India: Monsoons, affection, and hole-in-the-wall food stops

As I type this, monsoon rains are pounding the cement and earth. I love them. They bring all the gucky pollution out of the air into the streets so now the air smells fresh and clean. (The silty brown rivers of garbage flowing down the streets are gross, but the clean air is worth it. The streets normally clear up fairly quickly once the rains stop). The pounding rain is a familiar setting where I can imagine I'm on the front porch with Dad and Mom watching the lightning. Middle Sister is there too because she loves thunder and lightning. Youngest Sister comes back and forth in and out of the house. And Molly is curled up on the sidewalk, waiting with us.

I can finally pronounce Hyderabad like the locals. It is High-dra-bad (like "bad boy").

Hyderabad is not a tourist city. I have not seen many other "White People" (and when we do, we stare like the Indians because it is so rare). Other than paying the "White Man's Price" for everything, I don't feel targeted. In Italy I was nearly always worried that someone was going to slit my backpack or pickpocket me, but I feel safe here. I believe the Indian people have a neighborly view, and that contributes in large part to pickpocketing not being an issue. We'll see if this theory holds true when we visit touristy spots of Northern India (Ma. is planning a six day trip for us--I'm rooting for the Taj Mahal).  

I had to adjust to being surrounded by men. In public, there has to be around an 80:20 ratio of men to women. It is still odd to be at a traffic stop in a rickshaw, and have almost all men with the occasional couple or woman surrounding us.

I knew before coming to India that it was taboo for men and women to show affection in public. I had also read that men show affection with each other in India, and that such displays have no sexual overtones whatsoever. It was still strange to see men hug, hold hands, and generally be very touchy-feely. When I went to my first Family Home Evening activity at our church, I was taken aback to see the young men caress and bear hug each other constantly.

It was strange. Now I think the Indian people have kept something dear alive, while the Western world has let it slip away.

In America, huge families used to live in small houses. Now some members of small families can't seem to get far enough away from each other. Not only have we built up "personal space" bubbles, but we've done the same using cement walls in our houses.

I'll stop philosophizing, at least for now. ;)

I love hearing stories from my dad's LDS mission to Taiwan. He practically drools as he recounts how every day for lunch, he and his companion would find a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop. A shack slung together out of aluminum sheets, where he would shout his order to the master noodle maker, and in a minute would chow down on the most delicious noodles. Dad encouraged my brother to find those kinds of food stops on his mission too. [Dad has since posted a comment on the relationship with the noodle shack owner].

I found my "noodle shacks". :)

For lunch on Monday, we went down the street to an unobtrusive food stop. Menus were posted on the walls on single sheets of printed paper. I ordered a "rava masala dosa" for 21 rupees (about 45 cents) at the clerk's counter, and then took my receipt to the back counter of the shop where the chefs made the food and put it on trays, ready for pick up. Again, we were the only females in the whole place.

We all ordered dosas, which are crepes made from a grain and black lentil batter. Rava seems to mean that semolina instead of rice was used. The batter is spread out very thinly on a hot grill and cooked on one side. I assume the filling on my dosa (potatoes and veggies) was added on top while it was cooking. The chefs folded the dosas differently (rolled, triangle, and a square for me).

We picked up our food, which was placed on aluminum trays shaped like medium sized pizza pans. We stood around a counter while we ate.

It tasted so good. It was one of the hardest things I've eaten, because the dosa was thick and didn't want to be pulled apart. My right hand got a work out. :) I dipped it in a sort of curry sauce, and in a yoghurt sauce (raita) I was given (both were in their own aluminum cups on the tray). It was also a trick to eat without dropping the filling out of the dosa. After I finished (I was the last one again), I washed my hands under a water tap in the shop.

There is another food shop right next to the one we ate at. I want to go there too. I hope the other teammates will want to frequent these shops with me. I'm already at the half-way mark of my stay here---AAAAAHHHHH---, and want to milk the most out of it.

The half-way mark. Good grief. The first week seemed like an eternity, and now I don't know where all my time has gone.

The monsoon has let up quite a bit. I can still hear water draining out of roof-top pipes. And somehow, our power stayed on the entire time. :)