A Couple Characters

I feel like my blog hasn't been doing justice to the routine activites that make up daily life in Bagar. In order to paint my friends, family and random internet creepers a better picture, allow me to introduce a couple of ever-present characters and activities that make up my day.

The Air Conditioner:
It is hot in Bagar. Not like, "Oh, my roommate Eugeune turned up the heat and now I am slightly uncomfortable in my apartment" hot, but blister-inducing, fire-breathing hot. The average temperature hovers between 120 and 130 degrees. I wake up at 6AM to bask in the coolness of 90 degrees. I'm not quite sure how to describe such intense heat, other than two emotions. I either feel so hot that I go beyond it, like when you are so hungry you feel full, or I just wonder if I will be the first human to die drowning in my own sweat. There is little relief from the heat, as the power cuts off sporadically, and all the shower/faucet water is boiling hot. Save, the Air Conditioner. A clunky contraption that sounds like someone who has spent too many youthful years sucking down Newports and taking shots of Listerine, it runs entirely on water. And, like someone with severe lung cancer, Meg and I are required to shove a tube down its throat to fill 'er with some sweet nectar. Sometimes, this hose is hard to find, as it runs behind the courtyard and bathrooms and into the garden. Late the other night, relying only on my feline night-vision and an overwhelming desire for cool air, I confidently marched into the pitch dark of the garden, one foot striding in front of the other when- splash! My entire left leg had fallen off the Earth and into her bowels. I really did want to refrain from making any comparisions to Slumdog Millionaire while in India, mainly because that would be cliched, but this one is impossible to resist. In my painstaking effort to fill my airconditioner with its required medicinal dose of H2O, my ENTIRE LEG was covered in well, you know. That night, the shit hit the fan.

The Geishas:
I find babies impossible to resist. Not so much American babies mind you- they spend too much time wearing diapers that cost more than my entire outfit, eating only organic purees and taking Mommy & Me Yoga classes. No, I quite like Indian babies. They are fantastically independent and never seem to get hurt, even when they are pushed off of tables; all they do is laugh and laugh and laugh. It was only a matter of time before I befriended a trio of ruddy-haired sisters, all under the age of 6, and collectively weighing around 20 pounds. These girls come into GDL absolutely every single day, requesting that we swing them by their toes and throw them up over the volleyball net. Miniature hands outstreached, they sweetly say "Namaste" and force-feed us spicy potato chips. Buttering us up, you see, for the action-packed hour that must follow or else. Actually, the or else is nothing but pulling extremely sad faces and whining a lot, but no one wants to hear that! So, playtime it is, until we are red in the face and dizzy in the head, collapsed on the ground from a minor heart attack while the girls stand over us, laughing and laughing and laughing. It was Siler, the Intelligent One, who pointed out that we should probably make these girls earn their time here. Nothing too serious, just some geisha-like activities, like performing elaborate sing and dance routines, or serving seven-course meals on their heads. A kimono-wrapped thought crossed my mind, but then Prianca looked at me with Those Eyes and That Smile and I was back, twirling her by her toes and collapsing on the floor.

More characters will be introduced as time goes on, but these are it for now!

Namaste,
Sarah