In Which I am le Tired, but I blahg ennyway bc Mz Nag Ch. said so

Please imagine this entire post a la this. Also, I think you can enlairge the pictures, but I dunno, I just write the blogs ok don't ask me ok? ok.

Hokay. So, maybe you already know, but we are in INDIA.

It is big, old, spiritual motherland, full of Indians and us. Part we are in (like our apartment) it smells like nag champa. rilly.

First we were here, was ok, don't wanna go back.
cuz we saw it already.

Now we are here. It is le Pune.
It's great, we're done.

On June, we are going to Delhi I think, I hope so, I didn't buy the tickets yet. Here is a Delhi, don't even think about pastrami,
it's not that kind of Delhi.

After that, we will go to some Leh. Is north, Ladakhist, very Buddhi.


It is in Hi-Mall-uh-yuhz, say it right, means abode of snow. I know, b.c I am a Sanskrit.

After some La-dee-dakhing around, we are going home. You know what home looks like, cuz mostly you live there. And the other ones know. It looks like a storage space. Big closet. With our stuffs.

Then we are not coming to any more INDIAs for a long time, kyunki I have to go find some tenure. So, in this sort of area

where should we go for touring about? It's a contest. If we go to the spot you recommend, you get to come watch the kids while Maggie and I go eat yukky spicy Indian food for once, you can order McDonalds they deliver everywhere.

We have more restrictions on time than money, like maybe 5-8 days we could spend all at once or broken up. And area, so we are not going to Oh! Calcutta or the oRissa.

Anybody who says, go to Ahmedabad you can visit LD Institute for Prakrit Books, you get rs10 bonus. Nobody wants to go to Ahmedabad



plus I went there one time already except for Prakrit is not great.

Some day I'm going to be | | this close to getting a tenure track job and someone is going to say, Aren't you the guy from Nag Champion? And then I am going to be washing dishes again. Is Hokay, I kind of liked it.

Meema and Uncle Dan!

Braving a 15 hour flight and a summer heat wave, Meema and Uncle Dan just wrapped up a week's visit to India, and what a visit it was.

From the plush confines of the Delhi Radisson to the homey recesses of southwest Pune our intrepid relations braved the best and worst India has to offer.  What we lacked in big flash tourist activities we more than made up for in pleasant slice of life adventures.  

 

The kids delighted in showing M and UD around, taking them to the pool and Guides as well as a bunch of our favorite restaurants.  

It was ridiculously stinkin' hot, make-you-take-a-3-hour-nap hot so we really didn't do much - we couldn't!  However, UD and Chris squeezed in some motorcycle touring 

Safety First!

and movie making.

The Executive Producer hard at work with his editorial assistants.

And we also spent an afternoon poking around in the Old City in Pune.  

In Delhi we took a driving tour of some of the city's famous spots,

 and spent and enjoyable morning exploring (and SHOPPING) at Dilli Haht, an arts and handicrafts bazaar.  We also witnessed a hail storm 

(not kidding, not Photoshopped) and ate truly fabulous food.

But really, the point of the visit was to spend time together after 7 (8?) months apart, and I think we all parted feeling reconnected and replenished.  Cookies were baked, books read, games played, pictures colored and so on.  All the good ol' Grandma activities were enjoyed, along with plenty of wrestling and silliness with Uncle Dan. 

I know my brother is ready for another trip, and my mom - well, my mom is ready for us to come home!  Here's hoping the next 3 months speed by and that UD can find a way to visit us in Ladahk.  

Dear India

Native speakers of English find The F-Word offensive in most public settings.  For instance, it ought not to be included in any song played as Muzak in a coffee shop.  I know Shaggy and AKon are SUUUUUUPER cool, but really, you gotta get the radio edit before you play that CD at Barista.   (Ok, Shaggy is actually pretty cool.  Roni, memories of Bassett St and S. Mills?)

Also, could you get a message to that guy who was riding his bike behind me on Apte Road today?  The one who was whistling at me?  Over and over again?  And who started ringing his bike bell AND whistling when the whistling alone didn't get me to turn around?  Yea, him.  Let him know that no woman is ever going to go for that.  Especially not this married, 33 year old mother of two.  

Thanks!  

love, Maggie

ME First

I grew up in the Midwest and if I may be so bold as to say so, I think I embody many classically Midwestern characteristics.  And culturally, I wonder if you could get much further from the American Midwest than urban India.  

For example, in any sort of public setting/large group/waiting-in-line scenario I'm just going to go with the assumption that it isn't my turn first.  I'll find a line and wait patiently in it. Quietly.  If there is some sort of protocol for determining who gets to have a turn when, I'm following it.   

 

Not so India.  Fly on a domestic Indian flight and you will witness 99% of the passengers leap up the second the plane slows to taxi-ing speed and crush toward the (still closed and locked) door.  The stewardesses will say nothing.  Wait in line at a shop and be prepared to have numerous people literally push you out of the way so they may be helped first.  This isn't considered rude.  Its just how things get done.  Really.  

So I shouldn't have been surprised today when a rickshaw wallah at the rickshaw stand ran up and hustled me into his rickshaw, in spite of the ten or so other drivers ahead of him in the queue who should rightfully have gotten passengers before him.   We took off and at the first intersection he swerved across FOUR lanes of traffic to make a right turn (right turn = left turn here, traffic wise), IN FRONT OF like 12 lanes of oncoming traffic.

Nor should it have shocked me when in a different rickshaw a few hours later the driver pulled up at a red light about 5 vehicles back from the intersection, scanned all the other roads and then swerved out around a median, into the oncoming lane and ran not one but two red lights and merged (without looking) into traffic squashing onto a narrow bridge.  

Yet somehow my meek Midwestern heart quailed.  Guess my 8+ months here haven't changed me that much after all.  

We interrupt the Goa posts...

...to bring you a concise update on our current location, travel plans and moving schedule!

Seems there has been a bit of confusion among Nag Champa fans who might not read the blog religiously or who are not close relatives. In order to clear that up, here's the news:

Right now we are still in Pune. In early June we move to Ladahk.

We are leaving India early, in early-ish August.

From India we are going back to Madison, some of us for just a week or two, others of us for more like a month.

Chris has accepted a job at Washington & Lee University, in Lexington VA. We're going to be there for the 2009-10 academic year. After that, we're at the mercies of the academic job market.

(McGovern, can you pre-order some more cow sacrifices for us? That first one worked so well!)

We are by turns, and often all at once super excited, and totally bummed out. Thrilled for the job, the going home early, the chance to live so much closer to our East Coast peeps, and the new experiences waiting in VA. And terribly sad to have to more permanently say goodbye to Madison and everything and everyone we love there.

(Rumor has it that Chris could come back and do some teaching at the UW in the summer, so you Madisonians may not be totally rid of us yet!)

Goa, II - more Rivercat

By now you are familiar with my favorite hotel in India... I could not keep from taking pictures, nor evidently can I stop myself posting them! I hope you all enjoy the splendor as much as the kids and I did.

Kids playing chess in the common room downstairs

Upstairs hall, right outside our room

Door to our room

More rooms upstairs

Doo, doo, doo, lookin out our back door

Our bathroom

A rivercat

Lovely though the environs may be, the place would be nothing with out the gracious attentions of Rinoo Seghal, the proprietor. Rinoo escaped life as a business man in Delhi 20 years ago and built the villa bit by bit. He lives mostly in Goa now and is the consumate host. Mellow beyond belief and just the perfect blend of helpful and inquisitive. Every evening he materialized with questions about our day and a pitch-perfect recommendation for dinner. Every spot was a winner, even the joint in Arombol that the kids hated thanks to the loud music and weird hippies. (I felt right at home, naturally.) Like so many adults we've met here, he was genuinely interested in my kids and truly wanted them to be at home with him, and happily, unlike so many folks we've met, Rinoo was able to strike the right balance between friendly and completely overbearing and cheek pinching. Not only did he greet Ben with "Chota Baba-ji ki jai ho!" ("Hooray for the little Baba!") (Baba means something like 'guy who makes everything easy and happy') he also listened to Caitlin's observations about jellyfish and her reactions to a horse book she borrowed from his library. Nary a cheek was pinched. And perhaps best of all, he effortlessly wove in and out of adult conversation with me and chatting with the kids, showing no twinge of frustration or annoyance at the interruptions.

Rinoo-baba's vibe rubs off on everyone around him, apparently. The 2 staff people were equally kind, mellow, and affectionate without being TOO affectionate. The cook was called Amma (Mother) for good reason. And the other guests were also a delight. We met a great Omani/Brittish/Cincinattian couple who were in Goa scouting locations for a camp/retreat of their own, as well as doing some work as photographers. He is also an actor and spent a long time one morning talking to Caitlin about the ups and downs of 'the business' and strategies for staying hungry and improving your craft even when you can't get on stage. He did more to cure her homesickness in one breakfast than I think I've been able to do in months. Wonderful.

Once we settled into an AC room (Goa is HOT and HUMID in April, don't let anyone tell you otherwise!) a week wasn't nearly enough. We will be back, definitely.

Goa, I

What to say, where to begin?  It is every bit as lovely as you have heard, and if you are willing to work for it, even lovelier.  Words fail, pictures will more than suffice, with a minimum of commentary.

Landed at Dabolim airport and saw that Mr. T was also enjoying Goa. 

 And then up to Mandrem and Villa Rivercat.  The website doesn't even begin to do the place justice.  In a tiny village, at the end of a sleepy road, down a little dirt path the villa sits among trees, on a salt river and behind a sand dune.  Chickens wander in the yard.  Cats sleep on the porch.  Coconuts drop on the balconies.  From inside incense and soft chanting wafts out to greet you, and then Rinnoo-baba himself, with a big smile and open arms.  The kids and I were in love with the place at first sight.  

Fresh juice on the verandah, and then somehow we were able to tear ourselves away from exploring the house and talking to Rinoo in order to visit the beach.  Good thing we did.

.  

And that's just the beginning.  Photo-rich blogging takes so long that this will have to become a multi-installment affair.  Not that you're complaining, huh?

Gettin Goan

Putting kids to sleep, then mega-posting.  Til then, lovely flowers from the spice farm in Ponda.  

Big Guy

He's 4, going on 15, I swear.  

Ben is out in the street playing soccer with 3 other neighborhood boys - ranging from roughly 10-16 years old.  Most days he used to watch them play from his window and occasionally even took his own soccer ball downstairs and kicked it around in the courtyard on his own, but today he actually joined in.  After doing the solo-soccer routine he came in and hemmed and hawed at me for the longest time about opening his bedroom window before he came out with the confession that he wanted to join the big boys.  And then it took even longer to work up to asking me to help him.

But we made it downstairs, past the perfunctory greetings (I love boys' social interactions - "Hi.  Wanna play?"  "Ok.") and Ben was off and running with the big guys.  About 10 minutes later I heard his squeaky little voice say, "I'll be right back guys," and then the big ones calling after him urgently.  

I opened the front door and he came chugging in, blood dripping from a knee.  No tears, nothing.  Ben kicked off his shoes and said, "Mom, I need to put on some band-aids.  Will you get them out for me?"  

We washed the knees, with gnarly Indian anti-bacterial soap and the kid didn't wince or cry even the tiniest bit.  I got out the band-aids and Ben took over.  Opened them, squirted Neosporin and stuck 'em on.  Then he charged right back out there yelling, "Hey Guys!  I'm back!"

Like it was nothing.  Like he was some kind of big guy.

Which, verging on 5, I guess he is.  

Official Announcement

A few weeks ago I mentioned some developing news--the first batch, not the nonsense about what I'm driving these days which is, btw, the world's most popular motorcycle. [mine does not have electric start, cuz it's old] Since then I've spoken with most of the SLNC advisory board about the denouement of that patch of excitement, but maybe those of you who aren't nuclearally related to a Nag Champion might like to know what the heck I was talking about.

2009-10 I will be teaching as a Visiting Assistant Instructor at Washington & Lee University in Lexington, VA. It's about as good a first job as a young(ish? pushing 35?) scholar could ask for, particularly someone like me who has always been about classroom first and research later. W&L was ranked #14 among small liberal arts schools last year--it usually comes in around there. The job is a one year replacement for a colleague by whom I am frankly intimidated because of the might of his research acumen, but he is working with my advisor on a book right now, and so I got an inside track. The job is 6 courses over 2 12-week and 1 4-week semesters. Fall I'm teaching Intro to Religions and a 200-level seminar on renunciate religious virtuosos in India. We'll see about the Winter term courseload once I've had a chance to get my legs under me.

In addition to a near-ideal professional environment, the job offer was very generous--and will get a little more generous once I defend this fall. Lexington is horse country, which will be great for Maggie and Caitlin. Our best family friends the Hullemans are getting a job at JMU an hour away. The emerging Dr. Paul is in Charlottesville, also an hour away, and my folks are in Greensboro, three hours away. Aunt Margaret's house is prolly 4 hours.

Unfortunately, this means we will be far from WI...and that people will need to come visit.

Look--my wife and kids went on vacation, and all I get to do is post the pictures:

For Ms. Eclectically Yours, and others...

Yes! Obligation Free Blogging - of course. And now, free from obligation, 3 pictures to whet your appetites... First, the kids at the Anjuna Market. (Ben's expression is 100% representative of his opinion of the whole enterprise.) And then the flight of stairs up to our room at Villa Rivercat - dreamy, huh?

We're still here, really!

I realize that going to Goa and then hosting my mom and brother and not blogging about it at all definitely earns me a place in the Blogging Hall of Shame. The trip and the visit have been a wonderful whilrwind and will be detailed properly quite soon...but not yet. Everyone (minus Chris) flies to Delhi tomorrow for the big send-off and then the kids and I will be home on the 5th. After that you can count on a bunch of big fat juicy posts with more Goa/Grandma goodness than you can handle!

But until then, you've got to wait and I've got to pack, and schlep, and...

...stay tuned!

scooty goes empty

Yesterday the scooty sputtered and stopped at a stoplight.  Out of gas.  My internal meter of how much I have (since opening the tank and looking in only works so well) was thrown off by the days out of town and off the scooty.  Fortunately, when a scooter runs out of gas, you're supposed to lean it as far as you can to one side, and then right it again.  That produced enough to get me to the 'petrol pump' around the corner.  (Only 3 months til it's a gas station again! with 44 oz fountain drinks and ice...) On the way there I saw another motorist pushing his ride in that direction.  Happens all the time.

Fact: I have yet to purchase a full gallon of gasoline here.  I usually get Rs100 worth, which is like 2.1 liters = .6 gallons.  Always full service.   Imagine pulling up at the local Sunoco and saying 'could somebody come out and give me a dollar's worth of gas?'

Gratuitous cute picture to redeem this post:

We know who the hit-makers are.  This is us getting ready to face Pune traffic.  Stay tuned for more vehicular news and analysis.

WTH traffic in india item #1

In India, if I drive with my headlight on during the day time, people will tell me.

However, I have never seen anyone say anything to anybody about driving with lights off at night.

The signal for 'fool, you have your lights on in the day time and are imperiling yourself and others' is also the sign of the octopus on a stick. Arm outstretched, with the plane of the palm facing downward but at a 45 degree angle from the ground. With fingers straight, join tips of fingers and thumb; open, close, repeat. If that American dope doesn't turn his lights off, shake head and keep walking.

Remember the big news?

I just walked in from 3 days in Varanasi. I didn't take a camera, but I did put my MacBook on a rock and take a picture of a bawdi / stepwell behind my hotel for Erinsson. Dig the photo quality:


This is an ancient water storage technique. If you need it 'splained for you, um...it's a hole that gets rained into with steps so you can get down to the water.

I also saw Aijaz, who is well, and our friend Dr. Lowell and all the folks at Open Hand. Same as it ever was. Also, high temperature in Varanasi yesterday was a reported 114 degrees. I don't know whose idea that was, but they should be given a stern talking to.

Lastly [on Benares--love how I'm making you sweat this, huh?] after the last two months in Pune, Varanasi seems even more run down and desperately poor, and there's just SO MUCH to be done. However--oh yeah, I went to get my Residential Permit transferred so that I can get a Pune Residential Permit and then register the Scooty. If India could put some of the Foreigner Registering effort into helping the poor or picking up trash I think everyone would benefit. So, yeah, I got that done with an absolute minimum of hassle. I thought it would take a hefty payoff and some groveling, but I got prompt service with a smile.

So, about that news...I still have to talk to the Dean, but otherwise it looks like I've got a one year Visiting Assistant Professorship at a very respectable school for 2009-10. Details forthcoming when its locked up. One assumes that in addition to the prestige and proximity to some of my relatives and friends (but distance from Madison and others, nutsnutsnuts), the job comes with benefits like continuing to be able to buy groceries through May 2010. Yay, food and pseudo-solvency. Thank you to everyone who offered encouragement, prayers, ideas, and especially to Caitlin and Ben for coming with me to make puja to Kasba Ganapati. Gogogo remover of obstacles ftw.

My beloved and wonderful wife, who really should get the one year VAP (very able pregnantiator) and who continues to believe in me and dissuade me from my plans to move into 1020 Richmont and go back to washing dishes at Marywood, is in Goa with the kids. Its 1:28a.m. here and there, so I haven't told her yet, but I will when she's likely to have woken up. She had a rough spot there a day or two ago when the heat was a bit much, but they're now in A/c and having a great time. There were reports of loud music and people with no shirts (bad) and of a certain little boy rolling around naked in a hammock (good) plus lots of seafood (good) and jellyfish on the beach (bad). Don't let me steal their thunder, illuminated trip report is no doubt forthcoming.

Back to dissertating...

Goa Drops to #3...

I used to think going to Goa was the best thing that was going to happen this month. Then my mom and brother surprised us by planning a trip to India. Goa dropped to second. And then tonight we attended the Bharaht Guides and Scouts "meet" in honor of the 90th anniversary of, um, something. (The program was entirely in Marathi...) Goa is now third.


Caitlin's unit (troop?) spend a solid month working on this routine. The music is up-to-the second Bollywood pop and the dance was choreographed by a pack of teenage girls. Costumes were rented (is this a great city or what?) and parents were amazed.

There were bunches of dances, a rather long, rather high rope ladder and a signal tower that was at least 2 stories tall. There were speeches, songs and awards given to honored guests. (The theme of the meet was leprosey treatment so we guessed that some of those feted had done good work, combatting leprosey.)

There was even a demonstration of fire-rescue techniques, in which pre-teen boys jumped off a second storey balcony into a blanket and then were carried off, slung over the shoulders of other pre-teen boys. Stay tuned for the video.

How will Goa ever measure up?

Goan... Goan... Gone!

(My husband rocks. If you haven't already, see the post below.)

In less than 24 hours the kids and I leave for Goa and Chris heads back to Varanasi. We're down to one laptop and somebody is going to have to write a dissertation one of these days, so I'm going to be computer free for the next week and a half. (Wahoo!)

I promise there will be tons of Goa pictures and stories up on ye olde blogge when we return, but until then, let me leave you with a few links to droll over and some pictures snatched from the worldwidewebinternets.

First stop: Villa Rivercat, Mandrem Beach - this will be our base in N. Goa for 5 days. From here we'll strike out to the hippie haven of Arombol, the flea market in Anjuna

(If you don't like trance music, you might want to mute this video. Goa has been home to a vibrant music scene for longer than I've been alive and many tourists come just for the parties... but not us!)

and hopefully also the birth center in Assagao. I'm trying hard to keep the agenda light and loose so there will be plenty of time to just kick back and enjoy this...

After our week on the beach we head down to Panjim, the capital of Goa. We'll spend 3 nights at Panjim Pousada, and spend our days wandering around the lanes of the old city, checking out colonial Portuguese architecture and cathedrals. (Did you know Goa was a Portuguese colony? And that it wasn't a part of India at all until 1961 and was only made a state in 1987?) The kids are also gung-ho to visit a spice farm and hang out with elephants.

From Panjim we're flying up to Delhi to serve as the welcoming committee for my mom and brother! Meema is re-establishing herself as an intrepid world traveller and we are beyond excited that she's breaking the 16 year international travel fast with a trip to see us.

So, a day or so in Delhi, living the good life and then we're back to Pune to show off our latest adopted hometown to the visitors.

Everyone wish Chris good luck and godspeed as he returns to Varanasi in an attempt to sort out some paper work. Reports from friends there say that elections in UP have been peaceful thus far, and we hope that continues. Chris will be in safe hands with Aijaz, so no need to worry.

Both beach pics are of Mandrem Beach, North Goa.

learning from Susan Boyle

I'm sure every talking head and public intellectual has taken a swing at this, but I'm on a pure positivity kick, and so here's what I think. It has nothing whatever to do with India directly, so you can ask for your money back if you want. Maybe there will be some non-germane gratuitous India pictures in the mix.

I think the reason everyone loves this is that we are all, on the inside, just a little bit, Susan Boyle. Hers is sort of the grown-up version of 'some day my real parents will come and take me back to their castle.' I know that I secretly believe that I am, perhaps in some way I don't know yet, secretly and deeply wonderful, and I think most other people do too. We hope that somehow, some day, some one will realize that. Better yet, maybe several thousand someones will realize it all at once. But we know that we probably don't have the courage to go find out if we've really got it in whatever it takes.

Lesson 1--you probably are wonderful.
Lesson 2--go find out, even if you're afraid.

Another thing that's really delightful, and really different, is the absolute anti-schadenfreude that is sweeping over millions of people. Are we not all just purely and unselfishly happy for this obviously deserving person? And doesn't that feel good? I've been reading a bunch of Sanskrit, Pali, and Prakrit stuff lately about three kinds of sins: those we commit, those we cause others to commit, and those in whose commission we rejoice. At the same time, there is a virtue and an exercise called rejoicing in the merit of others. (See my no doubt brilliant forthcoming dissertation, but don't hold your breath. The more I write of chapter two, the longer it looks like it's going to need to be.)

Lesson 3--Go be happy for someone else.

And if we combine lessons 1-3, go find out about someone else's wonderfulness, notice it, tell them, and be happy for them. Encourage its development.

Gratuitous picture of Indian traffic:
Which brings me to an entirely unrelated point. In the last three days I've lost the keys to the scooter and gotten a flat tire. Caitlin gets the VIP for knowing exactly where to find a locksmith (or nine, since Indian shopkeepers seem to like to be near others of their kind). Two nice young Muslim guys met me at the scooter, and then did the trick that TD did in Great Brain 4: put in a blank key, crank hard, notice where the marks are, file there. Check. Repeat if necessary. The entire operation took about 7 minutes and cost me Rs 400 including two new keys, which is like $8.02 now that the rupee is back under 50 to the dollar (sigh). The puncture (spelled pungk-char in Marathi/Hindi) revealed a tube with six holes and a tire with a serious gap--that is, after I pushed the scooter around most of the neighborhood and large parts of several adjacent ones looking for the 24 hour flat tire shop. Total cost for new (to me, not to the world) tire and tube: Rs 300 installed.

Next, who cares if its over 95 every day, mangoes are in season and are going Rs 30 per KG, that's per 2.2 pounds. And they are SWEET. Maggie is getting really good at filleting them.

Which brings me to my final point. I went to the gym again this morning--have to get there by 6:15 or its counterproductively packed. I stepped on the scale and was a bit perplexed by the results, especially after I got home and plugged 81.7 kgs into the Dashboard converter. 180lbs. That's the most I've ever weighed. I was around 165 in September in Madison. Those of you who remember the 99, 2001, and 2002 returns from India will recall the, um, drawn appearance of the Nag Champion after lengthy tenures in the spiritual motherland. Some of you may recall the Tibetan goat pills for liver malfunction. Back then I was going on $10/day when I was travelling, and under a dollar a day when I was standing still. I was also living mostly in monasteries, and trying to be as veg as I could. Now I have funding. I'm going to call this the Fulbright Fifteen. Of course, I wear it well.

Gratuitous picture of me in the back of a rickshaw holding Ben the electric blanket's head
up while he sleeps on my chest in stockstill rush hour traffic. Mrs. NC really nails this one for Art Photo Of The Week:

OK, one more. Ben and I were playing soccer today, and I was doing the Grandpa George 'Oh, you're too fast for me, I'm so old and tired' schtick. Ben said, 'You're not old,' and I said, 'Oh yeah, what about all this grey hair?'
'You don't have any grey hair!'
'I don't? Look at this.'
'Wow. That's a lot.' Starts heading with the ball towards the wall of the compound that we use for a goal. Over his shoulder, 'That's actually what we call white hair, Dad.'

Tomorrow my new tire and I are taking Caitlin to the last dance practice for Bharat Guides at 6 a.m. WTH, Bharat Guides? Day after tomorrow, we all leave at 7a.m. for the Mumbai airport--MCB to Goa, and myself back to Varanasi for a whirlwind attempt to sort out some paperwork.

Flat Out Wonderful

THIS has nothing to do with our life in India, but you really ought to watch. If you have the Bardolph Crying Gene, consider yourself warned - this is so wonderful I guarantee you'll cry.

You ask, I answer

A loyal fan inquired about the photo behind our blog title. It is of the roof/ceiling of the German Bakery in Koregaon Park, in Pune. K.Park is home to the Osho Ashram and also "ground zero of the Pune backpacker scene," according to Lonely Planet. It is as freaky and tourist and full of scammers as you would imagine, but it made for a fun lunch stop for me and Caitlin one day. I told her we were warming up for Goa...

While waiting for our food to come we entertained ourselves by taking pictures of the ceiling and the table (it was nearly as pretty as the roof, especially after we made little lakes in it). I think Caitlin is actually the photographer of the above shot.

Anybody else have a question? Feel free to leave 'em in the Comments - we aim to pleaes here at Chez Nag Champa and if we're not providing all the India Info you need, let us know!

The Real EhiRunner would never do something like name posts after obscure Grateful Dead songs

In Which the Contents of the Post Has Nothing To Do With Its Title

1.  C-rock, first sleepover, with the Indian Girl Scouts.  Slept on the floor, on what I think might have been a tarp, from 1:30a-6a.  Didn't think of us once.

2. First scooter accident.  Was going 2mph, other guy was stockstill.  Tried to brake without letting up on the gas.  Damage: one dirty look from 'guy.'  Countermanded by a smile from the girlfriend.

3. Go beyond Facebook to productive procrastination--omfg, how about the downloads section of the Apple website?  Personal video diary, 400 dictionaries in one, create and manage prescriptions and rehabilitative workout routines, guitar practice manager, etc etc etc.   And I'm not really wasting time because I'm only getting more productive.

Gratuitous India Picture:

Overstating the obvious caption: Contractors are the same everywhere.  Further overstating the obvious: this is pre 2009 Ms India Nag Champion's review of the construction site.  Finally overstating the obvious: people throughout the appliance installation industry are terrified of my wife, or should be.

4. Most intersections in India have no light or stop sign.  Diagrams from MSPaint of how this is handled forthcoming.

5.  I am the real EhiRunner.  Accept no substitutes.  Pay no attention to that EhiKnitter...

6. Drastic irony: I will be telling some people tonight all about my close reading and attention to detail.  I failed, however, to notice that MsNC was in fact logged in as herself to post, only logged in as me to make comments about sheep-herding and stuff like that.  Now I look doubly like a fool (overstating the obvious, now done).

Weather Report Suite

Folks have been asking about the weather here in fabulous Pune. For the most accurate description let me refer you to the classic Robin Williams moment (at about 4:44) in Good morning Vietnam.

It gets up to about 100F nearly every day now, but thankfully we have next to no humidity. Evenings allegedly drop down below 80, but we never really feel that. Our house seems to hold steady at about 85 which is actually pretty comfortable without humidity.

Our weather widget likes to report that conditions include "smoke". Honestly, it isn't smoky at our house, but I imagine it is elsewhere - this is India! Between the 2stroke engines in the auto-rickshaws, the legions of scooters and all the people who burn dung for cooking fires there is a lot of air pollution everywhere, but Pune is much better than Varanasi.

So, it is hot, dry and not too smoky. The kids and I were able to tolerate an hour of traipsing back and forth to 4 different banks this afternoon, between 2 and 3pm. No one got too hot or even too crabby. Summer in Wisconsin is often more unpleasant than this, and summer in the South always is!

Never the less, we spend a lot of time indoors, especially in the afternoon if we can manage it. I now understand why the parks and nearly everything else shuts down for the afternoon!

On a non-weather note, if you are of a mind to do such a thing, send some encouraging, brilliant, pa-tootie kickin' vibes Chris's way around 9am central time Tuesday, ok? We'd all be grateful!

Whip It Good

Folks have asked for more info about the Whip People, and I'd love to be able to give you a richly detailed discussion of the origins of their performance, costumes and child-rearing practices, along with an in-depth analysis of their income level and position in Indian society, but I can't. Here's the little that I do know:

Whip People walk around, all over town - tourist places and not, busy places and not. I see them most often on our back road, which is about a block long and dead-ends at our building.

Mama Whips play their weird drums that makes a loud metallic whirring, buzzing sound, but not a recognizable drumming sound. Papa Whips crack their whips VERY loudly. Up close the whips seem to be made of a really tightly braided coarse rope. Papa Whips and Little Boy Whips never wear shirts and always wear colorful pants with strips of different colored fabric tucked into the waste band. The pants often have bells sewn onto the cuffs. Mama Whips always have a baby on their hip, in a cloth sling, and often have a bundle of cloth on their head. Little Girl Whips are less commonly seen, but they play a drum too and usually wear a bright salwar kameez. The adults never seem to be much older than about 30 and the kids never look older than 10. (But take these as rough estimates - I've been proven to be a horrible judge of age.)

Unlike any other sort of beggar/street performer I've seen in India, Whip People don't stop playing/whipping in order to solicit donations. They usually don't even talk, but sometimes Mama Whips will utter a yell that sounds an awful lot like "Hi-YAH!". Papa Whips do pause between cracks of the whip in order not to injure anyone who is approaching with money.

No dancing, no singing, no animals, no deformities, no actual begging. The Whip People just seem to walk around with tremendous dignity cracking their whips and playing their drums.

They seem utterly wild to me - who on earth walks down busy city sidewalks cracking a 10ft whip??????!! What Indian woman carries her baby on her hip in a sling, head held VERY high, owning even the poshest sidewalk she walks down? And who are these kids who are very business-like about their work, but who never beg or indulge in theatrics? All of them are so out of character and out of place here, and yet, where else on earth could they exist? I love them completely. I am dead serious about wanting to do a detailed anthropological study of the Whip People.

Chris calls them professional annoyances.

A Ben Story

One of Ben's biggest fans asked for a new Ben story, to replace the upleasant swimming lesson image, so here goes.

Ben has a bike that he likes to ride around our compound. Really, calling it a compound is a bit misleading - its not like we have shotguns and spiked Kool-Aid stashed in here, ready to fend off an ATF raid, nor are we lolling about like Greek gods sipping gin and tonics under twinkle lights. Instead visualize a nice small apartment building, with a parking lot where the ground floor would be. Add enough pavement around the edges for the cars to manuver and you've about got it. The whole thing is walled in, about 5-8ft high, and with big gates that roll back to allow access from either street. The non-street sides are nicely shaded by other buildings and trees. In one corner there is a lovely little Hindu shrine, mostly devoted to Hanuman
but Ganesh hangs out there too, as does Sai Baba.

This afternoon Ben and I went out to ride bikes. (Ok, he rode, I sort of trailed after him and confused the security guard.) I wasn't really keeping up and as Ben rounded the last corner, I saw him stop in front of the shrine, put his hands together and do a little "Namaste" sort of head bow.

Next lap, same thing. And then again and again. I finally asked him why he stopped every lap and he said he was, "saying hello to Hanuman. For good luck. Like praying, Mom." I nodded and smiled and the boy kept circling and checking in with the big H everytime he passed.

Eventually Ben announced he was ready to stop. He finished off the lap and this time, instead of the little Namaste, he tossed off a jaunty wave as he passed Hanuman for the last time.

Note to the Highly Observant: Yes, that first picture includes some VERY colorful children. It was taken on Holi, an event which I have entirely neglected in ye olde blog. Stay tuned for a belated Holi post!

Whip It

In Pune we see far fewer beggars and touts than we did in Varanasi, which is a good thing. There is however, a certain sort of beggar/street performer in Pune that we never saw in good ol' UP - Whip People.

They always travel in nuclear family units and the mom always has a small baby on her hip, in a sling. Every family works the same way - Papa Whip is shirtless and walks around cracking his huge, extremely loud and scary whip. Mama Whip plays a strange sort of drum that mostly makes a metallic whirring noise. Baby Whip hangs out happily in the sling, and if there are any Kid Whips, they are supplied with either a mini whip or drum, according to their gender.

I love the Whip People. I would love to be able to properly talk to them and even go follow them around for a day, just to see what they do and what Whip Life is like. (I must've been a cultural anthropologist in a past life.) About once a week a Whip Family wanders down our back street and sometimes I go out and give them money.

Today we were out on the main drag, walking to the library when we spotted a Whip Family heading our way. As best I could I tried to make friends with Mama Whip, mostly concentrating on the wonderfulness of her baby.


We didn't share a language but we managed to swap names and introduce our children. Papa Whip seemed befuddled that I would want to talk to his wife for so long, and was so much more interested in his baby than his whip, but an unreasonably huge contribution to the Whip Fund seemed to placate him. The baby is Shatrugana, maybe 6 months old, and happy as can be, draped in a wet cloth in his sling.

Here's to redoubling my efforts to pick up at least a little more basic Marathi!

How to Bake in India

(or not, really, if it is Passover)

Necessity is the mother of invention, sure, but also of substitution. I have become a much more resourceful, creative baker in the past couple months, thanks to the dearth of familiar ingredients here in good ol' India. For the most part things have worked out just fine. And now I have found my ace in the hole:

JoyofBaking.com Ingredient Substitution list

My life just got exponentially better!

PS: GO TARHEELS!
(Addie, are your feet ok?)

Toilet Talk

Its the post you've all been waiting for! Time to scoop the poop about doing your business in India.

(I realize not everyone is as interested in this as I am, but for those of you who are coming to visit us, or to visit India in general, this may prove to be vital information. Despite my husband's best efforts and an illustrated packet from the Center for South Asia, I was still woefully unprepared for the toilet situation I encountered here.)

(Also, for those of you with more delicate, sophisticated sensibilities, be forewarned that I am going to be a bit flip, a lot frank and perhaps just plain gross. You may want to move on to another post, or another website.)

(Still with me? Then Nature calls and away we go!)

There are two types of toilet in India - Western and Squat. For the uninitiated, behold, a standard squat toilet:



Western toilets here are pretty much the same as you'd see at home, but there are a few things to keep in mind as you approach one in India. First, there may not be toilet paper. Many folks use water and their left hand to clean up so you may notice a small plastic pitcher and water source (spigot or bucket) near the toilet instead of TP. Second, in public places Western toilets are often even filthier than Squats so you'd want to "hover" over the seat, making the Squat toilet ultimately the better choice. Last, some places have hybrid toilets:

which allow users to choose either to sit or squat. If you want to sit, make sure the seat is down, and for squatting, the opposite. Should you find a clean, well-supplied Western toilet, by all means carry on. I'm going to trust you know how to handle that.

Squat toilets are where the real excitement begins. Depending on where you are in India they may be nearly universal of thankfully few and far between. But unless you're travelling first class all the way you are likely to run into at least a couple of situations in which using a Squat is your only option.

All Squats have a place to put your feet, on either side of some sort of hole. The toilet is often ceramic and either flush with the bathroom floor or else raised a bit. Some have a toilet tank attached so you push the handle and it clears whatever needs to be cleared. If there is no tank you must "flush" it yourself by pouring sufficent water down the toilet to clear what needs clearing.

Proper positioning is the key to sucessful Squat toilet use. You must crouch down all the way, getting your rear end as close as possible to your ankles and the ground. Ideally your heels will be flat on the floor. The lower the better - going low will keep your unmentionables and your shoes clean and dry, and will improve your aim. These gentlemen exemplify good squatting position - feet flat, rear end very near the ground:



On the other hand, homeboy below is going to be in trouble if he squats like this. Aim is all wrong (the shoes!) and this position is really hard on your knees, leg muscles and feet. Also very unstable and you don't want to have to reach out to steady yourself on the floor of an Indian bathroom.



Once in your squat it is a good idea to bunch up your pants, etc, around your ankles and hold them up and out, away from the action. With your heels flat on the floor try angling yourself forward a bit too - sticking your read end out. Now you're ready to get down to business.

(Don't be surprised if you have a bit of stage fright - this is a new skill you're attempting!)

Using toilet paper in a Squat is not recommended. The force of the flush (tank or bucket) will likely not be forceful enough to adequately clear the paper, nor will the pipes be big enough to accomodate it. And so instead you must learn the Left Hand Rinse. After you're all done, with your right hand, pour water from a pitcher (see above) down your very low back, at the base of your spine. It should flow down over the parts that need cleaning. Wipe said parts with your left hand. For bonus points and extra cleanliness, pour and wipe at the same time. Repeat as needed. (You'll be able to tell when you've gotten the job done.)

(Note to lefties: Your kind are scarce in the Lands of the Squat, and now you know why. I leave it to you to weigh the pros and cons of trying to do the Left Hand Rinse the other way around...)

Afterwards you'll be wet. (Hopefully just the business parts, but until you get the hang of the rinse, you may have some undesired splashing.) No idea what you can really do about that. Maybe just take comfort in the knowledge that lots of other people are probably also a bit drippy? India is usually hot - you'll dry soon enough.

Do I need to mention that handwashing is a must? And do you still think me neurotic for carrying hand sanitizer everywhere?

India vets allege that with just a little practice squatting becomes easy and even preferable. I'm not there yet and doubt I ever will be. I love my Western toilet, thank you very much. And yet we all quickly reached the point where we could do what had to be done, when it had to be.

Its funny - my kids always run home to use our Western toilet when playing at a friend's house who has a Squat, and vice versa. The Indian kids try their best not to have to use our freaky Western toilets!

If you are planning a trip to India (and you know you don't have the budge to avoid Squats at all times) you really should practice at home. For most Westerners squatting is uncomfortable because we never do it. Your muscles will need to stretch and strengthen in new ways. If you are a bit squeamish about the Left Hand Rinse please try to practice that in the comfort of your own clean, good-smelling American bathroom, at your own leisure. Its pretty rough to try to figure it out in the trenches.

Don't let all this scare you off. A squat here and there and a few drip-dries never killed anyone. And there are certainly enough Western toilets around (in most tourist places anyhow) that you'll almost always be able to find one when you need one. And if for some reason you must squat, just focus on the excellent quad toning.

(And don't forget the hand sanitizer!)