This Is India

Today I was kidnapped.

Sort of. Let me start at the beginning

Indians like falafel.

In fact, I’m surprised that they’ve never had it before. When exploring savory snack options, I suggested falafel to Principal Ramdev, and he’d never heard of it. It’s nothing but chickpeas mashed up with spices and fried in oil. Considering that chickpeas (channa) are very common and cheap around here, the usual spices are very well-known, and it is fried (the most popular cooking method in India), I figured that it would be a perfect addition to KLB’s canteen menu. Principal Ramdev agreed to let me try a batch to see if the students and staff would like it on the canteen’s menu.

This is also a good time to introduce a saying I have invented to tell myself when I get frustrated with the way things go here: TII, This Is India. You can also say shanti, which means “peace,” but really means “chill out, bro.” Everything moves at a much slower pace, and every action has to be carefully consulted. But even then, details are ignored or left out, while the action must continue anyway for the sake of progress. It’s like planning for months to build a car, discovering that you don’t have any rubber for the tires, and building the sucker anyway, a month past the deadline.

When I arrived at KLB this morning to begin falafel (I had soaked 4 kg chickpeas the day before), I was greeted with the news that the canteen’s gas cylinder had gone empty and the cook (whose name I still cannot remember, pronounce or write) had gone to fetch a refill. I was familiar enough with the way things work around here to know that even though the market is a five minute walk away, this errand would take at least two hours. So I waited, working further on the hostel menu. I was unable to use that kitchen because the burners were too small to cook the massive pot containing the chickpeas, and lunch was being cooked on it anyway.

Gas arrived at about 11, and I asked the cook to put the chickpeas on to boil. Now, I knew this was going to take awhile. The pot was huge, there were 4 kg of uncooked beans that needed to soften, and then we needed to mash them up. TII, so there was no food processor, which means that we get to mash them by hand. Yay! Tumeric, chili powder, garam masala and salt were added for flavor, but even then, the mixture was too loose to be fried correctly, so I added arrowroot and white flour. Unfortunately, by this time, most of the students and teachers were gone (they like to disappear by 2), so instead of rolling out over 200 balls, we just did a handful so the stragglers could taste it.

And they loved it. They ate it with chutney, which is kind of spicy, but Ramdev asked me to come up with my own dip or sauce to go with it. Did you know that most Indians have never heard of mustard either? It’s not available in stores. So, tomorrow I’m going to make mustard from scratch with mustard seeds and vinegar. The only problem is that I don’t have internet at my place, so I can’t look up a recipe tonight. I know it’s basically mustard seeds and vinegar heated up in a saucier, and I’m going to add some extra chilies (some like it hot, but Indians like it hottests), but I don’t know specific ratios. Instead, I have to do it first thing in the morning tomorrow at KLB, then go to the market to buy the right ingredients, then make it, then make the rest of the falafel. TII, whatever. Not a big problem.

For the rest of the day, I decided to work some more on the hostel menu’s nutrition breakdown, but as soon as I started, the canteen’s cook came into the office. I’m going to call him Bubba. Bubba speaks almost no English, and I speak almost no Hindi, so it’s already off to a great start. Bubba motions for me to follow him, and he mentions going to the market. I figure he wants me to take him along while he buys supplies for tomorrow, and I can also get the ingredients for mustard, so I hop on the back of his scooter for what I assume to be a short trip to the market that’s only a half kilometer away. No big deal, right?

The first surprise is that he takes me to one of the sweet shops in town, one where he seems to be good friends with the owner. I follow him upstairs into the kitchen, and I realize that he’s doing me a great favor: showing me how Indian desserts are made. I think this is very cool, until I start going upstairs. The place is like a dungeon. Literally. Stone walls, narrow staircases, dark, damp and dirty. There are huge pots simmering with unknown substances, and it’s much hotter than outside, so the three workers are wearing few clothes and sweating profusely. Bubba is not Igor to me, pulling my hand and moaning “Come, master!” I don’t know whether I’m about to be murdered, tortured, or turned into a llama. Oh, and I won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say that the torture chamber wouldn’t exactly meet U.S. health code. I won’t be eating from that place anytime soon.

We leave, and thus starts the ride that never ends. First we go to Bubba’s brother’s metal shop, where the two light up cigarettes and start chatting, while I sit twiddling my thumbs. Then we go to his sister-in-law’s house for tea (In India that takes at least a half hour). More thumb twiddling ensues. Afterwards we venture onward to his friends snack stand 15 minutes away, where Bubba and friend light yet another cigarette. My thumbs are getting tired. Oh, now we get to go back to the sister-in-law. They ask me if I want some more tea, and I politely as possible tell them to get me the hell back home. Before that, Bubba stops at another friend’s place in the Palampur market.

The whole excursion took a little over two hours. Let me be clear that in no way was I in immediate danger. Bubba is a very safe driver, we never drove into the middle of a forest, and I was not forced to do anything against my will (except actually go with him, of course). He’s just a bit of an idiot. Every time we stopped, I pointed at my watch, said “KLB now?” and pointed in the direction of the college. He always responded with, “5 minutes.” I was a little nervous for the first 20 minutes or so of the trip, but after I realized that he was just dragging me along on his social life, I was just pissed. I should also add that he left his wife back at the college, and she was waiting to go home the whole time as well. After about an hour and a half, I started getting texts and calls from Harmit and Principal Ramdev wondering where the hell I was, to which I replied “I have no freaking clue, he keeps saying we’ll be home in five minutes.”

Finally, I got Principal Ramdev on the phone and hand it to Bubba, and I can tell he’s getting chewed out. It was then that we finally got on our way back to KLB. By this time it was way too dark to walk back, and I had to call Harmit for a ride. I was tired, hungry, angry that I didn’t get any work done, and thoroughly confused. The whole time, no errands or chores got done. Why did Bubba feel it necessary to drag me along on his social visits? Nobody spoke English, and I spent the whole trip looking at my watch. There didn’t seem to be much purpose to my attendance. I didn’t get any of my work done, and now I have to get to work earlier tomorrow to make mustard for the falafel, and Bubba is supposed to help me make it.

Oh well. TII, you know?