And once more, vacation/hiatus time.

Hey folks, I'm heading to Sri Lanka and then Kerala tomorrow for a two week vacation with my fella. We will be visiting ancient temples, beaching, exploring forgotten cities, going on wildlife safaris, visiting tea plantations, hiking massive gorges, boating down the backwaters, attending dance shows, riding elephants, and eating lots and lots and lots of food. I will not be blogging.

See y'all in March!

Men at work in Calcutta

If there's one thing you see all over the place in India, it's men working. (And sometimes women working, but more often than not the gender ratio in public spaces is crazily skewed like 60:1. But more on that in another post).

In any case, here are some of the interesting jobs I saw while on a long weekend trip to Calcutta....

[This man's job? He's a professional cheese-sitter. Yes, that's what he's doing here--sitting on a block of paneer, squeezing out the water. If this job were available for brie I'd be all over it.]

 [At the flower market, these are the guys who bring flowers to and from the wholesale sellers. It looks like really tough labor.]

[The toughest work, I think,is that of the rickshaw puller. These guys are a throw-back to colonial times and have been banned everywhere else in the country (which has instead bicycle rickshaws) but Calcutta. Actually, they're technically banned in Calcutta too, but nobody seems pay that any attention--rickshaw pullers are everywhere. These guys are supposed to run while pulling along two (inevitably fat) riders for pennies, just pennies. (And need I mention that every rickshaw puller I saw was underweight and looked quite old, just like this fellow?) Apparently they're most used in the monsoon season when the streets are flooded waist height--these guys slosh through the water so their passengers don't have to. Everytime I would pass one of these guys with an empty cart he would bang on the seat and try to give me a ride, but I just...couldn't. Which makes me feel bad too--perhaps the only thing worse than a rickshaw puller running along with two fat cats in the seat is a rickshaw puller with an empty cart. Please, government of India/Calcutta--find better work for these men.]

[A snack seller, in his store nook]

 

 [A slightly more upscale snack seller in his store nook. Still not enough room to stand up in, though-but the snacks were tasty!]

 [This guy is a coal breaker, I think. I'm actually not totally sure what he's doing with the coal, but during the 5 minutes I was watching him he was sort of hunched over it, inhaling full smoke plumes (so unhealthy, poor guy), jabbing it with a stick. This was the one moment he looked up and smiled.]

 [A meat vendor at the local market. His table was his shop]

 [This guy sells hair.  I don't think it's human (at least it smelled very animal-y) but I'm not sure what it was]

[And finally, a woman! This lady ran a chowmein-making store. I had a bit--it was quite tasty]

This is what it feels like to be in a cycle rickshaw

With commentary by me.

Seen in Calcutta

Man, Monkey, Truck. Do you think the driver knows he has a hitchhiker?

Kate gets a snack

"Kate, the sweet potato guy is by the temple."

Bang! My tea mug slams down as I burst from my chair. The sweet potato man is back! And within easy walking distance! No matter that I've just finished lunch and am absolutely not hungry. No matter that I have much work to do before I leave for the day. The sweet potato man is here!

In two quick swoops I have my wallet in hand and have descended upon my sweet-potato-partner-in-crime's desk.

"Apurba, the sweet potato guy is by the temple!"

Apurba is being called into our boss's office. She looks at me with eyes of hunger and longing. "The sweet potato guy!" She says, "Can you please get me some?"

Of course I can, but no time to delay. I charge down the stairs to the laughter of my colleagues behind me. "Kate," one calls out, "he's not going anywhere. It's the Tuesday night market."

I know they're probably right, but my heart won't let me risk it. The street sweet potato, roasted, then tossed with salt, masala seasoning and lime juice is my favorite Delhi street food. But the season for sweet potatoes is almost over . . . I've gone out every day for the past week in search of any sweet potato vendor but have come up empty handed. (Though, to the market neighborhood just out of walking distance from my office, one still see like, 3 or 4 of those guys on every block. Honestly, some neighborhoods get all the luck!).

I emerge outside, turn left past the street chaiwallah, past the public urinals,  past the corner store where I get my daily diet cokes and past the guy selling dumplings of questionable hygiene. Within these 30 seconds no less than three rickshaw cyclists pull up next to me and pound their back seats, indicating availability. I turn them all down, no need for a rickshaw when the sweet potato guy is just by the temple!

And finally, there he is! With his beautiful display of sweet potatoes roasting on coals, surrounded by a ring of limes and some weird red berries. He looks at me, and I'm afraid he'll sense my desperation and raise his potato prices. So, with bored eye I glance quickly at his display, pretend to consider my dumpling options, then nonchalantly raise up two fingers and wiggle my head.

"Two please."

He takes off, peeling, slicing, dicing, mixing and pouring. Within 45 seconds he's poured me two delicious bowls of savory sweet potato (though I worry that he may have put in too much lime juice). I hand him a crisp 50 rupee note; he hands me back 10 rupees change. Excellent! Charged the right price without any haggling! Clearly, my sweet potato guardian angel is watching out for me today.

Back to the office, carefully cradling my starchy gifts in each hand. Poor Apurba is still in with the boss, so she's going to miss out on the steaming hot deliciousness--though I'm sure it will still be good cold. I leave her present on her desk.

I open my sweet potato packet and the aroma waters my mouth.  I waste no time, but dive in, stuffing each sweet-salty chunk into my mouth with the toothpicks cleverly provided.

Ummmmmmmmmmm

Every day is a good day when the sweet potato man comes around.     

Delhi Elections, part II

Ok, I need to correct a factual error in my previous post: clearly BJP, despite being the ruling party of India, is not the most popular political party in Delhi. As it turns out from the election results, which were released today, BJP is more like that unpopular kid who somehow snuck into the cool kid's house party because today, in a massive coup, 67 out of the 70 possible city parliamentary seats (sort of like our state senates, I guess) went to the newcomer AAP (Aim Aadmi Party).  As one of my friend's put it, the entirety of the Delhi elected BJP block can now show up to official functions driving one Tata Nano car.

AAP really is the new kid on the block--having formed in just 2013(?) it's not yet a national political party. But the fact that it has totally swept Delhi elections in just its infancy does speak well for its national prospects--presuming, of course, that  Arvind Kejriwal, the new Delhi chief minister (read: governor) and his 67 parliamentarians make good on their platform of anti-corruption and women's safety. Delhi, as the capital city, looms large in the minds of most Indians so, to almost quote Frank Sinatra, if AAP can make it here, they can make it anywhere.

Poor Modi. Not one full year in office and his party is already getting thrashed by the new kid.* As one of my colleagues pointed out, this could really be seen by a (Delhi) referendum on him because, as you guys can see from the picture in my last post, BJP almost entirely ran based on his image. Most Indians I've spoke to seem not too critical of Modi though, so maybe that's reading a bit much into it.

 Anyway, here's hoping AAP really can bring about the change they've campaigned on. Who wouldn't want a less corrupt and safer city?


* Actually, the real losers of the day were the Congress party, which is the other major national party. The Congress party has been in power for the last 15 years, I think, and has basically descended into being a family run business--the family, of course, being that of Indira Gandhi. Everyone I've spoken to seems to agree that the Congress party is hopelessly corrupt and inefficient--so good riddance.

Delhi Elections

 [The front page of all four major newspapers of India yesterday, taken over by BJP political advertising]

It's election season again here in Delhi--in fact the municipal elections are being held today. What has this meant for our glorious heroine over the past few days? Not much, really--just some additional headaches and enforced sobriety.

Let me explain. For the past few weeks local campaigning has throttled into high gear. I'm neither a voter nor a Hindi reader so I have been fairly out of the loop though it has been impossible to miss the uptick in political billboards and advertisements on the roads, in the metro and in the newspaper. There has also certainly been a noticeable amount of political campaigners roaming the street who mercifully ignore me; you can tell who they are because they are adorned in the colors and paraphernalia of their candidate--most prominent amongst by far these have been the BJP guys. BJP is the current ruling party--Prime Minister Modi is BJP--and it's the most popular political party in Delhi.

I really don't mind the groups of campaigners wandering around my neighborhood, even if they do wear the ugliest hats I've seen in a while (sort of like the triangle chef's hat in BJP's orange and green stripes). In fact, I kinda dig how grassroots democracy seems to be around here. (Of course, you do hear ugly tales of local politicians buying/beating votes out of vulnerable populations, which is ... not good). But, from a strictly selfish point of view, what I really dislike about election season are those goddam loudspeakers.

Aaaaargh! The loudspeakers! Attached to cars, autos, lampposts, pretty much anything else that moves or is stationary. Blaring loud, shrill, angry-sounding, cranky political messages in Hindi over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. It's really too much. Even my  afternoon jaunt to my local fruit juice walla, previously my moment of restful chi during the workday, has become a cacophony of political screeches--some idiot has gone and tied a loudspeaker to the fruit stand! Honestly, it's probably worse for folks who can understand the Hindi message but I just... aaaaargh! (Even my cubicle--deep in the windowless guts of my office--provides little relief. Every time a mobile loudspeaker goes by I am reminded of how thin the walls are).

And I can't even dampen my headaches in alcohol because for the three days prior to the elections themselves Delhi goes dry; no liquor sales anywhere. I mean, I do think it's a good idea not to drinking and voting but sometimes a girl just needs a gin and tonic to drown out the cacophony, you know?

Ah democracy. The worst form of political governance except for all other forms.