My Thoughts on a Friday Morning

I have just finished my workout.  My housekeeper, Silvia, will be here soon.  I will have breakfast, read the Times and jump into Bangalore traffic.  Here are some thoughts.

During my workout this morning, a video music channel out of Bollywood was playing.  Fascinating stuff.  Reminds me of the big stage productions of the early part of the 20th century in the US.  Hundreds of dancers, great costuming, good choreography and inventive cinematography.  Fun to watch.

This is my neighborhood at night.  The entrance gate is shown on the left.  I love my neighborhood.

It's monsoon here.  Yesterday we had rain.  Lots of rain.  It's amazing to watch the folks here navigate traffic in the rain, especially those on two wheelers.  Nobody wears rain gear.  Well almost nobody.  But a lot wear something on their heads;  a plastic bag, a bath towel, a newpaper, a diaper and in some cases a "what the heck is that?".  There are more accidents when it rains and tempers flair.  Yesterday coming home from work there was a big argument going on between a couple two wheelers.  One with a solo pilot and one with a rider, an old woman rider.  She was leading the argument and she was mad!  The subject was "rash" driving.  Last night after dinner (chili chicken and briyani at Nagarjuna, a big favorite) we were in traffic on our way to have a pan when all of a sudden right in front of us a car ran over a two wheeler.  Thankfully nobody hurt.  Another episode in Mad Magazine.

Logo on a bowling alley on Church Street.  They serve food.  They actually call themselves "Amoeba".  From my perspective, not a good choice for a place in India where food is served.   When I first saw this I thought maybe it was a warning.  It was full of people bowling and eating.  No long lines at the toilets.  I'm sure there's a marketing strategy in there somewhere, no doubt unique to Asia.

Six thousand years of cooking produces some good things.  We have only been cooking in our part of the world for about two hundred years.  We are still learning.  I had dinner at the Taj West End this week.  It's a five star hotel.  Rooms start at $500.  It began around the turn of the 20th century as a boarding house for British officers when Bangalore was just a leafy British outpost.  We dined in the garden under a tamarind tree.  The tree is said to be 125 years old and the chef prepares a special dish using tamarind from that tree, a tamarind sorbet.  It is served in a double-walled dish.  The outer vessel contains dry ice so the dish is encased in smoke when it comes to the table.  The dish itself is remarkable.  It combines sweet, salty, sour, and hot in a way I have never experienced.  A truely unique and wonderful dish. 

Sunday Dinner at Exotica

The people in India are friendly toward ex-pats.  This is one of the things I like about India.  India has a lot of queues.  Standing in queues is a good place to start a converstion.  It has not been unusual for that to begin a relationship.  Such has been the case with my friend Vish.  I talked about Him in an earlier post.  He is a doctor.  He practiced in the Carribean for a number of years and recently returned to India with his wife and two boys, Ganesh and Nadesh.  He is working to develope medical tourism here in India.

Vish has been very helpful to me.  He made one of his friends in the wholesale business available to me to stock my kitchen with implements when I first came.  That was helpful to me because at first I had no idea how to shop in India.  I am catching on but at first I had no clue.  Vish has gotten my prescription drugs for me.  So far they have worked well and in some cases are one tenth the US cost.  Here in India is a wholesale chain similar to Sam's Club.  It requires a membership.  The memberships are harder to get here than they are in the US.  Vish has a membership and he takes me there to shop.  Vish has been a good friend to me.

Vish has some Indian friends.  They meet at Vijayanagar club on weekends and eat and drink.  Vish has invited me several times and his friends have taken me in.  It is a fun group.  They are all professionals in other fields; government service, medicine and industry.  It have enjoyed watching them interact and listening to their views of the world; views not focused on off-shoring but general views on Indian culture, politics and their lives in general.
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Vish is a good cook.  His speciality is one of my south Indian favorites, Chili Chicken.  Everywhere it is served, it is a different dish.  No Indian cook prepares it the same.  They are all quite good.  It is a vey spicy dish.  This Sunday we invited Vish's friends to my apartment and Vish cooked his version of Chili Chicken.  We shopped for the party at the wholesale outlet yesterday morning.  Vish came over early and he cooked.  I was the sous chef.  He also had asked his mother to make an eggplant briyani which he brought with him.  The south Indian briyanis are delicous.  According to some reading I have done it is a dish that originated with muslim cooks in the Middle East and migrated to India from there.  I was fascinated by this because my youngest daughter Jenny, who has been making muslim dishes for twenty years has made some very similar dishes.  They are seasoned with different spices and are very tasty.  They also vary widely from cook to cook.

South Indians are particular about their briyanis.  Particular about how they are assmembled, how they are seasoned and how the rice is cooked.  It is an art I hope to master before I leave India.

I cooked a cheese and onion pie for appetizers.  It seemed to pale in comparison but folks ate it and seemed to like it.  Our Sunday menu was:

Appetizers:
Cheese and onion pie
Sliced cucumbers
Indian snacks like chips but very different
Curry sauce

Entrees:

Chili Chicken

Eggplant Briyani

Riata

Dahl and plain rice

We ate with our hands.  This is the only way to eat bryiani and chili chicken.  There is a school of thought out there that suggests this practice adds to the experience.  I agree.  It gives it a personal and sensual dimension that you get used to; especially with some dishes.  Now I feel cheated if I don't eat bryiani with my hands. 

There are techniques and rules in this process. Use your right hand.  The left hand is not welcome.  Food is gathered, mixed on the plate and slightly compressed with the last three fingers and thumb.  Then as it is pushed off your fingers with your thumb into your mouth. It takes practice like eating with chopsticks does.

We had a good time and good conversation.  Our next outing will be a birthday party for Vikram.  It sounds like it will be held out of town at a wildlife part.  I am looking forward to it.

Akrun (lhs), a doctor and Krishna a retired Indian tax auditor and politician

Vikram (lhs), an industrialist and Ram, a doctor

Akrun again and Mani, an industrialist

My friend Vish and Krishna again

Another group shot, this time with yours truely and Vish's son, Nadesh

We Have a Winner!

Ok winners.  Get in.  Everybody be sure and have a second helping of the green chutney.  Second prize folks, when we head back you guys will be in the second wave.

A golf couse.  Who knew.  Here's the thing.  If you're playing 18 at Pretty Praire and you hit a ball off the course onto Tyler road what's the probability that it'll hit a car?  0.001.  Here if you hit a ball off the course and onto the road the probability that it'll hit a car, topple a rick, kill a cow, start a riot and conclude with a 3 day bandh is 0.9.  Hence the nets.  Big nets.  I was astounded when I first saw this. 

I thought, "Boy, some folks are goin' to a lot of trouble to cling to the perks of their status."

As for Bangalore's finest, well they were curious.  Indians are by nature curious and not at all bashful about coming right up to you to satisfy their curiosity.  They were friendly and we visited for a while.  They let me take their picture.  They were reluctant at first but finally agreed.  While we were standing their a street vendor came up.  He looked a lot like pigpen from Charles Shulz.  In his hand he was cupping a 100 rupee note, and trying to say something to the officers.  They wouldn't talk to him and ran him off.  My guess is it was a bribe or rather a fee paid to work their intersection.  At any rate they pretended no to be interesed in the 100 rupees.  I'm guessing it was because I was standing there with a camera.

A Contest

What is this?

1st Prize:  A dose of food poisoning from the Rajesthani food court at UB City.

2d Prize: A ride home from the Rajesthani food court at UB City in an auto rick...after the food poisoning has kicked in.

Send me your guesses and in a few days I will anwser the question and announce the winners.

Oh yeah, and a bonus if you can tell me what the two police officers were doing.  Hint:  Remember, I'm in India.

People in Kerala

Here are some pictures of people I took as we traveled around Kerala.

These boys were playing on the beach.

Here's a couple of fellows who just happened along and were curious.

A group of women on the ferry.

Ayyappa's son Kesaveda.

My host Shanmogan and his long-time friend Ayyappa.

Shanmogan on the beach and a woman cooking.

Fishermen repairing their nets.

A street scene

Profiled in Kerala

Yes profiled.  I know Kerala is a long way from Arizona.  They don't have a large illegal alien problem.  They aren't Republicans.  In fact the communist party has a strong presence in Kerala.  Just goes to show ya profiling isn't unique to the right wing.

It happened on the southwestern slopes of the hilltop I fell in love with.  It was harmless and didn't cause any serious problems.  It was about religion.  Shanmogan and Ayyappala talked about the Mongeese coming out in a particular locale.  There were a lot of them and they could be fed by hand.  I thought all along they meant "Mongoose" killer of cobras.  I even had a brief flash on this wonderful photo op of a Mongoose goin' at it with a big King Cobra.  Not exactly.

Word was they came out at dusk.  Around 6 PM.  Around 5:30 we picked up Ayyappala and Kesaveda and headed out.  Driving on those winding clay lanes that go up that high ground would put driving in Bengalure to shame if there was much traffic.

When we arrived there were preparations.  Turns out the Mongeese were monkeys, not killers of Cobras.  They came out and played in the yard of a particular Hindu temple.  I wish I could remember the name of the temple.  Apparantly it is a very old temple.  We arrived in what resembled a gathering area in a small village at the foot of a big staircase.  Whatever was at the top was hidden by the scale of the staircase.  Reminded me of a Mayan pryamid of sorts.  I flashed on being sacrificed to one of the Hindu gods by hungry monkeys; but only for a moment.  We were summoned from the top of the stairs.

We climbed the long stone staircase and arrived in the yard of this very old temple.  There was a protracted conversation accompanied by hand waving and head shaking going on in front of the temple.  Ayyappala was making a case about something.  Then Kesaveda came over and said,

"You're not going to like this."

First of all I was relieved at the absence of a sacrifical alter but then began thinking what could possibly be going on here?

"What?"

Kesaveda turned his head slightly and said,

"They don't want you around here because you're not a Hindu."

I thought to myself I could have some fun here.  I loved my internal dialog.  Suddenly I felt like it was a "Bill Maher" moment.  My imagination raced.

"I beg your pardon.  What could possibly make you think I'm not a Hindu?"

"Oh I get it.  I'm white so you think I was sent by Jimmy Swaggert or something."

"Well, hey.  Ganesha, Shiva, Lakshimi......and lots of others I can't remember."

"I haven't been to temple that often lately.  But still, a white Hindu.  Live with it."

There you have it.  Profiled; and by the communist party at that. 

However, none of that came out of my mouth.  I remained quiet and smiled a lot.  Peace was ultimately negotiated.  I could remain but certain areas of the temple yard were off limits to me.  I was not offended and my pix were not compromised as I had a long lens mounted.

We proceded.  There we no monkeys in sight.  Shanmogan gave some guy about a dollar.  He fetched a big bag of fruit.  Kesaveda and his dad, Ayyappal along with some other fellow took the bag and walked into the area forbidden for me.  Actually I was to remain behind an imaginary line.   Shanmogan being the wonderful host he was remained with me in the neutral zone.

The forbidden zone

The guys began calling and the monkeys came.  I would say fifty or so.  They came right up and ate out hands.  Many of them were carrying babies.  It turns out the guy who showed up to help feed was the temple florist.  It was amazing and I loved some of the pix I got.  At the end of the feeding I had forgotten the profiling incident.

Manjunath, Ayyappa and the florist guy

If you look closely at one of the pix of a monkey sitting on the wall eating you will notice a bulge in his throat.  It was explained to me that they eat all they can and then store a bunch in that throat pouch.  I did not know that.

The temple florist

Look closely at the monkey's throat pouch.  It's full of bananas

We fed monkeys until it was nearly dark.  We were in Ayyappa's neighborhood.  He wanted us to stop at his house for some refreshment.  Kesaveda said he had a surprise for me.  It took a minute to get there.  A long walk up a poorly lit forrest pathway was required.  Flashlights lit our way.  Then we came to his house.  It was a beautiful forrest setting.  At least that's what I imagined from what I could see in the dark.

Somewhere along the way the subject of "jack fruit" had come up.  You know that spiney thing that Andrew Zimmern couldn't negoiate.  That big ugly, smells like rotting onions, can't eat it in public places thing.  It turns out Kesaveda had his mom serve us some along with a south Indian favorite, jack fruit jam.  That was the surprise.  I was game.  It didn't smell bad at all.  It was very sweet and the jam was good.  I liked the jam better than the actual fruit.

Jack fruit, jack fruit jam and tea.

For some reason Shanmogan was in a hurry to leave and I didn't have a chance to finish my jack fruit snack.  I only had a taste.  I learned later that jack fruit makes some folks sick and Shanmogan was afraid I would get sick.  Lookin' out for the white guy.  I like that.

We made one more stop.  Another fellow in the neighborhood was one of Shanmogan's school mates.  A fellow with a great southern Indian name, Velayudhankutty.  He was a retired school principal.  We stopped there for a short visit with his family.  His son and his wife were there along with their two children.  Beautiful people.  Notice how beautiful the children's eyes are.

Mrs. Velayudhankutty, her daughter-in-law and granddaughter.

Velayudhankutty, his daughter-in-law and two grandchildren.

It was a great day.  I loved the adventure with the monkeys.  I loved the Bill Mayer moment and truely enjoyed meeting the families of Shanmogan's buddies.

My Muse is Back or My Favorite Hilltop

My muse is a fiesty turkish midget by the name of Vildan. She has a high-pitched voice.  Nothing moves me to action like one of her shrill diatribes.  She generally berates me in some obscure turkish dialect and while I don't understand a word she says, the body language is unmistakeable.  She had a big wart on her nose with several black hairs growing out.  It got infected.  She went back home to get it removed.  She's back now, sassier than ever.  I had forgotten how shrill her voice is.

I do want to finish sharing my Kerala experience.  Especially now that I can spell it. The place that held a special magnetism for me was a particular hilltop. It wasn't a very high hill but did dominate the local landscape; there was a Hindu temple perched very near the apex. I was not allowed in the temple as I am not Hindu. More on this particular detail later. As you walked around the outskirts of the temple there were well worn paths; as you walked those paths you got nearly a 360 view of the surrounding countryside.

The North and Eastern faces were steep. The South and Western faces were more gradual. The approach to the hill was from the southwest. Many people lived along the winding roads interspersed with small shops, fields, palm trees and outbuildings. The fields were dotted with cattle and farm implements. Basic and simple implements, nothing very fancy. According the Mr. Shanmogun, my host, the southwestern slope of this hill is a good place for a house in a coastal region where the monsoons deliver serious rain. I suppose it's related to managed runoff.

Mr. Shanmogan's friend, Mr. Ayyappal lived on those slopes leading to the hilltop. On our way up, we stopped and picked up Mr Ayyappal and his young son, Kesavadas. We went before first light. The notion was to photograph the sunrise. The sunrise on the morning we visited the hilltop wasn't as dramatic as I am sure they are at times. Nonetheless we made the best of it and I got some pics that I think captured the morning. It is so humid in that part of the world. The early morning temperature inversion captures a heavy mist that hangs over the countryside like a large mosquito net.

Part of the charm was observing Shanmogan and Ayyappal's friendship. They had been school mates. While Kesavadas, Manjunath and I were off taking pics, Shanmogan and Ayyappal wandered the hillside bending each other's ears. It turned out that young Kesavadas was somewhat of an amatuer photog himself and took some good pix with my gear. Some of them were of me and most I have used in my facebook account.

A river ran around the northern face of the hill and fed into the Arabian sea, In eartlier posts I have some pix of the mouth and this hilltop. There were barges or rather large canoes, dredging the river bottom. According to Kesavadas they were dredging for sand used in cement construction. He claimed the activity was not legal but sanctioned through a series of bribes. The older men later explained that was true in principal but there were areas where it was legal and they were pretty sure that was one of them.

On the way back we stopped at a local "hotel" for breakfast. Breakfast consisted of a large crispy tortilla but not really a tortilla; thinner, more delicate and not made of corn; made of rice. Along with that came a tubular item made of rice and coconut; bland and filling. It crumbled easily and was usually mixed with a sambal (thick, spicy curry soup). Not this morning, we ate just the tube and tortilla, all accompanied by sweet tea mixed with milk. I figured out later that my host likely saw to it that we passed on the Sambal for fear it would make me sick.

As I look back, I think the charm was a mixture of things.  It is my personal belied that our lives are not usually influenced by a single event but rather a combination of several all sharing some common theme.  The energy of Shanmogan and Ayyappal's long standing friendship, the youthful confidence and enthusiam Kesavadas brought to the excursion and the very loyal attention that Manjunath showed to me.  All of this in the shadow of a Hindu temple conspired to generate a warm and positive experience.

l to r: Manjunath (Shanmogan's loyal driver), Kesaveda (Ayyappa's son), Shanmogan, Ayyappa, yours truely.