Sunday July 15'2012
10:49am
I can't do movies here. I just can't do them. And it's not for a lack of trying, I promise you. I want to like them, but they're just so god damn long. By intermission my western A.D.D. trained mind is finished, fried. And the film last night was actually good. No florescents, only a few love professing songs, and it was set in London, minus the final scene which was in Delhi (my lack of attention returned at this point so I could note all the familiar places I'd been to and seen. Ya I live in Delhi)
Last night I made a difficult but necessary decision. I have decided to limit myself to one indian meal a day from here on out. As much as I just adore these people's food, well, it's killing me. It is in turn eating me from the inside out. The amount of spice and grease, I just- I try- but no. And I've noticed with each day my portion sizes get bigger. It's like they've slowly transitioned me onto their fiery diet. And now I'm a fat Indian cow (those things are not pretty) with serious indigestion. Plus this dinner at 9:30pm business is just wrong, on so many levels. Although I do enjoy the fact that dinner is at the exact same time every night. It's cute. It's like living in the 50's... during a paralyzing heat wave. So today I will go shopping and hunt for some bland somethings to hopefully settle the rave that is going down in my digestive tract.
Living in India as a tiny white girl must be very similar to living as a celebrity. Always feeling like you are on display. No privacy the second you leave your home. People constantly coming up to you and pointing and talking about you. It gets to the point where you just get bitchy. Dude, your entire wardrobe just stepped out of the early 80's, what do YOU have to look at? And sari woman, I can see your under-boob, so maybe check that before you glare at me for wearing a tank top. And guy sitting on top of a semi truck on the side of a main road covered in suds, I'm watching you bathe right now, enough said.
Monday July 16'2012
10:45am
Less than two months until I am home. Is that wrong? Is it wrong that I have the opportunity to live on the other side of the world and experience life outside my own and I am counting down the days till it's over? Yes. It's not that I'm not loving all of this. I am. Most days. Even the chaos has grown on me. But that doesn't mean I can't yearn for quiet streets, green grass, clean air, and a cheeseburger.
Yesterday Raj took me to more malls. I never thought these words would ever leave my mouth but, yuk soup. I was bored. I was in a mall and I was bored. I didn't even try a single thing on, shoes included. I blame the malls here, for I'm certain I haven't lost my shopoholic touch. Three malls now I've been to and it's all the same, except the last mall had a hot dog stand. All the stores look the same. The local stores sell cheap mariposa type shit and the most common "name brand" stores here are ones I'd never step foot in back home... Levi's. Yikes. But then again I am what is known as a "lone shopper". I work best alone. The only person I truly feel comfortable shopping with is my mom because she understands the system. Shopping is a marathon, not a sprint. You must keep hydrated, and be prepared to face hours in one store alone. No store is off limits (except maybe Levi's) and the most skilled of shoppers can find gems in the most challenging of places. I am one of those skilled shoppers, but with a right hand man who doesn't understand the system, there is little point. So Raj bought me kulfi (a delicious frozen milky treat on a stick) and I attempted to buy us coffee (which ended up being milkshakes) and we went home.
Later that night, Raj tells me he was sitting in the living room when God told him to come to him. So he invited me along to temple, just steps down the road. Now this I really enjoyed. This is what fascinates me, what turns my crank. This one vastly out did the last temple I went to because this one felt real. There was such an energy coming from this place. Upon entering, barefoot, you pour water over a shrine for Lord Shiva, then chime a bell to announce you have entered his place of worship. You pray to a monkey god (I'm not being ignorant, they call him the monkey god)then touch his feet, which are covered in orange paint that you then dab on your forehead to mark your bindi. The bindi shows you have been a good hindu and gone to temple. This monkey god is one of the most worshipped gods in the hindu religion because he has always been around. Throughout time, gods have come and gone from Earth, taken on new forms, but the monkey god always remained. Always there for people and other gods alike. Then there is the elephant god, who is probably most recognized by non-hindus. He is the son of another god who had isolated himself in meditation and prayer for a great deal of time. The god's wife got lonely, so from the strength and power within her, she created her own son. Years later when the god returned from solitude, he found this young man guarding his wife while she bathed. Not knowing who each other were, the boy would not let the god through. So the god chopped off the boy's head in a fit of rage (understandable). When his wife discovered what had happened, she refused to speak to her husband until her son was returned to her. The god sent out all his men, but none could find the boy's head. So instead they took the head of a baby elephant and placed it on the boy. To make up for his physical "deformity" the god made this boy the strongest and most powerful of gods. He is now the first god to be acknowledged and prayed to in any hindu temple.
Learning about the hindu religion was interesting to say the least. It is funny, the similarities you find between religions. For example, there is a story in the hindu belief where a giant snake is tormenting and killing an entire region of people by a river. A young boy challenges the snake, hits him on a certain point on his head and kills him, saving everyone. David and Goliath much? Or the god's wife creating her own son? Immaculate conception? It makes you think. Religions may be very different, but they are all the same. They all try to promote the same message in one way or another. Whether it's through one god or 100. Standing in that temple felt no different than the years I spent standing in a christian church. Those I saw praying to 5 different gods had the same passion, the same positive and enlightened energy than those I used to watch pray in church when I was little. It's all the same. Except here they play badminton. Yes. At this particular temple, if you pass all the shrines and find your way to the back, there is a small slab of cement just outside the temple where you will find a man with two rackets and a birdie. His theory is that 2-5 minutes of badminton a day is the equivalent to meditation. His form of meditation. He offered me a racket. Oh no, no no no. I am a dancer. I don't do sports. No coordination. This man's not getting it. I am playing with him, and that is that. So there I was, bindi on forehead, standing in front of a hindu temple, practicing badminton meditation. You can't make this stuff up. And I wasn't bad either.
Before leaving, you are given holy water in overlapped cupped hands (there is a specific way to cup you hands, overlap is hindu, side by side cupping is punjab. I made this mistake) Sip then wipe remainder on your head. Then the priest (I met a hindu priest) gives you a gift. A blessed mango. As I left I thanked him and he blessed me by touching my forehead. This made me happy. This made me love India.
2:25pm
I just came back from my second trip to the trusty Food Bazaar. Today I am feeling all good things. I am, how they would say, working it. I can say for the most part, I know my way around my neighbourhood, and I'm feeling pretty confident. Two weeks in and I'm walking around like I own the place, which at these prices I probably could. I bought a giant bag of pistachios for $4.00 and an even bigger bag of almonds for $5.00, because you can take the Chelsea out of Canada but you can't take the bulk obsession out of Chelsea. I also bought more badam, yogurt, mango soy milk?? and a lot of other stuff. A full basket for $16.00. A full basket in Vancouver, $50.00. I might not come home. It is so incredibly beautiful out today. Last night I did laundry for the first time and hung my delicates to dry on my balcony. This morning I got to wake up and retrieve them, all warm and sun kissed. India makes me love doing laundry. This place is magical. Or maybe it's simply because here I don't cook, I don't clean, I haven't touched a dish, so maybe I appreciate the small chore I do get to do... No, that can't be it because that's really no different than when I'm home and I still never do laundry. And I'm most certainly never happy when I do. It has to be magical.
10:49am
I can't do movies here. I just can't do them. And it's not for a lack of trying, I promise you. I want to like them, but they're just so god damn long. By intermission my western A.D.D. trained mind is finished, fried. And the film last night was actually good. No florescents, only a few love professing songs, and it was set in London, minus the final scene which was in Delhi (my lack of attention returned at this point so I could note all the familiar places I'd been to and seen. Ya I live in Delhi)
Last night I made a difficult but necessary decision. I have decided to limit myself to one indian meal a day from here on out. As much as I just adore these people's food, well, it's killing me. It is in turn eating me from the inside out. The amount of spice and grease, I just- I try- but no. And I've noticed with each day my portion sizes get bigger. It's like they've slowly transitioned me onto their fiery diet. And now I'm a fat Indian cow (those things are not pretty) with serious indigestion. Plus this dinner at 9:30pm business is just wrong, on so many levels. Although I do enjoy the fact that dinner is at the exact same time every night. It's cute. It's like living in the 50's... during a paralyzing heat wave. So today I will go shopping and hunt for some bland somethings to hopefully settle the rave that is going down in my digestive tract.
Living in India as a tiny white girl must be very similar to living as a celebrity. Always feeling like you are on display. No privacy the second you leave your home. People constantly coming up to you and pointing and talking about you. It gets to the point where you just get bitchy. Dude, your entire wardrobe just stepped out of the early 80's, what do YOU have to look at? And sari woman, I can see your under-boob, so maybe check that before you glare at me for wearing a tank top. And guy sitting on top of a semi truck on the side of a main road covered in suds, I'm watching you bathe right now, enough said.
Monday July 16'2012
10:45am
Less than two months until I am home. Is that wrong? Is it wrong that I have the opportunity to live on the other side of the world and experience life outside my own and I am counting down the days till it's over? Yes. It's not that I'm not loving all of this. I am. Most days. Even the chaos has grown on me. But that doesn't mean I can't yearn for quiet streets, green grass, clean air, and a cheeseburger.
Yesterday Raj took me to more malls. I never thought these words would ever leave my mouth but, yuk soup. I was bored. I was in a mall and I was bored. I didn't even try a single thing on, shoes included. I blame the malls here, for I'm certain I haven't lost my shopoholic touch. Three malls now I've been to and it's all the same, except the last mall had a hot dog stand. All the stores look the same. The local stores sell cheap mariposa type shit and the most common "name brand" stores here are ones I'd never step foot in back home... Levi's. Yikes. But then again I am what is known as a "lone shopper". I work best alone. The only person I truly feel comfortable shopping with is my mom because she understands the system. Shopping is a marathon, not a sprint. You must keep hydrated, and be prepared to face hours in one store alone. No store is off limits (except maybe Levi's) and the most skilled of shoppers can find gems in the most challenging of places. I am one of those skilled shoppers, but with a right hand man who doesn't understand the system, there is little point. So Raj bought me kulfi (a delicious frozen milky treat on a stick) and I attempted to buy us coffee (which ended up being milkshakes) and we went home.
Later that night, Raj tells me he was sitting in the living room when God told him to come to him. So he invited me along to temple, just steps down the road. Now this I really enjoyed. This is what fascinates me, what turns my crank. This one vastly out did the last temple I went to because this one felt real. There was such an energy coming from this place. Upon entering, barefoot, you pour water over a shrine for Lord Shiva, then chime a bell to announce you have entered his place of worship. You pray to a monkey god (I'm not being ignorant, they call him the monkey god)then touch his feet, which are covered in orange paint that you then dab on your forehead to mark your bindi. The bindi shows you have been a good hindu and gone to temple. This monkey god is one of the most worshipped gods in the hindu religion because he has always been around. Throughout time, gods have come and gone from Earth, taken on new forms, but the monkey god always remained. Always there for people and other gods alike. Then there is the elephant god, who is probably most recognized by non-hindus. He is the son of another god who had isolated himself in meditation and prayer for a great deal of time. The god's wife got lonely, so from the strength and power within her, she created her own son. Years later when the god returned from solitude, he found this young man guarding his wife while she bathed. Not knowing who each other were, the boy would not let the god through. So the god chopped off the boy's head in a fit of rage (understandable). When his wife discovered what had happened, she refused to speak to her husband until her son was returned to her. The god sent out all his men, but none could find the boy's head. So instead they took the head of a baby elephant and placed it on the boy. To make up for his physical "deformity" the god made this boy the strongest and most powerful of gods. He is now the first god to be acknowledged and prayed to in any hindu temple.
Learning about the hindu religion was interesting to say the least. It is funny, the similarities you find between religions. For example, there is a story in the hindu belief where a giant snake is tormenting and killing an entire region of people by a river. A young boy challenges the snake, hits him on a certain point on his head and kills him, saving everyone. David and Goliath much? Or the god's wife creating her own son? Immaculate conception? It makes you think. Religions may be very different, but they are all the same. They all try to promote the same message in one way or another. Whether it's through one god or 100. Standing in that temple felt no different than the years I spent standing in a christian church. Those I saw praying to 5 different gods had the same passion, the same positive and enlightened energy than those I used to watch pray in church when I was little. It's all the same. Except here they play badminton. Yes. At this particular temple, if you pass all the shrines and find your way to the back, there is a small slab of cement just outside the temple where you will find a man with two rackets and a birdie. His theory is that 2-5 minutes of badminton a day is the equivalent to meditation. His form of meditation. He offered me a racket. Oh no, no no no. I am a dancer. I don't do sports. No coordination. This man's not getting it. I am playing with him, and that is that. So there I was, bindi on forehead, standing in front of a hindu temple, practicing badminton meditation. You can't make this stuff up. And I wasn't bad either.
Before leaving, you are given holy water in overlapped cupped hands (there is a specific way to cup you hands, overlap is hindu, side by side cupping is punjab. I made this mistake) Sip then wipe remainder on your head. Then the priest (I met a hindu priest) gives you a gift. A blessed mango. As I left I thanked him and he blessed me by touching my forehead. This made me happy. This made me love India.
2:25pm
I just came back from my second trip to the trusty Food Bazaar. Today I am feeling all good things. I am, how they would say, working it. I can say for the most part, I know my way around my neighbourhood, and I'm feeling pretty confident. Two weeks in and I'm walking around like I own the place, which at these prices I probably could. I bought a giant bag of pistachios for $4.00 and an even bigger bag of almonds for $5.00, because you can take the Chelsea out of Canada but you can't take the bulk obsession out of Chelsea. I also bought more badam, yogurt, mango soy milk?? and a lot of other stuff. A full basket for $16.00. A full basket in Vancouver, $50.00. I might not come home. It is so incredibly beautiful out today. Last night I did laundry for the first time and hung my delicates to dry on my balcony. This morning I got to wake up and retrieve them, all warm and sun kissed. India makes me love doing laundry. This place is magical. Or maybe it's simply because here I don't cook, I don't clean, I haven't touched a dish, so maybe I appreciate the small chore I do get to do... No, that can't be it because that's really no different than when I'm home and I still never do laundry. And I'm most certainly never happy when I do. It has to be magical.
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