell out of most foods, so why not bread? He started by making a simple batter out of chickpea flour, spices and water, then dipped the bread into it and fried it. In addition, he pulled a small dish out of the fridge containing about a quarter-cup of potato. This was some potato left over from breakfast two days ago. It was less than could have been eaten in three bites, and he rolled it into two small balls, dipped it into the batter, and fried it along with the bread. I commented in the simple English that we have been using for these past few weeks, “No waste.” He responded with one of the best things I have ever heard said about food.
“Indian culture, respect the food. Gifts from God. Maximum important.”
Nothing could sum up the way I have felt about food better, and nothing could have made me feel even more appreciative about the food I eat every day. I was simultaneous ecstatic and humbled. I have always felt that I love food more than anything else, and I have always tried to be conscious of what I eat. But compared to what Shammi just said, I knew immediately that I do not respect food the way it needs to be.
The rest of the morning, I thought about what I have seen so far in Indian cuisine and the way people cook, and I realized that this was an attitude shared by all. It had been staring me in the face, and I just didn’t put two and two together until now. Some time ago, I made brownies at Harmit’s house so his mother could learn the recipe. I scraped the contents of the mixing bowl into the baking dish and put the bowl in the sink, but Mrs. Singh said, “Why didn’t you empty it properly?” She then removed the bowl from the sink, dug into every surface and crevice with her finger, and deposited an extra teaspoon of batter into the baking dish.
Whenever we make chapattis, we use a container of flour to roll the uncooked dough and make it less sticky and easier to work. This container and its flour are always saved for the next day.
I used most, but not all of a bottle of vinegar to make mustard at KLB. The leftover vinegar, less than a quarter cup and worth about 5 rupeees, is still in food stores, waiting to be used.
Whenever I make anything here, I’m asked to save any crumbs of brownies or falafel in case anybody wants to eat it.
Shammi saves leftover rice that I don’t eat to make kheer, a sweet rice pudding-type dessert, or fried rice.
Everything is saved here; nothing goes to waste. Not a grain of flour or rice, not a single crystal of sugar. It’s not that they’re all poor, though some people surely are. It’s that they really do believe that each morsel of food is a gift from God and should be treated as such. I’ve never been a very religious person, and going to church held about the same appeal to me as pulling teeth. Nevertheless, I do believe that there is something “out there,” a presence that is something more than what we can sense in this existence. Now I know how to respect it: by respecting the gifts I receive every day.
“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”
It’s what I call a closet-case food culture. That’s because it’s not very well-known on the world stage. People hear all about French and Italian cuisine all the time, about foie gras and risotto alla Milanese, about expensive and rare ingredients and fancy plating techniques. It’s no surprise that Indian cuisine, with its simple recipes and rice every day, tends to fall by the wayside. This is a mistake that I hope to remedy here.
This morning, Shammi, my cook (I always feel guilty when I mention that I have a cook, it’s very embarrassing) came in to prepare a breakfast of bread pakoda. Pakoda just means that the dish is fried. Indians like to pakoda the hell out of most foods, so why not bread? He started by making a simple batter out of chickpea flour, spices and water, then dipped the bread into it and fried it. In addition, he pulled a small dish out of the fridge containing about a quarter-cup of potato. This was some potato left over from breakfast two days ago. It was less than could have been eaten in three bites, and he rolled it into two small balls, dipped it into the batter, and fried it along with the bread. I commented in the simple English that we have been using for these past few weeks, “No waste.” He responded with one of the best things I have ever heard said about food.
“Indian culture, respect the food. Gifts from God. Maximum important.”
Nothing could sum up the way I have felt about food better, and nothing could have made me feel even more appreciative about the food I eat every day. I was simultaneous ecstatic and humbled. I have always felt that I love food more than anything else, and I have always tried to be conscious of what I eat. But compared to what Shammi just said, I knew immediately that I do not respect food the way it needs to be.
The rest of the morning, I thought about what I have seen so far in Indian cuisine and the way people cook, and I realized that this was an attitude shared by all. It had been staring me in the face, and I just didn’t put two and two together until now. Some time ago, I made brownies at Harmit’s house so his mother could learn the recipe. I scraped the contents of the mixing bowl into the baking dish and put the bowl in the sink, but Mrs. Singh said, “Why didn’t you empty it properly?” She then removed the bowl from the sink, dug into every surface and crevice with her finger, and deposited an extra teaspoon of batter into the baking dish.
Whenever we make chapattis, we use a container of flour to roll the uncooked dough and make it less sticky and easier to work. This container and its flour are always saved for the next day.
I used most, but not all of a bottle of vinegar to make mustard at KLB. The leftover vinegar, less than a quarter cup and worth about 5 rupeees, is still in food stores, waiting to be used.
Whenever I make anything here, I’m asked to save any crumbs of brownies or falafel in case anybody wants to eat it.
Shammi saves leftover rice that I don’t eat to make kheer, a sweet rice pudding-type dessert, or fried rice.
Everything is saved here; nothing goes to waste. Not a grain of flour or rice, not a single crystal of sugar. It’s not that they’re all poor, though some people surely are. It’s that they really do believe that each morsel of food is a gift from God and should be treated as such. I’ve never been a very religious person, and going to church held about the same appeal to me as pulling teeth. Nevertheless, I do believe that there is something “out there,” a presence that is something more than what we can sense in this existence. Now I know how to respect it: by respecting the gifts I receive every day.
“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”
15 February 2010
Miss Conventionality
Ummmmm…… Awkward. That kind of sums up the day.
The graduating seniors at KLB are leaving soon, so some of the underclassmen throw them a small party. I had heard about it last week, but I didn’t know what to expect. When I got to work, the canteen cook had produced and was still producing a plethora of what is now one of my favorite foods in India: bhatura. It’s risen dough, which automatically makes it delicious and unique compared to most Indian breads, which are flat. Small balls of it are pinched off, rolled, flattened then fried for only about 10 seconds before they are GBD: golden, brown and delicious. They reminded me of Hungarian langos, another one of my favorites. It was really amazing watching Bubba and his friend work. The two of them were like a fine-tuned machine, turning out one delicious pastry after another.
During this whole process, there was very loud music coming from inside another building. I went to investigate and found that one of the larger auditorium-style classrooms had been turned into a party room. The seniors were all dressed in some very fancy saris, as well as some of the teachers who motioned me to sit down next to them. The next hour or so was quite unusual.
First, the seniors had organized a guessing game to Indian music. Jitender explained to me that they were playing a song, and then the underclass students had to guess which teacher was best represented by that particular song. Each teacher came up to receive a gift when their song played. To me, it was nails on a blackboard. Indian music is just not appealing to Westerners, especially when it is turned up to ear-shattering decibels and accompanied by 50 Indian girls screaming their teachers’ names. To get an idea of the experience, go to an active construction yard populated by an additional 50 people fighting with rusty swords and bring ten screaming cats. Then bang your head against a piece of metal. Finished? Ok, now you have an idea.
After the game was dancing to the same music played louder and in shorter piece. I tried. It wasn’t pretty. I won’t go into detail.
To conclude the day’s ceremonies, a beauty pageant was held. I’m going on record saying that I don’t like beauty contests in the first place because they objectify both women and the men who judge them. Go see Little Miss Sunshine if you want to get really creeped out. Then to have one here, where sex appeal is frowned upon and girls are not supposed to show their ankle lest they want to be stoned (I’m exaggerating), just tops the limits of awkward turtle. None of the girls was really into it, and every time the photographer (yes, there was a photographer) took their picture, they stopped smiling. I don’t know why.
Don’t get me wrong, all of the girls were very beautiful and glamorous, and it was very tasteful, it’s just that this society and beauty pageants don’t seem to get along. I’m very confused about how they feel about body image here. On the one hand, all the women are very conservative in their dress and I haven’t seen cleavage since I got here. Men and women are not even allowed to touch each other in public. On the other hand, Bollywood actresses flaunt their perfect bodies in minimal clothing in advertisements and newspapers and they are idolized by the masses. Salmaan Kaan and Katrina Kaif are loved for their beauty and body, but you’ll never see anybody kiss in an Indian film. Now I find out that beauty contests are a much-beloved event in society. WTF, mate?
I still have a long way to go before I can figure out how this culture works. Until then, I’ll be staying away from dance clubs and pageants.
The graduating seniors at KLB are leaving soon, so some of the underclassmen throw them a small party. I had heard about it last week, but I didn’t know what to expect. When I got to work, the canteen cook had produced and was still producing a plethora of what is now one of my favorite foods in India: bhatura. It’s risen dough, which automatically makes it delicious and unique compared to most Indian breads, which are flat. Small balls of it are pinched off, rolled, flattened then fried for only about 10 seconds before they are GBD: golden, brown and delicious. They reminded me of Hungarian langos, another one of my favorites. It was really amazing watching Bubba and his friend work. The two of them were like a fine-tuned machine, turning out one delicious pastry after another.
During this whole process, there was very loud music coming from inside another building. I went to investigate and found that one of the larger auditorium-style classrooms had been turned into a party room. The seniors were all dressed in some very fancy saris, as well as some of the teachers who motioned me to sit down next to them. The next hour or so was quite unusual.
First, the seniors had organized a guessing game to Indian music. Jitender explained to me that they were playing a song, and then the underclass students had to guess which teacher was best represented by that particular song. Each teacher came up to receive a gift when their song played. To me, it was nails on a blackboard. Indian music is just not appealing to Westerners, especially when it is turned up to ear-shattering decibels and accompanied by 50 Indian girls screaming their teachers’ names. To get an idea of the experience, go to an active construction yard populated by an additional 50 people fighting with rusty swords and bring ten screaming cats. Then bang your head against a piece of metal. Finished? Ok, now you have an idea.
After the game was dancing to the same music played louder and in shorter piece. I tried. It wasn’t pretty. I won’t go into detail.
To conclude the day’s ceremonies, a beauty pageant was held. I’m going on record saying that I don’t like beauty contests in the first place because they objectify both women and the men who judge them. Go see Little Miss Sunshine if you want to get really creeped out. Then to have one here, where sex appeal is frowned upon and girls are not supposed to show their ankle lest they want to be stoned (I’m exaggerating), just tops the limits of awkward turtle. None of the girls was really into it, and every time the photographer (yes, there was a photographer) took their picture, they stopped smiling. I don’t know why.
Don’t get me wrong, all of the girls were very beautiful and glamorous, and it was very tasteful, it’s just that this society and beauty pageants don’t seem to get along. I’m very confused about how they feel about body image here. On the one hand, all the women are very conservative in their dress and I haven’t seen cleavage since I got here. Men and women are not even allowed to touch each other in public. On the other hand, Bollywood actresses flaunt their perfect bodies in minimal clothing in advertisements and newspapers and they are idolized by the masses. Salmaan Kaan and Katrina Kaif are loved for their beauty and body, but you’ll never see anybody kiss in an Indian film. Now I find out that beauty contests are a much-beloved event in society. WTF, mate?
I still have a long way to go before I can figure out how this culture works. Until then, I’ll be staying away from dance clubs and pageants.
Clean Sweep
Early last semester, I was studying cultural and economic characteristics in various historic and modern modes of production. It’s a mouthful, but basically it means I was studying how people lived and worked through history. I was fascinated to discover that pre-modern and historic hunter-gatherer societies spent only about 20-30 hours per week doing the work that was necessary to meet their basic needs of food, shelter and the like. The rest of the time during the day was for leisure. This held true for both men and women, surprisingly enough. Groups that became more “civilized,” industrialized and more advanced found less and less time for themselves and had to work more to meet their needs.
We hear about this all the time. The Dalai Lama said that this is the age of more convenience and less time. If you move to New York, you’ll have to work nonstop to pay rent and still have a bit left over to go to the movies on weekends, where you’ll likely catch up on sleep. Then whenever something outside of your daily routine comes up to throw it off, you find it such a hassle to make the time to get things done. My sister and her husband wanted to redo their kitchen, and they’re both teachers, so they had to start it and get most of the work done during the Christmas holiday. I had to go renew my license last semester and needed to squeeze it in between two classes, and even then I was cutting it close. Even when we’re not working, we have to spend an hour at the gym, take the kids to and from school, shop for groceries, spend a half hour commuting, and somewhere in there find time to throw something in the microwave for dinner.
How did people get anything done hundreds of years ago, you might ask. No microwave, no car, no running water, making three meals a day from scratch… Well, I can tell you that it can be done, and you will find yourself with so much more free time once you purge your life of the unnecessary things you think you need. I work 6 days a week for 6-8 hours per day. I have to walk a half hour each way. I post something on this blog at least 5 days a week. I have to do all my laundry by hand every week. I help cook at least two meals a day from raw ingredients and usually clean afterwards (if the water is working). I even find time to work out about an hour every day (not including the uphill trek home) There’s no dishwasher, no microwave, no hot water, and sometimes no water or electricity at all. Yet I find myself with more free time than I have ever had in my life. Why? Well, there’s no TV, no movies, no internet at the mud hut(no Facebook?!? Gasp!), no car that needs to be fixed or fueled, no unnecessary extracurricular activities, no student government meetings, no dishwasher, no microwave, no hot water, and sometimes no water or electricity at all. Pay attention to Tyler Durden, people; the things you own end up owning you.
I won’t lie, I do get help. This job isn’t paid, and I took care of the next several months’ expenses before I came, so I don’t have to worry about bills. Somebody comes in every day to help me cook (Shammi used to do all the cooking, but now I insist on at least participating so I can learn). I also don’t have to raise kids, of which I am very thankful right now (children = world’s best birth control). Still, I can now very much conceive of a pre-historic guy spending a few hours each week hunting saber-tooth tigers and then just chilling the rest of the time.
Do I get bored? Well, sorta, but not really. Yesterday, Sunday, I had no plans whatsoever, so after breakfast, I thought I’d clean the whole house. I was done in 90 minutes. I’m talking about an entire two-level house with two bathrooms and a kitchen that’s made out of mud. There’s just not so much to do here to keep things clean. You don’t have to spend so much time making the surfaces spotless when the whole house is made out of dirt anyway. So I finished The Life of Pi, which was a great book, exercised, did laundry, made pancakes for lunch, helped make dinner, wrote, made a call or two… all of which I would consider leisure, because none of those things had to get done, and it’s Sunday anyway. They get done when they get done, and that’s that.
I don’t miss TV or movies at all. I’m discovering that the internet is not nearly as important as I thought it was. I really enjoy the walk to and from work, because the view each way is amazing. I don’t love doing laundry, but I don’t hate it either. I love that every one of my meals is cooked fresh from scratch. I love working out on my balcony with the Himalayas in view. And did I mention that I get about 9 hours of sleep every night?
So if you’re feeling stressed, tired or just fed up with the rat race, try selling your TV. Unplug from the internet for a week. Walk to work, if you can. Stop driving a half hour to the gym’s treadmill when you can just run around your neighborhood. Take stock of the things and stuff in your life and see if you can live without some of it. Trust me, it can be done. And if all else fails, you can always join me in India.
We hear about this all the time. The Dalai Lama said that this is the age of more convenience and less time. If you move to New York, you’ll have to work nonstop to pay rent and still have a bit left over to go to the movies on weekends, where you’ll likely catch up on sleep. Then whenever something outside of your daily routine comes up to throw it off, you find it such a hassle to make the time to get things done. My sister and her husband wanted to redo their kitchen, and they’re both teachers, so they had to start it and get most of the work done during the Christmas holiday. I had to go renew my license last semester and needed to squeeze it in between two classes, and even then I was cutting it close. Even when we’re not working, we have to spend an hour at the gym, take the kids to and from school, shop for groceries, spend a half hour commuting, and somewhere in there find time to throw something in the microwave for dinner.
How did people get anything done hundreds of years ago, you might ask. No microwave, no car, no running water, making three meals a day from scratch… Well, I can tell you that it can be done, and you will find yourself with so much more free time once you purge your life of the unnecessary things you think you need. I work 6 days a week for 6-8 hours per day. I have to walk a half hour each way. I post something on this blog at least 5 days a week. I have to do all my laundry by hand every week. I help cook at least two meals a day from raw ingredients and usually clean afterwards (if the water is working). I even find time to work out about an hour every day (not including the uphill trek home) There’s no dishwasher, no microwave, no hot water, and sometimes no water or electricity at all. Yet I find myself with more free time than I have ever had in my life. Why? Well, there’s no TV, no movies, no internet at the mud hut(no Facebook?!? Gasp!), no car that needs to be fixed or fueled, no unnecessary extracurricular activities, no student government meetings, no dishwasher, no microwave, no hot water, and sometimes no water or electricity at all. Pay attention to Tyler Durden, people; the things you own end up owning you.
I won’t lie, I do get help. This job isn’t paid, and I took care of the next several months’ expenses before I came, so I don’t have to worry about bills. Somebody comes in every day to help me cook (Shammi used to do all the cooking, but now I insist on at least participating so I can learn). I also don’t have to raise kids, of which I am very thankful right now (children = world’s best birth control). Still, I can now very much conceive of a pre-historic guy spending a few hours each week hunting saber-tooth tigers and then just chilling the rest of the time.
Do I get bored? Well, sorta, but not really. Yesterday, Sunday, I had no plans whatsoever, so after breakfast, I thought I’d clean the whole house. I was done in 90 minutes. I’m talking about an entire two-level house with two bathrooms and a kitchen that’s made out of mud. There’s just not so much to do here to keep things clean. You don’t have to spend so much time making the surfaces spotless when the whole house is made out of dirt anyway. So I finished The Life of Pi, which was a great book, exercised, did laundry, made pancakes for lunch, helped make dinner, wrote, made a call or two… all of which I would consider leisure, because none of those things had to get done, and it’s Sunday anyway. They get done when they get done, and that’s that.
I don’t miss TV or movies at all. I’m discovering that the internet is not nearly as important as I thought it was. I really enjoy the walk to and from work, because the view each way is amazing. I don’t love doing laundry, but I don’t hate it either. I love that every one of my meals is cooked fresh from scratch. I love working out on my balcony with the Himalayas in view. And did I mention that I get about 9 hours of sleep every night?
So if you’re feeling stressed, tired or just fed up with the rat race, try selling your TV. Unplug from the internet for a week. Walk to work, if you can. Stop driving a half hour to the gym’s treadmill when you can just run around your neighborhood. Take stock of the things and stuff in your life and see if you can live without some of it. Trust me, it can be done. And if all else fails, you can always join me in India.
13 February 2010
Desperately Seeking Shikha
I mentioned before that it is common to read some English-language newspapers in the morning with Principal Ramdev. Picking up this morning’s copy of the Tribune, I noticed that it felt a little thicker than normal. Normal stories were found within: China hates the Dalai Lama, Australians hate Indians, the country loves cricket… business as usual. Then I turned the page to a section not normally found in the paper, the classifieds. Yet these were not normal classifieds. These were ads for marriages.
I wasn’t completely ignorant about Indian marriage practices before coming here, and I knew that many marriages were arrange. Most even turned out wonderfully. I’m not against arranged marriages at all. I was just so surprised to find that hundreds of men or their families posted in the news that they were looking for a bride. The front and back of three newspaper-sized pages was entirely devoted to men seeking women for marriage. It was something for which I was completely unprepared, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
The personals were arranged by caste, with some sections for special cases, like divorcees, foreign nationals, widowers and amputees. All of them listed the height and profession of the prospective groom. The funniest part was how oddly specific some of the ads became while at the same time being vague and mysterious. Here are some of the more amusing ones, taken verbatim from the paper. Only the contact information has been omitted (if any girls reading this really want it, however, I’d be happy to oblige). I couldn’t make these up if I wanted to:
MBA, 07-11-75, 9:55 P.M., Delhi MNC, 8 LPA, businessman family. Girl height should be 5’3”, Himachali girl, Delhi living only.
(Why 5’3”? What’s wrong with 5’4” and 5’2” that you find so utterly repulsive?)
Garg smart, handsome BE (Comp Sc.), employed MNC Malaysia. Handsome package. Business family. Seeks equally qualified bride.
(Good lucking finding a bride that’s equally qualified with another handsome package.)
Match for smart Garg boy 06.09.1981, 5’10”, B.Tech, working as Inspector, Central Excise and Custom, girl should be beautiful and permanent government employee.
(Sorry, our daughter is only gorgeous and a permanent government employee.)
Well-to-do parents seek exceptionally beautiful, smart, 5’5” plus, educated, homely match for USA citizen, Graduate, turbaned, teetotaler, non-trimmer, never married, handsome, well-settled, running own business. Girl’s merits main consideration.
(Am I the only one creeped out by this guy’s mom knowing that he doesn’t trim?)
Compatible Bride for unmarried Khari Advocate Chandigarh based, sound status, modern faculties.
(What kind of “faculties” are we talking about here?)
And the list goes on. There are hundreds, most with amusing little tidbits and cultural oddities which are prime material for my cross-cultural experience. I know that some of the things that weird me out by these ads are completely normal here. For example, “handsome package” refers to a good salary; government jobs here are highly desirable and very well-paying; and the non-trimmer is a Sikh, whose religion stipulates that one should never cut any hair off their body. Ignorance is the downfall of any world traveler.
Yet every once in awhile, it’s fun to step back into your comfort zone and have a short laugh about cultural differences. If you can’t laugh, then you’re taking things way too seriously.
I wasn’t completely ignorant about Indian marriage practices before coming here, and I knew that many marriages were arrange. Most even turned out wonderfully. I’m not against arranged marriages at all. I was just so surprised to find that hundreds of men or their families posted in the news that they were looking for a bride. The front and back of three newspaper-sized pages was entirely devoted to men seeking women for marriage. It was something for which I was completely unprepared, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
The personals were arranged by caste, with some sections for special cases, like divorcees, foreign nationals, widowers and amputees. All of them listed the height and profession of the prospective groom. The funniest part was how oddly specific some of the ads became while at the same time being vague and mysterious. Here are some of the more amusing ones, taken verbatim from the paper. Only the contact information has been omitted (if any girls reading this really want it, however, I’d be happy to oblige). I couldn’t make these up if I wanted to:
MBA, 07-11-75, 9:55 P.M., Delhi MNC, 8 LPA, businessman family. Girl height should be 5’3”, Himachali girl, Delhi living only.
(Why 5’3”? What’s wrong with 5’4” and 5’2” that you find so utterly repulsive?)
Garg smart, handsome BE (Comp Sc.), employed MNC Malaysia. Handsome package. Business family. Seeks equally qualified bride.
(Good lucking finding a bride that’s equally qualified with another handsome package.)
Match for smart Garg boy 06.09.1981, 5’10”, B.Tech, working as Inspector, Central Excise and Custom, girl should be beautiful and permanent government employee.
(Sorry, our daughter is only gorgeous and a permanent government employee.)
Well-to-do parents seek exceptionally beautiful, smart, 5’5” plus, educated, homely match for USA citizen, Graduate, turbaned, teetotaler, non-trimmer, never married, handsome, well-settled, running own business. Girl’s merits main consideration.
(Am I the only one creeped out by this guy’s mom knowing that he doesn’t trim?)
Compatible Bride for unmarried Khari Advocate Chandigarh based, sound status, modern faculties.
(What kind of “faculties” are we talking about here?)
And the list goes on. There are hundreds, most with amusing little tidbits and cultural oddities which are prime material for my cross-cultural experience. I know that some of the things that weird me out by these ads are completely normal here. For example, “handsome package” refers to a good salary; government jobs here are highly desirable and very well-paying; and the non-trimmer is a Sikh, whose religion stipulates that one should never cut any hair off their body. Ignorance is the downfall of any world traveler.
Yet every once in awhile, it’s fun to step back into your comfort zone and have a short laugh about cultural differences. If you can’t laugh, then you’re taking things way too seriously.
12 February 2010
Shivratri and Columbus Day
Ah, to be a student in India. To be in a place where the main religion, Hindu, has so many gods and celebrations. And to be in a country with so many religions. You get so many days off of school! No class on Christmas, breaks for Ramadan, and an excuse to play hooky 12 times out of the year for Hindu holidays? Indian students have it made.
Today is Shivratri, or “Shiva’s Night,” which celebrates the greatness of Lord Shiva the Destroyer. Government buildings and schools are closed, but shops are still open. So, it’s kinda like Columbus Day in that everything is closed and canceled, but not much is done to celebrate. Actually, I’ve been told that in temples to Shiva, many people will drink a special concoction made from milk, juice, spices and marijuana. Nothing like a minor religious holiday for an excuse to get crunk.
I digress. India is a land of many religious, and I’m starting to learn that they are a very tolerant people. There are 12 holidays in Hinduism where schools and buildings are canceled, and 3 or 4 each for Christianity and Islam. It’s amazing that so many different religions here can coexist. In this area, it’s not so apparent, since most people are Hindu, but I’m sure if my internship were in Delhi, I would be overwhelmed by the religious kaleidoscope.
Not much else is going on today. I went to KLB even though there were no classes for a shortened time to get some writing and email done. Some staff members were there, as well as some more minor construction continuing on the new building. I just thought I’d update on the interesting situation of polytheism here.
Today is Shivratri, or “Shiva’s Night,” which celebrates the greatness of Lord Shiva the Destroyer. Government buildings and schools are closed, but shops are still open. So, it’s kinda like Columbus Day in that everything is closed and canceled, but not much is done to celebrate. Actually, I’ve been told that in temples to Shiva, many people will drink a special concoction made from milk, juice, spices and marijuana. Nothing like a minor religious holiday for an excuse to get crunk.
I digress. India is a land of many religious, and I’m starting to learn that they are a very tolerant people. There are 12 holidays in Hinduism where schools and buildings are canceled, and 3 or 4 each for Christianity and Islam. It’s amazing that so many different religions here can coexist. In this area, it’s not so apparent, since most people are Hindu, but I’m sure if my internship were in Delhi, I would be overwhelmed by the religious kaleidoscope.
Not much else is going on today. I went to KLB even though there were no classes for a shortened time to get some writing and email done. Some staff members were there, as well as some more minor construction continuing on the new building. I just thought I’d update on the interesting situation of polytheism here.
11 February 2010
A Barrel of Monkeys Isn’t So Fun Anymore
Learning Hindi is hard. I know it always seems that way when you start a new language, but this one really is hard. So far, there don’t appear to be any new sounds that don’t exist in English. That was a problem when I learned Hungarian, because Hungarians do use an extra consonant that doesn’t appear at all in English, making its pronunciation very difficult for a non-native speaker. It was like trying to play a guitar that has a missing string. Also, every Hindi verb conjugates the same way for each tense. This contrasts with Spanish, where you have -ar, -er, and -ir verbs that all conjugate differently.
The real problem is the distinction they make in between sounds. First point of confusion with me is the difference between hard and soft consonants. For example, one conjugation of the verb “to eat” is khata, pronounced with a hard /k/. The word for citrus is kata with a soft /k/. They sound exactly the same to me. Secondly, some words are pronounced nasally, which is very hard for me to get. The word hai is the third-person singular conjugation of “to be,” and hain is the first- and third-person plural conjugation, said exactly the same way except the silent /n/ at the end signifies a nasal pronunciation. Simply put, Indians talk through their nose some of the time.
Funny story today. I was talking to Professor Ramdev when a girl who was trying to enter the hostel, Rashmi, motioned me to come and look at something. I went over and there were three monkeys perched over the entrance to the hostel. Normally that is nothing to worry about, but Rashmi was carrying snacks that she bought in the market. If she walked under the monkeys, they would attacker her, not to hurt her, but to steal her food.
It might be just the little kid in me speaking out, but that’s cool. How often do you have to hide your groceries when you walk into your house so that monkeys don’t steal them? Welcome to India; watch out for klepto wildlife.
The real problem is the distinction they make in between sounds. First point of confusion with me is the difference between hard and soft consonants. For example, one conjugation of the verb “to eat” is khata, pronounced with a hard /k/. The word for citrus is kata with a soft /k/. They sound exactly the same to me. Secondly, some words are pronounced nasally, which is very hard for me to get. The word hai is the third-person singular conjugation of “to be,” and hain is the first- and third-person plural conjugation, said exactly the same way except the silent /n/ at the end signifies a nasal pronunciation. Simply put, Indians talk through their nose some of the time.
Funny story today. I was talking to Professor Ramdev when a girl who was trying to enter the hostel, Rashmi, motioned me to come and look at something. I went over and there were three monkeys perched over the entrance to the hostel. Normally that is nothing to worry about, but Rashmi was carrying snacks that she bought in the market. If she walked under the monkeys, they would attacker her, not to hurt her, but to steal her food.
It might be just the little kid in me speaking out, but that’s cool. How often do you have to hide your groceries when you walk into your house so that monkeys don’t steal them? Welcome to India; watch out for klepto wildlife.
10 February 2010
Indian Food, Inc.
In the mornings at KLB, Principal Ramdev and I like to take a look at a few Indian newspapers, and today something especially interesting caught my eye. On the front page were two stories that seemed to contradict each other. The first story was about the upcoming merger of several commercial food brands in India by a Mr. Biyani, who had previously revolutionized retail in India (at least according to the article, I don’t know much at all about his story). This merger is expected to push India’s commercial food market from about $200 billion in 2006-7 to $300 billion by 2015, making it competitive with worldwide industries like Kraft and Nestle. The second story was about a recent decision by the Indian government to suspend the introduction of a certain strain of genetically modified crops into farming. According to the minister of environment, the decision was made with the intention of waiting until independent scientific studies could confirm its safety to both the environment and human well-being.
Fascinating, if you ask me. What I saw was two huge developments in Indian agribusiness that seemed to contradict each other. On the one hand, India is starting to merge agriculture with business on a level that is really only seen in the U.S. Only in the states and in American corporations operating globally do you see this much of an oligopoly in agriculture and food production. In America, huge companies like Monsanto, Cargill and Tyson control the production of almost everything we eat, and Monsanto is even spreading their influence and control over international borders. On the other hand, food production on the scale that is being practiced in America and India hardly ever comes without scientific intervention. Since the Green Revolution in India, government and farm owners have been scrambling to get their hands on any technology or advancement that could potentially increase food production. These advancements are generally patented processes that are tightly connected to one of the aforementioned food industry giants. After all, there are over a billion people and counting in India, and while supply has barely kept ahead of demand thus far, it has only done so though the advancements brought about by industrial and scientific development.
So when I saw that the Indian government actually said no to a potentially major advancement in crop yields, while at the same time a huge development in agribusiness was brought about, I was confused. This kind of thing hasn’t happened yet in the entire world, at least on this scale. In America, genetically modified (GM) crops and Green Revolution technologies have created the largest agricultural sector in the world, but only because those advancements were monitored and controlled by big business and corporations. In Europe, agribusiness doesn’t even come close to the same scale of production as in the states, but that is probably because the European community has stayed away from much of the interaction between science in nature, preferring organic and natural crops to GM foods. Because of their aversion to biotechnology, big business simply hasn’t had a fighting chance to grow as much as it has in the U.S. Of course there is some science mixed with farming in the EU, and Nestle reigns king in Europe, but still, it doesn’t quite compare to the level of production seen in American agriculture.
One of the reasons why the Green Revolution was embraced in India 50 years ago was because feeding their rapidly expanding population was their biggest concern, and it still is. I discussed these stories with Mr. Sood, a math teacher here, and he was very upset that his government had declined to explore this new wave of biotechnology. He stated that so many people in India go hungry, and he is used to his government expressing the most pressing desires of its people very well in the past. If the people say they want something, the Indian government usually complies with their wishes. Denying GM developments, according to Mr. Sood, was a big mistake, and he believed that India would need all the help it could get if it was to keep up with the growing demand for food.
I found this relevant because it gives hope for the American food industry. The organic and free trade movements that have gotten so much popularity in recent years express the innermost wishes of the people to return to a way of eating that is more in tune with their environment. There are so many sides to the issue, and I recommend reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan, Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser, or watching the recently released movie Food, Inc. if you would like to get an introduction to the issue. Don’t think, however, that simply by reading these books you will know all there is to know about the problems facing food production and how they can be solved. They’re really just one side of the issue. In short, agribusiness is, according to some people, ruining the environment, our health and our way of life. Agribusiness personalities would respond by saying that there is simply no way to provide enough food to feed the nearly 7 billion people on the planet without agricultural conglomeration, biotechnology, GM crops and merging small farms and farm owners. Both sides have merit, and until now, there seems to have been very few places in which these opposing interests can find common ground.
That is why the Indian government’s decision is so significant. Maybe it’s just a shot in the dark, and maybe they will eventually be forced to give in to the demands of its hungry people. But for now, Indians have shown the world that small-scale, organic farming can coexist at least on some level with high demand, high production and the advancement of business.
Fascinating, if you ask me. What I saw was two huge developments in Indian agribusiness that seemed to contradict each other. On the one hand, India is starting to merge agriculture with business on a level that is really only seen in the U.S. Only in the states and in American corporations operating globally do you see this much of an oligopoly in agriculture and food production. In America, huge companies like Monsanto, Cargill and Tyson control the production of almost everything we eat, and Monsanto is even spreading their influence and control over international borders. On the other hand, food production on the scale that is being practiced in America and India hardly ever comes without scientific intervention. Since the Green Revolution in India, government and farm owners have been scrambling to get their hands on any technology or advancement that could potentially increase food production. These advancements are generally patented processes that are tightly connected to one of the aforementioned food industry giants. After all, there are over a billion people and counting in India, and while supply has barely kept ahead of demand thus far, it has only done so though the advancements brought about by industrial and scientific development.
So when I saw that the Indian government actually said no to a potentially major advancement in crop yields, while at the same time a huge development in agribusiness was brought about, I was confused. This kind of thing hasn’t happened yet in the entire world, at least on this scale. In America, genetically modified (GM) crops and Green Revolution technologies have created the largest agricultural sector in the world, but only because those advancements were monitored and controlled by big business and corporations. In Europe, agribusiness doesn’t even come close to the same scale of production as in the states, but that is probably because the European community has stayed away from much of the interaction between science in nature, preferring organic and natural crops to GM foods. Because of their aversion to biotechnology, big business simply hasn’t had a fighting chance to grow as much as it has in the U.S. Of course there is some science mixed with farming in the EU, and Nestle reigns king in Europe, but still, it doesn’t quite compare to the level of production seen in American agriculture.
One of the reasons why the Green Revolution was embraced in India 50 years ago was because feeding their rapidly expanding population was their biggest concern, and it still is. I discussed these stories with Mr. Sood, a math teacher here, and he was very upset that his government had declined to explore this new wave of biotechnology. He stated that so many people in India go hungry, and he is used to his government expressing the most pressing desires of its people very well in the past. If the people say they want something, the Indian government usually complies with their wishes. Denying GM developments, according to Mr. Sood, was a big mistake, and he believed that India would need all the help it could get if it was to keep up with the growing demand for food.
I found this relevant because it gives hope for the American food industry. The organic and free trade movements that have gotten so much popularity in recent years express the innermost wishes of the people to return to a way of eating that is more in tune with their environment. There are so many sides to the issue, and I recommend reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan, Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser, or watching the recently released movie Food, Inc. if you would like to get an introduction to the issue. Don’t think, however, that simply by reading these books you will know all there is to know about the problems facing food production and how they can be solved. They’re really just one side of the issue. In short, agribusiness is, according to some people, ruining the environment, our health and our way of life. Agribusiness personalities would respond by saying that there is simply no way to provide enough food to feed the nearly 7 billion people on the planet without agricultural conglomeration, biotechnology, GM crops and merging small farms and farm owners. Both sides have merit, and until now, there seems to have been very few places in which these opposing interests can find common ground.
That is why the Indian government’s decision is so significant. Maybe it’s just a shot in the dark, and maybe they will eventually be forced to give in to the demands of its hungry people. But for now, Indians have shown the world that small-scale, organic farming can coexist at least on some level with high demand, high production and the advancement of business.
09 February 2010
Tuesdays with Madam Utra
What do you do at work when classes are canceled, there’s no power and not much to do? Learn Hindi, of course. So far I have found it very difficult to pick up any Hindi at all, because I have never seen it written down and I am trying to do all my learning by ear. As a result, I’m learning very slowly, and it’s a bit embarrassing. The girls will try to teach me a phrase or two, and it all sounds the same to me. On the few occasions where I am able to pronounce it correctly, I promptly forget it because I don’t have it written down to practice. I started to think that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
Then Madam Utra, the warden at the hostel, graciously offered to teach me a little bit of Hindi every day. I immediately pulled out my notebook so I wouldn’t forget whatever she taught. Would you like to guess the subject of my very first lesson? The verb kata, which means “to eat.” Go figure.
Today I was able to pronounce and remember all of the pronouns and the present tense forms of the verb “to be,” which also happens to be an integral part of every conjugation. I actually learned quite a lot in the short time, and I don’t remember it all, but at least I wrote it down. There’s hope for me yet.
Then Madam Utra, the warden at the hostel, graciously offered to teach me a little bit of Hindi every day. I immediately pulled out my notebook so I wouldn’t forget whatever she taught. Would you like to guess the subject of my very first lesson? The verb kata, which means “to eat.” Go figure.
Today I was able to pronounce and remember all of the pronouns and the present tense forms of the verb “to be,” which also happens to be an integral part of every conjugation. I actually learned quite a lot in the short time, and I don’t remember it all, but at least I wrote it down. There’s hope for me yet.
Raining Cows and Monkeys
It has been raining for four straight days, and there are no signs of it stopping any time soon. There has been almost no lull in the torrential downpour. By now I have categorized at least twenty different kinds of rain, and I have even learned the Hindi word for this uncomfortable wetness emanating from the sky: varsha, which also happens to be the name of one of the girls in the hostel. At least it’s one less name that I don’t have to try and remember.
I have never experienced this much rain before. The locals around here have been complaining for the past several weeks that it has not rained nearly enough around here, and in India, this means disaster. So much of the country’s economy relies upon agriculture, and in this area, away from some of the benefits of the Green Revolution, rainfall is a must to ensure lively agriculture. Indra, the Hindu rain god, must have heard their complaints. She must have also heard me saying to everyone that I meet that I’m not cold, I don’t need a bigger jacket, and I’m used to much lower temperatures in Michigan. Only three weeks in India and karma is already kicking my butt.
Strangely enough, not being dry or warm for four days straight has not put me off as much as I thought it would. At home, I would be dreading going outside and my mood would turn absolutely foul if it rained for more than a half hour. I would put off leaving my bed as much as possible and make any excuse I could to stay inside. No umbrella or raincoat seemed to improve my mood. Yet here, the conditions are even worse. Excess rain means frequent power cuts, so I have taken to carrying a flashlight around with me in the house. There is no heating besides a small fireplace in the mud hut, and I can literally see my breath at night, yet there is nothing I can do about it. I can put on an extra layer or walk around some more to raise my body temperature, but ultimately I am at the mercy of the elements. I even have to continue walking a half hour to and from work every day. You know how your parents or grandparents would try to make you less spoiled by saying, “I had to walk uphill in the pouring rain and hail for an hour every day on my way to school with no car and no heat and no electricity!” Well, I have to walk uphill to KLB in the pouring rain and hail for about a half hour every day with no car and no heat and sometimes no electricity. And that’s normal.
Yes, even at KLB, attendance is a fraction of normal and when I arrived this morning there was no power and everybody was taking shelter under the balcony overhangs. In Michigan we cancel school because of a foot of snow. In Himachal school is canceled because of four days of rain. Also, in some places farther north, like upper Himachal, Jammu and Kashmir, some places are reporting 6-8 meters of snow. Two or three kilometers north of the mud hut, there is snow. If I could see the mountains uphill of here, I know that they would be completely capped in fresh white powder. Never before in my life have I seen such Mother Nature (or Indra) open up with power and strength.
The difference in attitude between Indians here and Americans to the weather is fascinating. I have already mentioned how agriculture relies upon regular rainfall, so of course they are grateful for that, but there’s something else. The rain has brought new life to the area in such a short period of time, it’s impossible to feel down. When I opened my door this morning to brave the hail on my walk to work, I was greeted with one of my favorite scents: fresh herbage. I smelled what I thought was cilantro, thyme and basil, but was probably a salad of local Indian varieties. I have never noticed it before now, so the rains must have jump started their growth. This smelled followed me for the next half hour; I loved it. There are also two areas in town that my friends have called “rivers,” but up until now they have just been a barren pile of dry rocks snaking through the valleys. Today, muddy waters were overflowing their banks and rushing downhill at rapid speed. Other waters moved through the streets like garbage collectors, removing the grime, filth and trash that had accumulated since the last rain. Even the monkeys, cows and stray dogs looked cleaner and happier than they had before, though their fur or hair was matted to their skin by the rain.
It was like the rainfall had purified the entire area and gave everybody a fresh start. So when I arrived at KLB this morning, I didn’t see a single face that wasn’t adorned with a bright smile. There was no power, no class, no internet, no chai (gasp!) and very little heat, but everybody was giddy and cheerful.
“Good morning, Pat! Namaste!”
“Isn’t this lovely Himachal weather?”
“ You are looking very smart this morning, sir.”
“Yes, very sexy! Highest degree, ha.”
I was taken aback. Not just by the sexy comment, though that was a bit disturbing. Rain just doesn’t cause this kind of a mood swing where I am from. Nature and the environment has been paved over and replaced by office space and parking lots. We hire people to clean our streets and pick up garbage instead of taking care of our surroundings the way they were meant to be treated. We plant young saplings and potted herbs where ancient trees, fresh flowers and natural gardens used to be anyway. Before coming to India, I have never been that much in touch with the environment. Even weekend camping trips with Boy Scouts left me feeling detached and longing for something more real and pure. Now, I have found a place where nature and civilization exist together. It’s a far cry from harmony and equal partnership, but maybe it can be called a mutual understanding. I feel blessed to be able to experience this and become a part of it so early in my time here. Never will I look at varsha the same way again.
I have never experienced this much rain before. The locals around here have been complaining for the past several weeks that it has not rained nearly enough around here, and in India, this means disaster. So much of the country’s economy relies upon agriculture, and in this area, away from some of the benefits of the Green Revolution, rainfall is a must to ensure lively agriculture. Indra, the Hindu rain god, must have heard their complaints. She must have also heard me saying to everyone that I meet that I’m not cold, I don’t need a bigger jacket, and I’m used to much lower temperatures in Michigan. Only three weeks in India and karma is already kicking my butt.
Strangely enough, not being dry or warm for four days straight has not put me off as much as I thought it would. At home, I would be dreading going outside and my mood would turn absolutely foul if it rained for more than a half hour. I would put off leaving my bed as much as possible and make any excuse I could to stay inside. No umbrella or raincoat seemed to improve my mood. Yet here, the conditions are even worse. Excess rain means frequent power cuts, so I have taken to carrying a flashlight around with me in the house. There is no heating besides a small fireplace in the mud hut, and I can literally see my breath at night, yet there is nothing I can do about it. I can put on an extra layer or walk around some more to raise my body temperature, but ultimately I am at the mercy of the elements. I even have to continue walking a half hour to and from work every day. You know how your parents or grandparents would try to make you less spoiled by saying, “I had to walk uphill in the pouring rain and hail for an hour every day on my way to school with no car and no heat and no electricity!” Well, I have to walk uphill to KLB in the pouring rain and hail for about a half hour every day with no car and no heat and sometimes no electricity. And that’s normal.
Yes, even at KLB, attendance is a fraction of normal and when I arrived this morning there was no power and everybody was taking shelter under the balcony overhangs. In Michigan we cancel school because of a foot of snow. In Himachal school is canceled because of four days of rain. Also, in some places farther north, like upper Himachal, Jammu and Kashmir, some places are reporting 6-8 meters of snow. Two or three kilometers north of the mud hut, there is snow. If I could see the mountains uphill of here, I know that they would be completely capped in fresh white powder. Never before in my life have I seen such Mother Nature (or Indra) open up with power and strength.
The difference in attitude between Indians here and Americans to the weather is fascinating. I have already mentioned how agriculture relies upon regular rainfall, so of course they are grateful for that, but there’s something else. The rain has brought new life to the area in such a short period of time, it’s impossible to feel down. When I opened my door this morning to brave the hail on my walk to work, I was greeted with one of my favorite scents: fresh herbage. I smelled what I thought was cilantro, thyme and basil, but was probably a salad of local Indian varieties. I have never noticed it before now, so the rains must have jump started their growth. This smelled followed me for the next half hour; I loved it. There are also two areas in town that my friends have called “rivers,” but up until now they have just been a barren pile of dry rocks snaking through the valleys. Today, muddy waters were overflowing their banks and rushing downhill at rapid speed. Other waters moved through the streets like garbage collectors, removing the grime, filth and trash that had accumulated since the last rain. Even the monkeys, cows and stray dogs looked cleaner and happier than they had before, though their fur or hair was matted to their skin by the rain.
It was like the rainfall had purified the entire area and gave everybody a fresh start. So when I arrived at KLB this morning, I didn’t see a single face that wasn’t adorned with a bright smile. There was no power, no class, no internet, no chai (gasp!) and very little heat, but everybody was giddy and cheerful.
“Good morning, Pat! Namaste!”
“Isn’t this lovely Himachal weather?”
“ You are looking very smart this morning, sir.”
“Yes, very sexy! Highest degree, ha.”
I was taken aback. Not just by the sexy comment, though that was a bit disturbing. Rain just doesn’t cause this kind of a mood swing where I am from. Nature and the environment has been paved over and replaced by office space and parking lots. We hire people to clean our streets and pick up garbage instead of taking care of our surroundings the way they were meant to be treated. We plant young saplings and potted herbs where ancient trees, fresh flowers and natural gardens used to be anyway. Before coming to India, I have never been that much in touch with the environment. Even weekend camping trips with Boy Scouts left me feeling detached and longing for something more real and pure. Now, I have found a place where nature and civilization exist together. It’s a far cry from harmony and equal partnership, but maybe it can be called a mutual understanding. I feel blessed to be able to experience this and become a part of it so early in my time here. Never will I look at varsha the same way again.
08 February 2010
Smells Like Victory
Breaking news: Pat has finally made something at KLB that was a complete success with almost no screw-ups. Why? Because I finally got to use eggs.
I’ve tried no less than three eggless brownie recipes since I got here, and they all have fallen far short of expectations. In fact, the last one I tried was burnt on the edges and way too gooey in the middle, yet it still qualified as the best one yet. Then Principal Ramdev asked me to make a recipe using eggs. While most of the people here are vegetarian and choose not to consume eggs, some are not, and it was those people to whom I was catering.
I just so happen to have a fantastic, simple and delicious brownie recipe up my sleeve that I have been using for the past couple of years without fail. It always turns out great, it’s forgiving if your measurements aren’t exact, and you can even cook it in a microwave if you find yourself without a decent oven. Now the ultimate test for this infallible confectionary was to see if it would pull through in KLB’s canteen kitchen.
Pat’s Basic Brownie Recipe (non-veg)
½ cup butter (4 ounces, 1 American stick, 120ml or 125g)
½ cup cocoa (120ml or about 50g)
1 cup sugar (240ml or about 200g)
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla (5ml, but this is optional, as the brownies are so chocolate-y)
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp cayenne pepper or chili powder (trust me…)
½ cup flour (120ml or about 60g)
1. Melt the butter. While it is still warm, whisk in the cocoa until smooth.
2. Roughly whisk in the sugar until completely uniform.
3. Beat the eggs in a separate container, then whisk them in slowly, about 1/3 at a time, until fully incorporated.
4. Whisk the salt, cayenne or chili and vanilla thoroughly.
5. Fold in the flour. Before adding the flour, you can whisk the mixture as much as you like with no ill effect. Once you add the flour, stir it in with a spatula only until all the dry ingredients are combined, not a second longer.
6. Bake in a greased 8”x8” (20cm x 20cm) pan placed in a preheated 350 degrees Fahrenheit/180 degrees Celsius for 25-30 minutes.
This recipe works even if you have white buffalo butter that tastes different, whole-wheat flour, no vanilla, too-coarse sugar and a curious audience of Indian girls. While making it, I just felt so much more confident than I have in the past couple of weeks because I knew this recipe so well and I have done it so many times before that none of the obstacles bothered me. Even the poorly insulated oven couldn’t ruin it. The edges were a bit crisp and it took closer to 35 minutes to bake fully, but the results were still fantastic.
I got about 20 pieces out of a double batch that cost about 120 rupees to make. 6 rupees per piece is a bit more expensive than most sweets around here, and it has eggs, but I don’t care. It’s a good one, and it was my first solid success here. I’m making it again.
By the way, I’d at least double the batch if I were you. It’s kind of small, and these will go pretty fast.
I’ve tried no less than three eggless brownie recipes since I got here, and they all have fallen far short of expectations. In fact, the last one I tried was burnt on the edges and way too gooey in the middle, yet it still qualified as the best one yet. Then Principal Ramdev asked me to make a recipe using eggs. While most of the people here are vegetarian and choose not to consume eggs, some are not, and it was those people to whom I was catering.
I just so happen to have a fantastic, simple and delicious brownie recipe up my sleeve that I have been using for the past couple of years without fail. It always turns out great, it’s forgiving if your measurements aren’t exact, and you can even cook it in a microwave if you find yourself without a decent oven. Now the ultimate test for this infallible confectionary was to see if it would pull through in KLB’s canteen kitchen.
Pat’s Basic Brownie Recipe (non-veg)
½ cup butter (4 ounces, 1 American stick, 120ml or 125g)
½ cup cocoa (120ml or about 50g)
1 cup sugar (240ml or about 200g)
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla (5ml, but this is optional, as the brownies are so chocolate-y)
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp cayenne pepper or chili powder (trust me…)
½ cup flour (120ml or about 60g)
1. Melt the butter. While it is still warm, whisk in the cocoa until smooth.
2. Roughly whisk in the sugar until completely uniform.
3. Beat the eggs in a separate container, then whisk them in slowly, about 1/3 at a time, until fully incorporated.
4. Whisk the salt, cayenne or chili and vanilla thoroughly.
5. Fold in the flour. Before adding the flour, you can whisk the mixture as much as you like with no ill effect. Once you add the flour, stir it in with a spatula only until all the dry ingredients are combined, not a second longer.
6. Bake in a greased 8”x8” (20cm x 20cm) pan placed in a preheated 350 degrees Fahrenheit/180 degrees Celsius for 25-30 minutes.
This recipe works even if you have white buffalo butter that tastes different, whole-wheat flour, no vanilla, too-coarse sugar and a curious audience of Indian girls. While making it, I just felt so much more confident than I have in the past couple of weeks because I knew this recipe so well and I have done it so many times before that none of the obstacles bothered me. Even the poorly insulated oven couldn’t ruin it. The edges were a bit crisp and it took closer to 35 minutes to bake fully, but the results were still fantastic.
I got about 20 pieces out of a double batch that cost about 120 rupees to make. 6 rupees per piece is a bit more expensive than most sweets around here, and it has eggs, but I don’t care. It’s a good one, and it was my first solid success here. I’m making it again.
By the way, I’d at least double the batch if I were you. It’s kind of small, and these will go pretty fast.
Rhododendron Chutney
Before I left for India, I wrote a post titled “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the World,” in which I listed a few things that every traveler should do or have. I stand by it, but I would also like to add two things to the list of stuff to bring: a waterproof jacket and good hiking shoes, preferably waterproof as well.
You see, sometimes when you travel, you’ll make this crazy mountaineering friend named Atul whose job it is to look after you and make sure that you’re making your way around India safely, eating the right foods, engaging with the right people and generally having a good time. Sometimes, Atul will call you on a Saturday, when the weather is great, and ask if you are busy on Sunday. You will likely not have plans, as this is a rural town and you just got there three weeks ago, so you won’t have much of a social life. It is possible that Atul will suggest a short hike up a mountain to see a temple dedicated to a Hindu goddess and a beautiful pool and waterfall. If all of this happens, you will fully agree to it, because it probably will sound like a great idea.
Sometimes, you will make these plans to spend most of the next day outside, away from shelter, and the heavens will open up to take a piss on your beautiful, sunny mountainside. Sometimes it will continue to rain all through the night and into the next morning as you eat your breakfast. When this happens, logic will dictate that most people will cancel their day hike outside, especially since whatever hike you may be planning will probably take place on rocky surfaces that become especially slick when wet. You may have even had knee surgery less than a year ago, and may still be feeling some apprehension about engaging your new joint in strenuous, slippery activity for several hours. So given these hypothetical circumstances, you will decide that it is mostly likely that the day hike will at least be postponed.
Sometimes Atul will show up at your door at 10:30 anyway, asking if you are ready to go. He might bring his friend Paul, whose name isn’t actually Paul, but sounds enough like Paul to allow you to call him that. Paul will most likely speak perfect English, but being shy, he won’t speak much of it with you. Anywho, at this time, you’ll probably pack up some food in the house to take as lunch, and being the 3-hour journey uphill.
Uphill is almost certainly more of an uphill than you’ve ever done before. You are likely to find weakly marked trails, shifting rocks, sudden patches of deep mud and mountain goats as some of the many obstacles in your path. Of course, don’t forget that it will probably still be raining this whole time and you are traversing upward at between 20 and 40 degrees the whole time. Despite being anxious about your knee, you are liable to be in good shape and are going at what you consider to be a great pace, but the two crazy Indians will definitely still be pacing you. If the Fates really want to spit in your face, they will make sure that both of your companions smoke like dirty chimneys during the entire journey while climbing faster and more comfortably that you think is possible. Don’t worry, it won’t seem like their lungs can handle it, but they really can, so just go with it.
If you reach the top of the mountain, you will surely be greeted with a wonderful, if slightly rain-obscured view of all of Palampur, a Hindu temple and a peaceful pool of fresh water leading off to a small waterfall. It will be worth every step up, even in this weather. On the way down, you and your buddies will in all probability start looking for places to sit down and have lunch, but most of the out-of-the-way areas are already marked by feces, both human and animal. In fact, you will likely have to walk about 45 minutes out of the way to a gathering of wet rocks literally perched on the side of the mountain before Atul and Paul determine it’s a good spot to stop. You might disagree, given the relative ease by which one can slip off and fall to their untimely death, but again, shouldn’t you just go with the flow?
Paul and Atul may even decide to build a small fire while you eat. The wood will be very wet by this time, so you won’t think it’s likely. But maybe Paul will pull a water bottle filled with kerosene out of his backpack. That’ll get some flames going, and even if the wood doesn’t actually catch after an entire bottle, it’ll look pretty cool. Fire is usually quite fun, even if a runaway dash of lighter fluid causes the flames to eat at the seam on the bottom of your pants for a few seconds before you notice. Before you start the treacherous trek down the slippery slopes (excuse the annoying alliteration, it’s amazingly addicting), Paul and Atul might stop at a large tree with bright red flowers and start picking a few. It’s rhododendron, and it’s very pretty, but you may wonder why they’re picking so many. Atul may respond to your observations with, “We’re going to eat it, of course.” Apparantly, it’s very common in this area to make delicious chutney out of the leaves, mixed with some onion, chili powder and water, not much else. You may think this is awesome, especially if experiencing new food is one of your favorite parts of traveling. Doubtless you cannot wait to taste something prepared from something else that you have gathered yourself. Oh, and don’t be surprised if Paul removes his shoes and risks his life to climb the tree and get as many blossoms as possible. After that, you really can’t wait to try it.
Upon arriving back at your humble abode, you will probably prepare some chai for yourself and your compatriots to warm up while you rest your sore muscles and stiff knee. You will apt to be glad that you decided to go despite the lousy weather. But without a doubt, given all of the above to be true, you will be so grateful that you have a waterproof jacket and wonderful, waterproof hiking shoes. Without them, you would have been too miserably wet and cold to have any fun at all.
You see, sometimes when you travel, you’ll make this crazy mountaineering friend named Atul whose job it is to look after you and make sure that you’re making your way around India safely, eating the right foods, engaging with the right people and generally having a good time. Sometimes, Atul will call you on a Saturday, when the weather is great, and ask if you are busy on Sunday. You will likely not have plans, as this is a rural town and you just got there three weeks ago, so you won’t have much of a social life. It is possible that Atul will suggest a short hike up a mountain to see a temple dedicated to a Hindu goddess and a beautiful pool and waterfall. If all of this happens, you will fully agree to it, because it probably will sound like a great idea.
Sometimes, you will make these plans to spend most of the next day outside, away from shelter, and the heavens will open up to take a piss on your beautiful, sunny mountainside. Sometimes it will continue to rain all through the night and into the next morning as you eat your breakfast. When this happens, logic will dictate that most people will cancel their day hike outside, especially since whatever hike you may be planning will probably take place on rocky surfaces that become especially slick when wet. You may have even had knee surgery less than a year ago, and may still be feeling some apprehension about engaging your new joint in strenuous, slippery activity for several hours. So given these hypothetical circumstances, you will decide that it is mostly likely that the day hike will at least be postponed.
Sometimes Atul will show up at your door at 10:30 anyway, asking if you are ready to go. He might bring his friend Paul, whose name isn’t actually Paul, but sounds enough like Paul to allow you to call him that. Paul will most likely speak perfect English, but being shy, he won’t speak much of it with you. Anywho, at this time, you’ll probably pack up some food in the house to take as lunch, and being the 3-hour journey uphill.
Uphill is almost certainly more of an uphill than you’ve ever done before. You are likely to find weakly marked trails, shifting rocks, sudden patches of deep mud and mountain goats as some of the many obstacles in your path. Of course, don’t forget that it will probably still be raining this whole time and you are traversing upward at between 20 and 40 degrees the whole time. Despite being anxious about your knee, you are liable to be in good shape and are going at what you consider to be a great pace, but the two crazy Indians will definitely still be pacing you. If the Fates really want to spit in your face, they will make sure that both of your companions smoke like dirty chimneys during the entire journey while climbing faster and more comfortably that you think is possible. Don’t worry, it won’t seem like their lungs can handle it, but they really can, so just go with it.
If you reach the top of the mountain, you will surely be greeted with a wonderful, if slightly rain-obscured view of all of Palampur, a Hindu temple and a peaceful pool of fresh water leading off to a small waterfall. It will be worth every step up, even in this weather. On the way down, you and your buddies will in all probability start looking for places to sit down and have lunch, but most of the out-of-the-way areas are already marked by feces, both human and animal. In fact, you will likely have to walk about 45 minutes out of the way to a gathering of wet rocks literally perched on the side of the mountain before Atul and Paul determine it’s a good spot to stop. You might disagree, given the relative ease by which one can slip off and fall to their untimely death, but again, shouldn’t you just go with the flow?
Paul and Atul may even decide to build a small fire while you eat. The wood will be very wet by this time, so you won’t think it’s likely. But maybe Paul will pull a water bottle filled with kerosene out of his backpack. That’ll get some flames going, and even if the wood doesn’t actually catch after an entire bottle, it’ll look pretty cool. Fire is usually quite fun, even if a runaway dash of lighter fluid causes the flames to eat at the seam on the bottom of your pants for a few seconds before you notice. Before you start the treacherous trek down the slippery slopes (excuse the annoying alliteration, it’s amazingly addicting), Paul and Atul might stop at a large tree with bright red flowers and start picking a few. It’s rhododendron, and it’s very pretty, but you may wonder why they’re picking so many. Atul may respond to your observations with, “We’re going to eat it, of course.” Apparantly, it’s very common in this area to make delicious chutney out of the leaves, mixed with some onion, chili powder and water, not much else. You may think this is awesome, especially if experiencing new food is one of your favorite parts of traveling. Doubtless you cannot wait to taste something prepared from something else that you have gathered yourself. Oh, and don’t be surprised if Paul removes his shoes and risks his life to climb the tree and get as many blossoms as possible. After that, you really can’t wait to try it.
Upon arriving back at your humble abode, you will probably prepare some chai for yourself and your compatriots to warm up while you rest your sore muscles and stiff knee. You will apt to be glad that you decided to go despite the lousy weather. But without a doubt, given all of the above to be true, you will be so grateful that you have a waterproof jacket and wonderful, waterproof hiking shoes. Without them, you would have been too miserably wet and cold to have any fun at all.
Close Encounters of the Indian Kind
It’s a rainy day in Palampur, and for the first time in the three weeks since I got here, it feels like I can finally sit down and relax. It’s time to make an evaluation of my life here to see I am coping well, and I am glad to say that results are positive. I can say that I’ve settled into my house, my routine and my diet, at least as much as I am able. I’m walking to work, making friends and navigating the market with a little more confidence. Yep, I’m definitely starting to feel comfortable here.
Although I’m not at all comfortable with the staring.
In India, it’s not rude to stare at people. Openly. Repeatedly. I’m realistic and I understand that in this small town, there are almost no white people. For some, like my rural neighbors, I’m the only westerner that they’ve ever seen. Most have never even been to a major city like Delhi. It’s only natural for them to express their curiosity the only way they know how: by staring openly at the strange white kid with the sunglasses when he butchers the pronunciation of “Namaste” because it’s the only greeting he knows.
In a fairly short time, I have had several interesting, funny or strange encounters with complete strangers that bear mention, solely because of their uniqueness in comparison with Western culture. I hope you have as much fun reading about them as I had experiencing them:
Agata and I were walking to town for lunch when two young men on a motor cycle slowed down and shouted to Agata, “You look beautiful in Indian dress!” She had purchased what’s called a Punjabi outfit so as to fit in more with the culture, which is baggy pants and a non-revealing tunic recommended for Western women who are accustomed to wearing tank tops and tight jeans. Moments later, the same men came back and asked if we wanted to buy ganja. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way drug deals go down in the states.
I am frequently accosted by young children on the way to work who want to practice their English, but they seem too shy to just open up and talk. Usually they run next to me for about two minutes (I walk fast and they have short legs), talking to each other in Hindi before they ask, “Your good name? Your country? Oh, USA? America, yeah!” Then they run away. This happens at least twice a week.
To get to the mud hut, I have to take a short, winding dirt path that snakes in between my neighbors’ houses. Yesterday, several of them were gathered on their porch when I passed, and one of them motioned for me to join them. Why not? When I walked down the steps to their patio, the girls retreated to the far corner and started giggling and whispering. I shook them men’s hands, promptly forgot all of their names and just stood there. No English. For at least three minutes. Then Sanjeev (yes, I remembered one!) said, “Okay, nice to talk. Bye.” And I left.
I must say, the most interesting experiences are at KLB, where I am surrounded by over 800 girls who by now all know that I make brownies. I frequently am passing groups of them, and I am able to hear them say something like, “hindi hindi hindi brownies hindi hindi.” These wandering packs will stand in a small circle and take turns glancing over in my direction, then looking away quickly and giggling when they see that I notice them.
These are not the only awkward rendezvous I’ve had, nor will they be the last. You may think, “Pat, you should consider yourself lucky. You have a thousand young single women who are fascinated by your presence.” Well, yeah, it’s awesome… but not that awesome. It’s mostly embarrassing. I just feel awkward all the time. You know that feeling when you are sure that there’s somebody looking right at you? That’s what I feel whenever I leave my house, except that in my case, I’m usually right. Sometimes I just don’t even want to get out of bed, not because I’m tired, but because I don’t want people to stare at me anymore.
Professor Ramdev says a lot of it is due to my skin color. Indian people, both men and women, strive for lighter skin. He says that it is probably latent from hundreds of years of British rule, where white skin was associated with high status. American women spend their money on UV beds and tanning cream, while Indians stay indoors when they can and apply lotion to make their skin was lighter. Obviously, there are other things besides the color of my skin that make me stand out. I frequently like to wear sunglasses, I carry my backpack on my walk to work, I wear fewer layers than most because the temperature is relatively warm for me, my hair is unusually short, I walk alone most of the time and I speak American English. But I don’t want to completely blend in. I have my identity, and I want to keep it, regardless of how much it makes me be conspicuous.
The good news is that I’ve found a way to retaliate. I’m going to stare right back. No, it’s not entirely appropriate, and if I were a woman, it would be the entirely wrong decision, but it works. They stop looking. I don’t do it every time, but every once in awhile it at least makes me feel better, and it definitely makes them stop staring (at least females). Maybe they’ll even get used to seeing me and stop looking. Or not. We’ll see.
In other news, I’ve finally had enough internet access to complete the numbers portion of my nutritional profile for the hostel. It’s really nerdy, but Excel spreadsheets, when done well, can be pretty fun. What’s next is to take all the numbers and compile it into a written report, summarizing and making recommendations when necessary. That’ll take time, but time is something of which there is abundance here. Time and unwanted attention, of course.
Although I’m not at all comfortable with the staring.
In India, it’s not rude to stare at people. Openly. Repeatedly. I’m realistic and I understand that in this small town, there are almost no white people. For some, like my rural neighbors, I’m the only westerner that they’ve ever seen. Most have never even been to a major city like Delhi. It’s only natural for them to express their curiosity the only way they know how: by staring openly at the strange white kid with the sunglasses when he butchers the pronunciation of “Namaste” because it’s the only greeting he knows.
In a fairly short time, I have had several interesting, funny or strange encounters with complete strangers that bear mention, solely because of their uniqueness in comparison with Western culture. I hope you have as much fun reading about them as I had experiencing them:
Agata and I were walking to town for lunch when two young men on a motor cycle slowed down and shouted to Agata, “You look beautiful in Indian dress!” She had purchased what’s called a Punjabi outfit so as to fit in more with the culture, which is baggy pants and a non-revealing tunic recommended for Western women who are accustomed to wearing tank tops and tight jeans. Moments later, the same men came back and asked if we wanted to buy ganja. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the way drug deals go down in the states.
I am frequently accosted by young children on the way to work who want to practice their English, but they seem too shy to just open up and talk. Usually they run next to me for about two minutes (I walk fast and they have short legs), talking to each other in Hindi before they ask, “Your good name? Your country? Oh, USA? America, yeah!” Then they run away. This happens at least twice a week.
To get to the mud hut, I have to take a short, winding dirt path that snakes in between my neighbors’ houses. Yesterday, several of them were gathered on their porch when I passed, and one of them motioned for me to join them. Why not? When I walked down the steps to their patio, the girls retreated to the far corner and started giggling and whispering. I shook them men’s hands, promptly forgot all of their names and just stood there. No English. For at least three minutes. Then Sanjeev (yes, I remembered one!) said, “Okay, nice to talk. Bye.” And I left.
I must say, the most interesting experiences are at KLB, where I am surrounded by over 800 girls who by now all know that I make brownies. I frequently am passing groups of them, and I am able to hear them say something like, “hindi hindi hindi brownies hindi hindi.” These wandering packs will stand in a small circle and take turns glancing over in my direction, then looking away quickly and giggling when they see that I notice them.
These are not the only awkward rendezvous I’ve had, nor will they be the last. You may think, “Pat, you should consider yourself lucky. You have a thousand young single women who are fascinated by your presence.” Well, yeah, it’s awesome… but not that awesome. It’s mostly embarrassing. I just feel awkward all the time. You know that feeling when you are sure that there’s somebody looking right at you? That’s what I feel whenever I leave my house, except that in my case, I’m usually right. Sometimes I just don’t even want to get out of bed, not because I’m tired, but because I don’t want people to stare at me anymore.
Professor Ramdev says a lot of it is due to my skin color. Indian people, both men and women, strive for lighter skin. He says that it is probably latent from hundreds of years of British rule, where white skin was associated with high status. American women spend their money on UV beds and tanning cream, while Indians stay indoors when they can and apply lotion to make their skin was lighter. Obviously, there are other things besides the color of my skin that make me stand out. I frequently like to wear sunglasses, I carry my backpack on my walk to work, I wear fewer layers than most because the temperature is relatively warm for me, my hair is unusually short, I walk alone most of the time and I speak American English. But I don’t want to completely blend in. I have my identity, and I want to keep it, regardless of how much it makes me be conspicuous.
The good news is that I’ve found a way to retaliate. I’m going to stare right back. No, it’s not entirely appropriate, and if I were a woman, it would be the entirely wrong decision, but it works. They stop looking. I don’t do it every time, but every once in awhile it at least makes me feel better, and it definitely makes them stop staring (at least females). Maybe they’ll even get used to seeing me and stop looking. Or not. We’ll see.
In other news, I’ve finally had enough internet access to complete the numbers portion of my nutritional profile for the hostel. It’s really nerdy, but Excel spreadsheets, when done well, can be pretty fun. What’s next is to take all the numbers and compile it into a written report, summarizing and making recommendations when necessary. That’ll take time, but time is something of which there is abundance here. Time and unwanted attention, of course.
05 February 2010
Blinding Them With Science
Here’s another weekly report I wrote for Atul. Progress looks so much better when you summarize it on paper, don’t you think?
“I have begun more intensive work on the nutrition aspect of the hostel food service at KLB College. One problem that continuously plagues my progress is the internet connection. John did a fantastic job setting up wi-fi and a strong internet here, but as with any aspect of technology, there are sometimes unavoidable difficulties. As such, I have been unable to complete my research on the nutritive values of the ingredients served in the hostel. I am about three-fourths done, and provided I will have access to the internet in the future, I should finish it next week.
“Here is a summary of my nutritional profile so far. I have broken each day’s menu down into the raw ingredients used in each recipe. That was rather simple, considering that Indian cuisine takes raw vegetables, legumes and grains and cooks them simply. For example, chapattis are made with nothing but whole-wheat flour and water. Since there are no calories in water, all I had to do was make a few chapattis to estimate the amount of whole-wheat flour that goes into each one. Main courses were only a little bit more difficult. The dal dishes served were mostly water and spices, only about one-third dal. This observation was determined after “auditing” several meals and preparations in the kitchen. Of course, no matter how much measuring I do, I can never be exact about the amount of food given to each student, which is why I estimated the maximum and minimum amount of food served to each girl to get a range of values as well as an average. This was determined by both observing their eating habits and interviewing a random sampling of students – between five and ten out of the 37 currently living in the hostel – as well as measuring the plates used to serve the food. Thus, I was able to come up with a summary of all the raw ingredients consumed by the girls and their estimated amounts. What remains is to analyze their nutritional content, and I am in the process of that right now, using the USDA’s extensive database.
“There is, of course, much room for error. The biggest is that the girls most likely obtain food from outside the hostel kitchen each day. Also, the girls range in age, size and physical activity, which are the three principal determinants of energy consumption. In other words, each girl is different and requires different amounts of calories, fat, carbohydrates and protein to meet their specific needs. Plus, they generally tend to be very small for their age, at least compared to American women aged 18-22. Again, all I can do is estimate and come up with ranges that encompass as many girls as possible.
“To that end, I have come up with a plan for how to proceed with my nutritional profile, and I have discussed these methods with Principal Ramdev. First, I will conduct informal interviews with some, but not all, of the hostelites (the word used to describe the girls living in the hostel) to determine their levels of physical activity, as well as what food they eat outside of the mess hall. In these interviews I will also record their weight and age, but I will do so without recording their name. These figures will remain anonymous. Using this information, I can calculate their basal metabolic rate (BMR) and general physical activity level (PAL), which I can then use to determine their total energy expenditure (TEE). These calculations come from a report by the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO), in conjunction with the World Health Organization (WHO) and United Nations University (UNU), written in 2004. By comparing these figures with the figures I will eventually procure from my analysis of the hostel menu, I will be able to draw some conclusions as to whether the food served in the hostel sufficiently contributes to a healthy diet, as well as whether hostel living in itself promotes a healthy lifestyle.
“At this point I must clarify that I am not a trained dietician, nor am I an expert in nutrition or fitness. I will not be making any changes or suggestions to the way things are done here at KLB without running them by Principal Ramdev, Neetu the cook, and Madam Utra the warden. Any conclusions I make and any work I do will be based on well-documented sources and none of it will be my personal opinion.
“In addition to my work on the nutritional profile, this week I also continued my learning about the way business is run at KLB and in India in general. Principal Ramdev is a very accommodating supervisor of my work, and he approves almost every single one of my requests. I have helped financially support some more of my cooking and baking, but he and KLB are still extremely generous in their funding. Honestly, I haven’t used more than 3,000 rupees (about 68 USD) worth of ingredients since I got here, so it’s not that much, and I have purchased about half of that, but it still means a lot that they are willing to support me. This week I made falafel and spicy mustard to go with it. The falafel was a hit, and while the mustard received less praise, it was at least spicy enough for Indian palates. It has become something of a contest, with these people challenging me to making something as spicy as possible for them, and me continuously falling short, no matter how much chili powder I use. I also experimented with another eggless brownie recipe which turned out much better than the first. Not only is it vegetarian, but it only uses four raw ingredients – flour, sugar, butter and chocolate – so it is relatively cheap to make. It needs more fine-tuning, and I need more practice working in the kitchen with that equipment, but it is promising.
“The work ethic here is much different than in the U.S. Things move at a much slower pace, and there is more independence and individual responsibility on the students to complete their work. Chai breaks are common, and most of the teachers and students are done with their work by two in the afternoon. Classes are only 35 minutes long, much shorter than the 50, 120 or 160 minute classes in the states. I am frequently told by Principal Ramdev and the other teachers to just sit down, relax and take it easy (shanti, in Hindi). This is something that will be hard for me to get used to.
“I am also making some friends among the staff here. I eat lunch every day with Ajay, an economics teacher; Anupam, the PE teacher; Jitender, who teaches science; and Pravesh, the computer instructor and the man who helped John install the wi-fi system. On a related note, I think I am getting better at remembering Indian names, at which I was horrible a few weeks ago. I look forward to learning more Hindi as the semester progresses.”
Let me tell you, it was a little bit awkward asking Principal Ramdev and Madam Utra if I could weigh the girls to determine their energy requirements. If I tried that with 18-22 year old Americans, I probably would have been slapped. Yet here, some girls had no problem with volunteering that information, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because body image is much more secure here and not as big a deal, or maybe they just have less of a problem with surrendering personal information. Anyway, I’m grateful, because it means I can be that much more accurate in my nutritional profile. In life, accuracy is everything.
I must also confess that I’m having a little fun researching all of this nutrition information and making calculations about food. I always hated doing math, but like I mentioned in an earlier post, when it has to do with food, anything is fun for me. Even science.
“I have begun more intensive work on the nutrition aspect of the hostel food service at KLB College. One problem that continuously plagues my progress is the internet connection. John did a fantastic job setting up wi-fi and a strong internet here, but as with any aspect of technology, there are sometimes unavoidable difficulties. As such, I have been unable to complete my research on the nutritive values of the ingredients served in the hostel. I am about three-fourths done, and provided I will have access to the internet in the future, I should finish it next week.
“Here is a summary of my nutritional profile so far. I have broken each day’s menu down into the raw ingredients used in each recipe. That was rather simple, considering that Indian cuisine takes raw vegetables, legumes and grains and cooks them simply. For example, chapattis are made with nothing but whole-wheat flour and water. Since there are no calories in water, all I had to do was make a few chapattis to estimate the amount of whole-wheat flour that goes into each one. Main courses were only a little bit more difficult. The dal dishes served were mostly water and spices, only about one-third dal. This observation was determined after “auditing” several meals and preparations in the kitchen. Of course, no matter how much measuring I do, I can never be exact about the amount of food given to each student, which is why I estimated the maximum and minimum amount of food served to each girl to get a range of values as well as an average. This was determined by both observing their eating habits and interviewing a random sampling of students – between five and ten out of the 37 currently living in the hostel – as well as measuring the plates used to serve the food. Thus, I was able to come up with a summary of all the raw ingredients consumed by the girls and their estimated amounts. What remains is to analyze their nutritional content, and I am in the process of that right now, using the USDA’s extensive database.
“There is, of course, much room for error. The biggest is that the girls most likely obtain food from outside the hostel kitchen each day. Also, the girls range in age, size and physical activity, which are the three principal determinants of energy consumption. In other words, each girl is different and requires different amounts of calories, fat, carbohydrates and protein to meet their specific needs. Plus, they generally tend to be very small for their age, at least compared to American women aged 18-22. Again, all I can do is estimate and come up with ranges that encompass as many girls as possible.
“To that end, I have come up with a plan for how to proceed with my nutritional profile, and I have discussed these methods with Principal Ramdev. First, I will conduct informal interviews with some, but not all, of the hostelites (the word used to describe the girls living in the hostel) to determine their levels of physical activity, as well as what food they eat outside of the mess hall. In these interviews I will also record their weight and age, but I will do so without recording their name. These figures will remain anonymous. Using this information, I can calculate their basal metabolic rate (BMR) and general physical activity level (PAL), which I can then use to determine their total energy expenditure (TEE). These calculations come from a report by the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO), in conjunction with the World Health Organization (WHO) and United Nations University (UNU), written in 2004. By comparing these figures with the figures I will eventually procure from my analysis of the hostel menu, I will be able to draw some conclusions as to whether the food served in the hostel sufficiently contributes to a healthy diet, as well as whether hostel living in itself promotes a healthy lifestyle.
“At this point I must clarify that I am not a trained dietician, nor am I an expert in nutrition or fitness. I will not be making any changes or suggestions to the way things are done here at KLB without running them by Principal Ramdev, Neetu the cook, and Madam Utra the warden. Any conclusions I make and any work I do will be based on well-documented sources and none of it will be my personal opinion.
“In addition to my work on the nutritional profile, this week I also continued my learning about the way business is run at KLB and in India in general. Principal Ramdev is a very accommodating supervisor of my work, and he approves almost every single one of my requests. I have helped financially support some more of my cooking and baking, but he and KLB are still extremely generous in their funding. Honestly, I haven’t used more than 3,000 rupees (about 68 USD) worth of ingredients since I got here, so it’s not that much, and I have purchased about half of that, but it still means a lot that they are willing to support me. This week I made falafel and spicy mustard to go with it. The falafel was a hit, and while the mustard received less praise, it was at least spicy enough for Indian palates. It has become something of a contest, with these people challenging me to making something as spicy as possible for them, and me continuously falling short, no matter how much chili powder I use. I also experimented with another eggless brownie recipe which turned out much better than the first. Not only is it vegetarian, but it only uses four raw ingredients – flour, sugar, butter and chocolate – so it is relatively cheap to make. It needs more fine-tuning, and I need more practice working in the kitchen with that equipment, but it is promising.
“The work ethic here is much different than in the U.S. Things move at a much slower pace, and there is more independence and individual responsibility on the students to complete their work. Chai breaks are common, and most of the teachers and students are done with their work by two in the afternoon. Classes are only 35 minutes long, much shorter than the 50, 120 or 160 minute classes in the states. I am frequently told by Principal Ramdev and the other teachers to just sit down, relax and take it easy (shanti, in Hindi). This is something that will be hard for me to get used to.
“I am also making some friends among the staff here. I eat lunch every day with Ajay, an economics teacher; Anupam, the PE teacher; Jitender, who teaches science; and Pravesh, the computer instructor and the man who helped John install the wi-fi system. On a related note, I think I am getting better at remembering Indian names, at which I was horrible a few weeks ago. I look forward to learning more Hindi as the semester progresses.”
Let me tell you, it was a little bit awkward asking Principal Ramdev and Madam Utra if I could weigh the girls to determine their energy requirements. If I tried that with 18-22 year old Americans, I probably would have been slapped. Yet here, some girls had no problem with volunteering that information, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because body image is much more secure here and not as big a deal, or maybe they just have less of a problem with surrendering personal information. Anyway, I’m grateful, because it means I can be that much more accurate in my nutritional profile. In life, accuracy is everything.
I must also confess that I’m having a little fun researching all of this nutrition information and making calculations about food. I always hated doing math, but like I mentioned in an earlier post, when it has to do with food, anything is fun for me. Even science.
Building a Better Bread
4 February 2010
If I don’t have a project going in the kitchen, something long-term that won’t be ready to eat for at least another month or so, then I just don’t feel right. Idle hands, you know? That’s why last week I decided to try for myself one of the oldest food preparation techniques known to man: a sourdough starter.
Bread making began at the same time civilization appeared, between 10,000 and 8,000 B.C.E. It was probably one of the first prepared foods, and its intricate complexity and simultaneous simplicity makes it my favorite thing to eat and make myself. At its simplest, it contains only flour and water, but with any simple thing, every little detail counts. Those who have made bread before would ask, what about yeast? The dried-up little buggers that come in 7 gram packets in the grocery store are just brewer’s yeast scraped off the sides of beer tanks after they are emptied, but they are only one type of that particular microorganism; thousands exist all over the world. They’re everywhere, from the air we breathe to the water we drink, and all they do is eat and pass gas, which is responsible for making bread rise.
Sure, you can make reliable, good bread from store bought yeast, but the best breads in the world are manufactured from sourdough starters containing wild yeast. To make a starter, all you really have to do is mix flour and water and “feed” it by regularly adding more flour and water. My guess is some prehistoric foodie accidentally left his flatbread dough out in a warm place for a few days, forgot about it, and returned to find the resulting dough baked into a lighter, more delicious bread. It’ll take some time, but eventually you’ll have a healthy colony of yeast and their accompanying bacteria strong enough to raise a few loaves of bread and give it a wonderful complex taste. I really wanted to try it, not only to have something fun for me to do, but something good to eat. Like I said, good honest bread is my favorite thing in the world to eat, but Indian’s just don’t like it. They get their complex carbs from chapatti, an unleavened flatbread made from nothing but whole-wheat flour and water. It’s good, but it’s also plain and almost too simple, lacking complex flavor and completely devoid of texture.
My starter did not start out so well. I bought a 10-kilo bag of whole-wheat flour, because it’s so darn cheap, and a kilo of grapes for their juice to get the yeast going. Grapes are notorious for having delicious and strong yeast, which is why wine is made from them. I ran into problems right from the start. The mud hut is quite cold, and yeast needs a warm environment to grow and reproduce. I put it on top of the refrigerator to get some residual heat from the regulator, but I didn’t think it would be warm enough. Heck, it gets downright frosty in the kitchen at night. In addition, Shammi kept moving it off the fridge, which was the warmest spot in the house, so he could use it to make yogurt (yes, he makes yogurt from scratch, and it’s so much better than Dannon). Finally, I don’t even have an oven. Even if it did work, I wouldn’t be able to do anything with it. I was just doing something for poops and giggles to keep myself occupied, and I didn’t even have a goal in sight. Plus, there are so many different kinds of wild yeast, and it’s entirely possible that Indians don’t bake bread because the yeast in the area is either too weak or simply doesn’t taste too good. For the next few days of feeding my starter (I want to name it, any ideas?) there were no signs of life. I felt kind of worthless, like there were so many elements in my project that were against me from the start, even though nobody was to blame.
Actually, it started to mirror my work at KLB, both in cooking American foods and completing the nutrition profile for the girls at the hostel. So many people here want me to whip out these amazing baked goods and American snacks for them immediately, and I just keep falling a bit short. I tried making a different batch of eggless brownies as per a recipe tested from a friend back home who promised it would result in a fudgy and delicious confection (for more of her baking exploits, check out Whisk Kid). You know the saying that baking is an exact science? I hate it, because it’s wrong. You can never bake the same thing twice, and if you add an extra tablespoon of flour or play around with the spices, it’ll turn out just fine.
Having said that, there are quite a few things in baking that need to go right and occur in the correct order for your ventures to be a success. Today with the brownies, that just wasn’t happening. The ingredients here are different for one. Flour is coarser, sugar comes in giant crystals that never seem to dissolve, and butter simply isn’t the same in taste or composition (because some of it comes from buffalo. Fancy that). The equipment here is not suited for baking at all, and it is only appropriate for cooking simple Indian dishes. Most homes don’t have ovens, and the one that I am using in the hostel is the size of a microwave and is a bit stronger than a microwave oven. It’s really good at browning the top of the brownies and burning the edges, but not at cooking the inside of a baked product. I had to purchase metric measuring cups, which only come in one size; nothing here is measured in the kitchen. Kitchen scales for weighing ingredients are way too expensive, so all of my metric recipes calling for flour or sugar in grams are automatically going to be way off. I can’t even find a rubber, plastic or silicone spatula in any of the shops in town, and in my opinion, that’s the most important tool for any baker besides his bare (but squeaky clean) hands.
The problem as I’m starting to see it is that American and Indian cuisines are more than just a world apart. Indian recipes haven’t changed for the past several thousand years, and there is no outside influence or domestic desire to make them change. As a result, anybody who comes in and tries something different is bound to run into difficulties. The two styles are just incompatible. These were the thoughts going through my head as I pulled yet another batch of substandard brownies from my pathetic little oven. They were overly sweet, not chocolate-y enough, and still a bit runny in the center. I couldn’t get them out of the makeshift baking pan without them falling apart. It’s not the fault of the recipe, there were just too many circumstances going against it. Everybody loved them, but only because they were new and different. I think they were just trying to be polite.
I couldn’t even finish the nutritional profile on which I’ve been working for over a week. I have no internet access at the mud hut to look up nutrition facts for all the ingredients, so I can only do that work at KLB. But at KLB, I’m too busy botching brownies and getting mobbed by giggling girls to sit down for much time and research. When I finally do get the time, the internet is usually so slow that I can hardly load any pages or look up any new ideas for recipes.
To be honest, I was probably just feeling a bit down because Agata, my temporary Polish roommate, was leaving that day to go back home. Her visit was short, but we clicked so well. She’s an amazing dancer and shares with me a love of good food and a fondness for trying new things. It helped that we were the only two white people for a hundred kilometers, which meant we both got stared at constantly. We loved to joke about the Indian way of doing things (TII), and every evening when we got home from our work, I would open my computer, play some music, and the two of us would just spend the rest of the night dancing, eating and swapping stories. What more could you ask from a roommate?
On the walk home (uphill for 30 minutes, try that 5 times a week) from work today, I just felt a little bit frustrated. Even though I wasn’t remotely close to completely losing hope and giving India the finger, it made me feel somewhat lost and upset. I knew that I was coming home to an empty house and a dead sourdough starter. After dropping my backpack, I resolved to just 86 the ungrateful mass of wet dough and call it quits.
Wait… are those bubbles on the surface?
And what’s that smell? It’s like… wine, or beer. Definitely alcoholic…
…is it just me, or did it rise a little since this morning?
It’s… IT’S ALIVE! MWAHAHAHA!
I couldn’t believe it. Despite the relatively freezing temperatures and otherwise hostile environment, a colony of yeast and bacteria was able to thrive and begin fermentation. It was able to surpass all odds and make its own destiny, free from the oppression of… okay, I’ll stop, this is starting to sound like a bad Disney movie. Even so, coming home to find that at least one thing worked exactly the way it should have, even though I fully expected it to fail, made me feel at least a little better about being here. The canteen kitchen is tiny and cramped, the oven is a piece of rubbish, the ingredients are limited, the internet sucks, and everything I make here turns out burnt or undercooked, but at least they keep giving me another shot.
And I’ve finally got bread. Sort of.
If I don’t have a project going in the kitchen, something long-term that won’t be ready to eat for at least another month or so, then I just don’t feel right. Idle hands, you know? That’s why last week I decided to try for myself one of the oldest food preparation techniques known to man: a sourdough starter.
Bread making began at the same time civilization appeared, between 10,000 and 8,000 B.C.E. It was probably one of the first prepared foods, and its intricate complexity and simultaneous simplicity makes it my favorite thing to eat and make myself. At its simplest, it contains only flour and water, but with any simple thing, every little detail counts. Those who have made bread before would ask, what about yeast? The dried-up little buggers that come in 7 gram packets in the grocery store are just brewer’s yeast scraped off the sides of beer tanks after they are emptied, but they are only one type of that particular microorganism; thousands exist all over the world. They’re everywhere, from the air we breathe to the water we drink, and all they do is eat and pass gas, which is responsible for making bread rise.
Sure, you can make reliable, good bread from store bought yeast, but the best breads in the world are manufactured from sourdough starters containing wild yeast. To make a starter, all you really have to do is mix flour and water and “feed” it by regularly adding more flour and water. My guess is some prehistoric foodie accidentally left his flatbread dough out in a warm place for a few days, forgot about it, and returned to find the resulting dough baked into a lighter, more delicious bread. It’ll take some time, but eventually you’ll have a healthy colony of yeast and their accompanying bacteria strong enough to raise a few loaves of bread and give it a wonderful complex taste. I really wanted to try it, not only to have something fun for me to do, but something good to eat. Like I said, good honest bread is my favorite thing in the world to eat, but Indian’s just don’t like it. They get their complex carbs from chapatti, an unleavened flatbread made from nothing but whole-wheat flour and water. It’s good, but it’s also plain and almost too simple, lacking complex flavor and completely devoid of texture.
My starter did not start out so well. I bought a 10-kilo bag of whole-wheat flour, because it’s so darn cheap, and a kilo of grapes for their juice to get the yeast going. Grapes are notorious for having delicious and strong yeast, which is why wine is made from them. I ran into problems right from the start. The mud hut is quite cold, and yeast needs a warm environment to grow and reproduce. I put it on top of the refrigerator to get some residual heat from the regulator, but I didn’t think it would be warm enough. Heck, it gets downright frosty in the kitchen at night. In addition, Shammi kept moving it off the fridge, which was the warmest spot in the house, so he could use it to make yogurt (yes, he makes yogurt from scratch, and it’s so much better than Dannon). Finally, I don’t even have an oven. Even if it did work, I wouldn’t be able to do anything with it. I was just doing something for poops and giggles to keep myself occupied, and I didn’t even have a goal in sight. Plus, there are so many different kinds of wild yeast, and it’s entirely possible that Indians don’t bake bread because the yeast in the area is either too weak or simply doesn’t taste too good. For the next few days of feeding my starter (I want to name it, any ideas?) there were no signs of life. I felt kind of worthless, like there were so many elements in my project that were against me from the start, even though nobody was to blame.
Actually, it started to mirror my work at KLB, both in cooking American foods and completing the nutrition profile for the girls at the hostel. So many people here want me to whip out these amazing baked goods and American snacks for them immediately, and I just keep falling a bit short. I tried making a different batch of eggless brownies as per a recipe tested from a friend back home who promised it would result in a fudgy and delicious confection (for more of her baking exploits, check out Whisk Kid). You know the saying that baking is an exact science? I hate it, because it’s wrong. You can never bake the same thing twice, and if you add an extra tablespoon of flour or play around with the spices, it’ll turn out just fine.
Having said that, there are quite a few things in baking that need to go right and occur in the correct order for your ventures to be a success. Today with the brownies, that just wasn’t happening. The ingredients here are different for one. Flour is coarser, sugar comes in giant crystals that never seem to dissolve, and butter simply isn’t the same in taste or composition (because some of it comes from buffalo. Fancy that). The equipment here is not suited for baking at all, and it is only appropriate for cooking simple Indian dishes. Most homes don’t have ovens, and the one that I am using in the hostel is the size of a microwave and is a bit stronger than a microwave oven. It’s really good at browning the top of the brownies and burning the edges, but not at cooking the inside of a baked product. I had to purchase metric measuring cups, which only come in one size; nothing here is measured in the kitchen. Kitchen scales for weighing ingredients are way too expensive, so all of my metric recipes calling for flour or sugar in grams are automatically going to be way off. I can’t even find a rubber, plastic or silicone spatula in any of the shops in town, and in my opinion, that’s the most important tool for any baker besides his bare (but squeaky clean) hands.
The problem as I’m starting to see it is that American and Indian cuisines are more than just a world apart. Indian recipes haven’t changed for the past several thousand years, and there is no outside influence or domestic desire to make them change. As a result, anybody who comes in and tries something different is bound to run into difficulties. The two styles are just incompatible. These were the thoughts going through my head as I pulled yet another batch of substandard brownies from my pathetic little oven. They were overly sweet, not chocolate-y enough, and still a bit runny in the center. I couldn’t get them out of the makeshift baking pan without them falling apart. It’s not the fault of the recipe, there were just too many circumstances going against it. Everybody loved them, but only because they were new and different. I think they were just trying to be polite.
I couldn’t even finish the nutritional profile on which I’ve been working for over a week. I have no internet access at the mud hut to look up nutrition facts for all the ingredients, so I can only do that work at KLB. But at KLB, I’m too busy botching brownies and getting mobbed by giggling girls to sit down for much time and research. When I finally do get the time, the internet is usually so slow that I can hardly load any pages or look up any new ideas for recipes.
To be honest, I was probably just feeling a bit down because Agata, my temporary Polish roommate, was leaving that day to go back home. Her visit was short, but we clicked so well. She’s an amazing dancer and shares with me a love of good food and a fondness for trying new things. It helped that we were the only two white people for a hundred kilometers, which meant we both got stared at constantly. We loved to joke about the Indian way of doing things (TII), and every evening when we got home from our work, I would open my computer, play some music, and the two of us would just spend the rest of the night dancing, eating and swapping stories. What more could you ask from a roommate?
On the walk home (uphill for 30 minutes, try that 5 times a week) from work today, I just felt a little bit frustrated. Even though I wasn’t remotely close to completely losing hope and giving India the finger, it made me feel somewhat lost and upset. I knew that I was coming home to an empty house and a dead sourdough starter. After dropping my backpack, I resolved to just 86 the ungrateful mass of wet dough and call it quits.
Wait… are those bubbles on the surface?
And what’s that smell? It’s like… wine, or beer. Definitely alcoholic…
…is it just me, or did it rise a little since this morning?
It’s… IT’S ALIVE! MWAHAHAHA!
I couldn’t believe it. Despite the relatively freezing temperatures and otherwise hostile environment, a colony of yeast and bacteria was able to thrive and begin fermentation. It was able to surpass all odds and make its own destiny, free from the oppression of… okay, I’ll stop, this is starting to sound like a bad Disney movie. Even so, coming home to find that at least one thing worked exactly the way it should have, even though I fully expected it to fail, made me feel at least a little better about being here. The canteen kitchen is tiny and cramped, the oven is a piece of rubbish, the ingredients are limited, the internet sucks, and everything I make here turns out burnt or undercooked, but at least they keep giving me another shot.
And I’ve finally got bread. Sort of.
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