Characters, Continued

Allow me to introduce some more constants in my new life in India:

Meat(or lack thereof):

Bagar is a predominantly Hindu town, which means, amongst other things, that people don't believe in killing living things and eating their deliciously cooked, juicy flesh. I thought I could be cool with this. I had tried my hand at vegetarianism before, and had done fine for a couple of months subsiding mostly on cheese and eggs. Unfortunately, I forgot to pack the self-important and all-knowing mentality I had as a fifteen year old. GDL is all veg, all the time, and there is nothing remotely eggy, cheesey, or meaty for miles. I troll through food blogs in my spare time salivating over meat dishes that I don't even eat in the States. It is absolutely disgusting, and I decided that a protein-packed adventure must ensue or I would dehydrate myself through excessive drooling. Luckily for me, the other Penn interns feel exactly the same, as does our Nepalese chef/commander-in-chief, Kamal. See, Kamal is really a meat lover, and doesn't mind cooking vegetarian (or doesn't mind being forced to) but he would rather be elbows deep in a chicken dish. Kamal knows a guy over in Jhunjhunu, the nearest big town, and this guy knows a guy who owns a restaurant which is a 15 minute rickshaw ride from the bus station, and it is really more of a secret door passageway that leads to a courtyard full of chickens and lambs but there, THERE, they cook meat.

And not only do they cook it, you can watch your squawking chickens and squealing muttons be dragged off to come back later cleanly skined and shiny like delicious meaty pennies. It's dinner and a show, and I'm pretty sure that in some touristy off Broadway production, this entertainment would cost well over 1000 rupees. We had to wait for about an hour and a half for the five chicken and mutton dishes that we ordered, but when it came.... I'm actually not really sure what happened. Carnivorous hands grabbed at the meat, bare fingers pulling at skin, teeth sinking into saucy flesh. It was hedonistic eating; no one cared about anything but the tandoori chicken dunked in yogurt sauce. About ten minutes in, I looked up and realized that the world was tilting a bit, and everything was so beautiful, and Meg was just laughing and laughing and laughing. A lopsided grin kept sliding off and on my face and I felt all giddy and warm and fuzzy inside, and that's when I realized. I was actually drunk on chicken.


Transportation:

I actually have it pretty easy when it comes to transportation. The Mobile Naukri office is located in the GDL compound, which means that I simply have to cross the courtyard on my shoe-clad feet. Sometimes, however, I must leave the office for epic adventures that require taking the bus. I would first like to point out that people don't actually cling to the outside and/or top of the bus. The exterior is for the most part, void of human body parts. It's inside where things really start hoppin'. In a country like India, where one billion people have to share a limited amount of space, there is absolutely no concept of personal space. Getting on the bus, getting a seat, and paying the ticket is a complicated and rather hysterical process that requires a great deal of patience and humor.

Step 1: Get on the bus. This usually requires flagging down a monstrous contraption that is decked out to look like a hip discotheque. Crazy painted patterns, shiny embellishments and other decorations adorne the outside. I actually think that if Septa buses were all decorated in the same way, people would go on strike a lot less. Once you have flagged down the bus, it is wise to lightly sprint alongside it to jump in, as a full stop is not necessarily guaranteed. After bounding up three steep steps (usually knocking someone out of the way to be able to do this) it is onto...

Step 2: Find a seat. This can either be extremely simple, or excruciatingly complicated. Sometimes, the buses are empty, which means there are a couple seats left open in the very back. Stepping over extended legs and pieces of luggage left in the aisle, we make our way to those coveted empty seats. Luckily for me, the majority of the time I have been on the bus I have been able to relax my sweaty body on some pleathered cushion. Sitting in the back, although this guarantees a place to sit, can be an extreme sport activity. I have no idea how people drive in India, because most of the time, I try to keep my eyes close. The bus swerves around rickshaws and motorcycles and animals and slower buses. Speedbumps are everywhere, but hardly act as a deterrent. Instead, us Americans, sitting in the back, are sent flying into the air every couple of kilometers. Today was a particularly bouncy ride, and as I hovered a solid food off my seat, I couldn't help but errupt into a little squeal-scream. I think I need to start wearing a helmet and padded shorts. For all the trouble the back of the bus can be, it is heavenly compared to a crowded bus. A no-room bus means being squeezed in the aisle. Sunday night was my first real sardine experience. Practicaly sitting in some woman's lap, my hand made feeble attempts to grasp the overhead bar, resulting in some poor man's face being squashed under my armpit, toppling over onto Siler everytime the bus swerved, and generally looking like a fool. No matter the sitting/standing arrangement, one still needs to complete...

Step 3: Paying. Effortless sometimes. Othertimes, the conductor, spotting our ghostly faces from across the bus, sees an opportunity to charge some tourists double the actual fare. This is not cool, people! I am not a tourist! I am a working woman, living in Bagar, wearing a freakin' salwar kamiz. Even my visa knows that! Fortunately, everytime we have been on the bus, we have been accompanied by a no-nonsense, saavy Indian GDL-er who is NOT THE ONE to mess with. On Sunday, we had a particularly epic episode in which Pankaj and Kamal argued loudly with the conducter for over ten minutes. Finally, the conducter got so fed up that he literally just jumped off the bus and washed his hands of the situation. We paid the local rate that day.


More exciting characters coming soon, such as Indian bureaucracy! And a homemade cinema!

Namaste,
Sarah