The Scent of Chilies

We had a white Christmas this year in Seattle. While the flakes were swirling down, we were in the kitchen up to our elbows in masa. A Mexican tradition, my friend Yolanda taught me how to make tamales when I lived in Southern California. We had some friends over and spent the day drinking margaritas, kneading masa (corn dough), making molé, and filling masa smeared ojas (corn husks) with spicy chicken, roasted poblano chilies and jack cheese. The recipe for fun and food is simple: Sip, spread, stuff, steam, and eat until you burst.

The masa has a pinch of chili powder in it. The mole has a healthy handful added. While purchasing the tamale ingredients, I bought some New Mexico chili powder at the Mexican Market in Pike Place Market. "It's hot," the proprietress assured me. Good. I like it spicy. But I couldn't resist mixing spices from countries and continents by throwing in a bit of Indian chili powder I bought during one of my visits to Rajasthan.

The smell of it brought back memories. I was on my way to see gharials at the Chambal River in Sawai Madhopur. The crocodile-like reptiles are endangered and I wanted to see them in the wild. To do that, I had to be on the road by 5am for the nearly two hour ride. Apparently gharials get up early. I was in an open air jeep and the late February air was chilly. Then it became very fragrant. And spicy smelling. Suddenly, I saw mounds and hills of red. I thought it was flowers.

As we got closer I saw massive piles of drying red chili peppers. The sun was rising, the gharials were probably waking up, but I made the driver stop. Women in colorful saris and dazzling smiles were squatting in the midst of it all sorting the peppers. Men stood by tractors sipping warm chai. I walked around the mass of chilies, took pictures and big whiffs.

I got back in the jeep. The chili pepper detour made us "late." There were a few long-snouted gharials in the river, but I think we missed the bulk of them. And while I won't forget seeing these incredible reptiles motionless on the riverbanks, neither will I forget sniffing the air, heavy with the scent of drying chilies.

When I got back to Jaipur I bought a big bag of chili powder at the bazaar. It was freshly sealed by a boy holding the plastic bag over a candle flame.

Parting Thoughts on Kerala

The snow is 18 inches deep in Seattle right now. But frosty clumps are falling off the tree branches and spiky icicles are dripping from the eves of houses. It's melting. But I can't quite quit dreaming of Kerala yet. There are a few more sights that stick in my mind about the tropical paradise. For example:

 Women wearing sprays of creamy colored fragrant jasmine in their glossy black hair.

 Billions of bananas in green, yellow, and red.

 Groves of rubber trees with little black pots attached to catch the slow-dripping milky white latex. The cup fills over night.

 Small battered trucks and buses gaily painted bright yellow, orange, and red. They look like well-used and well loved children's tin toys.

 Hindu temples and gods and goddesses painted colors so vibrant the entrances look like something from a Disneyland ride.

 The slightly creepy, life-like statues of gurus, as well as Mary, Jesus and other Christian personalities behind glass. Single and tri-level structures presumably keep their clothes and countenances clean.

 The Jesus Christ Market with a picture of an open-armed Jesus inviting shoppers to stop by.

 A 75-year old Ghandi look-alike weaver hand-looming fabric.

 My "foot" massage at the resort where the girl clung to a rope for balance while she massaged me with her foot as I laid on the floor.

Kerala was a feast for the senses. I'm anxious to visit this state again, to eat, relax, and greedily take in the sights.

Coconuts and Banana Leaves

It's still snowing in Seattle. At this rate, there's no doubt we will have a white Christmas. The lack of snow plowing equipment in combination with hilly roads and streets means most people are snowbound. It is really quite beautiful. I'm grateful that I'm a freelance writer and work from home. For me, the weather is no problem.

However, if I were in Kerala right now, it would be almost 90 degrees with 94 percent humidity. Yum. Southern India is a popular vacation spot during the holidays—this I know because the rates at all of the resorts and hotels are hiked up at this time. But, the end of September was a great time to visit. Hotel rates were still low and is wasn't that hot. Rates go up October 1. Better to go at the end of September—how much hotter can it be a week later?

In this chilly Seattle weather, I've been craving the food of Southern India. It's divine. One day, I had the quintessential lunch on a banana leaf in the jungle. A big pile of puffy rice was surrounded by several fascinating little piles of food—tangy curries, fresh coconut chutneys, super tasty and super salty little fish, even saltier pickles, and vegetables drowned in a variety of delicious spiced sauces. As a petite eater I didn't think I would finish this mountain of food, but I had no problem at all. I ate every bit of it the traditional style—shoveling it into my mouth with my fingers.

The coconut curries were especially flavorful. In Kerala there are coconut trees and groves everywhere you look. The trees have multiple uses— trunks are used for beams, fronds are used for thatching houses and baskets, coconut husks are used to weave into mats and ropes, coconut shells are used for fuel. They even fill old-fashioned irons with fiery shells to iron clothes. I saw truck beds filled to the brim with husks, presumably to be turned into fuel or coir for mats.

At our resort, my roommate continually asked for fresh coconut water. Oddly enough, it wasn't available. "What, with all these coconut trees?" she asked. We were told the man who delivered the coconuts was sick. While this is understandable, I was dumbfounded that someone else couldn't pick some coconuts and deliver them. This is such an Indian thing. Finally, on our last morning the staff brought out fresh coconuts with straws and fancy little umbrellas. Apparently the coconut man had recovered. It was a refreshing treat before leaving Kerala.

Visions of Palm Trees

It's still crispy outside and more snow is yet to come—this is the weather report's promise or threat, depending on your outlook. It's busy at the bird feeder in our backyard. The black capped chickadees and flickers with their black breasts and red cheeks are beautiful against the white snow. Even the common house sparrows look prettier. But I'm still having visions of palm trees dancing in my head. And other sights and sounds of Kerala.

In the short time I spent there, I noticed a few of the many differences between Northern and Southern India. For example, most of the men wear lungis, short sarong-like skirts wrapped at the waist. They come in colorful prints and plaids and look really comfortable, especially for the hot and humid weather. And they're actually quite sexy—especially on men with shapely calves. (It's easy to see why men prefer women in skirts.) They're often topped with a collared shirt, which seems a bit incongruent, like wearing a dress shirt with shorts. Men wear them for all their activities from carrying coconuts to riding motorcycles.

Some of my other favorite sights included:

 Women wearing sprays of creamy colored fragrant jasmine in their glossy black hair.

 Billions of bananas in green, yellow, and red.

 Groves of rubber trees with little black pots attached to catch the slow-dripping milky white latex.

 Small battered trucks and buses gaily painted bright yellow, orange, and red. They look like well-used and well loved children's toys.

 Hindu temples and gods and goddesses painted colors so vibrant the entrances look like something from a Disneyland ride.

Here in snowy Seattle the clouds are coming in and most of the bird feed has been demolished. I think it's time for a warm cup of chai...

It's Warm Down South

I met a friend for lunch yesterday who just returned from India—and is going back in two weeks. A jewelry designer and goldsmith, she spends much of her time in Southern India near Mysore, and travels around Goa and Kerala. I am envious she is going to the warm, luscious south of the country since Seattle is experiencing a cold spell right now. Today the city is wearing a blanket of white snow and it's still falling. Exceedingly beautiful but downright chilly.

On my last trip to India I went to Kerala for a few days—much too short. I stayed at a wonderful resort on the Arabian Sea and just off the Poovar River called Isola di Cocco http://www.isoladicocco.com/. I have not traveled to many tropical locales, but it was surely paradise to me. The sprawling property is populated by coconut groves (hence the name "Island of Coconut"), has a private beach you can access by boat, an Ayurvedic spa, gorgeous swimming pool, beautiful outdoor dining, outdoor yoga facility (you can hear the ocean as you practice) and there is water everywhere.

Most of the resort is in the traditional architectural style of Kerala. Cozy cottages are made of teak wood inside and out with gabled roofs, verandahs, and airy bathrooms that are open to the outdoors. It was deliciously hot and humid when I was there in September. While my heat-sensitive roommate watched TV in the air-conditioned room I took walks on the beach, swam in the pool, took a yoga class and watched bright blue kingfishers dive for food in the ponds. I drank fresh watermelon juice and coconut water.

It's a warm memory on this chilly day.

Ho, ho, ho. Made in India

During one trip to India I met Surendra, who exports goods to the United States. I often think of him this time of year, especially when I'm shopping. He's in the business of supplying some of the retail giants in the U.S. with Christmas paraphernalia—stockings, tree skirts, tea and hand towels. Basically, anything red and green or a combination thereof and usually embroidered or embellished with sparkly accents.

He was very kind and welcoming. I had dinner at his house during Diwali, also known as the Festival of Lights, a celebration usually held at the end of October. It's a beautiful and festive time in India, especially in Jaipur, where buildings and homes are festooned with lights. Diwali has several meanings within the jumble of religions in India but essentially, it is a time to celebrate with family, give thanks, and ask for health and prosperity. Particular to Hinduism, the festival marks the victory of good over evil. Surendra and his family held a puja (prayer) before dinner in their small in-house temple. Specific Gods and Goddesses are important during this celebration including Laskshmi, the Goddess of wealth, propserity and luck.

The next day Surendra took a drive out to the country to visit villagers. We stopped in his four-wheel drive and he bought bananas on the side of the road to bringto the families. During the drive he spoke about the business of Christmas. He explained that when he first started manufacturing Christmas decorations neither he, nor the women making them, knew what they were. "I did not know what Christmas stockings were or what they were used for. I was making tree skirts for a year and a half and didn't know what they were. The women thought they were skirts that American women wore." As we drove by farmland, camel carts, and young girls carrying enormous bundles of kindling on their heads, Surendra talked about his success exporting Christmas goods. He said he has made 52,000 tree skirts and 72,000 Christmas stockings in just two years. "You worship God and ask for peace and prosperity for your family. Jesus has given me this." I thought this very ironic. And hilarious.

Surendra also talked about how villagers are trained and given the skills necessary to make the pieces. He offered that the job takes women out of the fields and away from other back-breaking means of work He also mentioned how his wife would help the workers if they needed health care or other assistance. I was very curious thought it would make a good article. Consumers would learn that there were a real pair of hands behind their Christmas stocking. After my return I e-mailed Surendra a couple of times inquiring about a potential article but I never heard back. I'm guessing it was more information than he wanted to share.

I often flip through the catalogs of retailers this time of year looking at Christmas decorations and see the word "Imported" printed after the description and before the ridiculously hiked up price. I'll pick up items in these same stores and invariably they have the little tag "Made in India", evidence of its origin. I always wonder if consumers really know how many hands have touched the things they casually buy. And if the hands and people behind these crafts are earning their fair share for their efforts.

Image: Village girl on her way home from the fields.

My Recycled Goddess Shawl

There are millions of gods and goddesses in India. Literally. I have a few favorites. One is Durga. She is a 10 armed Goddess of strength. She's a warrior. She rides a tiger or a lion. She laughs at her enemies. She's cool. I have an image of Durga on a pendant I frequently wear, especially when I need to be reminded of her strength.

My friend Regina and I were in Deeg, a small town of Bharatpur near the famous Keoladeo Ghana Bird Sanctuary. We went birding in the morning and found out we were very close to a famous Durga temple. As fate would have it, it was Durga Day (Friday). Each day of the week is dedicated to a particular favorite god (Wednesday is for Ganesh, Tuesday for Hanuman, etc.). It took this as an auspicious omen.

Outside of the temple Regina and I got all the goodies Durga would like: a coconut, incense, candies, and flower garland. We went inside and gave Durga the loot. It's often hard to tell what's what in the temples. The deity is often a mass of flower garlands, sparkly foil crowns, bright orange paint, silver leaf, and lots of other sparkly embellishments. The priest split our coconut, now having been blessed by the goddess, gave us some sweets and a special treat of a red nylon Durga shawl decorated with gold garland. Our guide said this was very lucky for us. We left with our very special treats on a silver stainless steel platter.

Alas, Regina's treats never made it into the plastic bag. Cries from the locals sitting by the temple did nothing to stop a thieving red-faced monkey from ambushing Regina, deftly knocking the tray from her hand and making off with her blessed coconut. He jumped up on a wall and sat there happily munching his stolen prize. (See more about monkeys on my 12/9 Monkey Business post) At least Regina still had her glamorous Durga shawl.

I have since learned that the Durga "shawl" is called a "Mata Ki Chunary." It can be purchased outside of the temple to cover the head out of respect when you enter. As such, it is a symbol of the Goddess. Sometimes people give their Mata Ki Chunary to the priest as an offering to Durga. As my friend said, "The priest gets it from the devotee free of cost. So when any person offers good money for the temple, the priest gives it to them to please them. It is good business."

I love this. It's in keeping with the "Green" recycling theme that's so prevalent now in the U.S. It's also very typical of India—a fantastical, dichotomous mix of the spiritual and the material.

It's Christmas time here. We put up our kitschy lime green foil Christmas tree. I was never very happy with the tree skirts I have. Then I remembered my wondrous Durga shawl. The red garnet color and gold tinsel foil of the shawl look absolutely beautiful swathed around the Christmas tree. At least for the holiday season, I am reminded of Durga every day. I think she would like it. She has a good sense of humor.

Monkey Business

As an animal lover, I never tire of the wildlife and domesticated animals running around the streets and jungles of India. I still get excited whenever I see a monkey. I love watching them go about their daily business in the city or the forest. They are very busy.
They groom themselves, take care of their young, beg or steal food on the street, and pester residents and tourists alike. There is even a monkey patrol in New Delhi to keep them in line. http://en.rian.ru/world/20071024/85320947.html

There are two very common types of monkeys in Rajasthan: the red-faced, red-rumped Rhesus Macaque and the black-faced Hanuman Langur. Drivers and guides have often told me: "Red-faced mean monkey. Black-faced nice monkey." Red-faced monkeys tend to be more aggressive and I've seen more of them in the cities. Black-faced monkeys have very long, graceful limbs and tails. I've heard their warning call in a forest when a tiger approaches. They look like hairy little men when then sit on walls with their legs dangling over.

In Jaipur I've seen disagreements among disparate species. While walking down the alleys of Johari Bazaar, I saw a monkey get in a spat with a dog, though I'm not sure over what. There was snarling on the dog's part and paw swatting on the monkey's part.

Smart and conniving monkeys hang out at temples where there's sure to be food. Devotees offer sweets to the Gods which are in turned blessed. Pilgrims leave with the blessed sweets. Monkeys don't miss a trick and watch your hands as you leave temples.

In Deeg, my friend Regina was robbed of her plate of offerings as she left the Durga Goddess temple. Amid shouts from locals, a red-faced monkey ran up, slapped her plate from beneath and made off with her coconut. He smugly sat on the fence munching it right in front of us. In Sawai Madhophur, a black-faced monkey wrestled me for the rose garland around my neck. It was given to me by a priest at a local temple. I would have easily handed it over but the garland string got caught in my hat and earring, resulting in a tug of war. The monkey won, greedily stuffing roses in his mouth as I watched, massaging my ear.

So far my favorite bit of monkey business was watching a monkey milk a cow. On the way to Pushkar, a troop of monkeys on the roadside were busy with a group of cows. One was presumably picking fleas off a docile caramel-colored cow's flank. Another was fastidiously combing through the cow's tail hairs. But one industrious fellow was actually milking the cow. Really. Well, more than likely, he was picking fleas off the udders, but it sure looked like he was milking it. Even the stoic driver on the trip had a big smile on his usually staid face.

I really hope they never round up all the monkeys that carry on their business in busy cities. It would be far less entertaining.

Holy Cow Story # 1

There are many holy cows in India. In fact, all cows in India are holy according to the Hindu religion. Cows freely roam the streets and alleyways in most large cites. They stop traffic, stand oblivious to motor scooters and cars in the middle of thoroughfares, and pensively chew their cud on the side of the road. On busy corners villagers sell fresh green fodder, bought by believing Hindus who in turn offer it to the cows as a religious gesture. For some, it is a daily ritual.

The big bovines are considered sacred, and are attributed qualities such as matriarchal nurturing and abundance. Most of the free-roaming cows are stray, non-productive animals. They should be given a wide berth and caution should be exercised around them as they can get aggressive.

As I was preparing to leave my friend's home in Agra I noticed a big, creamy colored cow standing outside of the house. It was looking through the wrought iron gate into the courtyard. "She comes everyday," said Monica. "My mother used to feed her the first chapati of the day." Monica now carries on the tradition and offering. We walked outside and Monica grabbed a broom and shooed the cow away. Apparently the holy mother had already had her chapati that morning.

I said my goodbyes to this kind family who welcomed me to their home and went on to Khajuraho. I now have another, and perhaps even better reason to visit this city, home to the Taj Mahal.

Sharad's Sisters Part II

I woke up completely rested at my friend Sharad's house in Agra. His sisters Monica and Aruna were already busy in the kitchen making special dishes. Aruna offered me chai. I watched her patiently slice potatoes into thin, perfect pieces for a dish she was making. Breakfast was a variety of Indian breads, a spicy potato dish and a sweet dish with grain, raisins and milk—delicious.

"Have you worn a saree?" asked Aruna. I had not. But always wanted to. I marveled at the Indian women in their brightly colored sarees embellished with rhinestones, sequins, and all things glittery. At times I've seen women standing in the median of dusty roads in sarees. They look like they're dressed in evening gowns for a glamorous cocktail party. "Would you like to?" asked Aruna. Of course!

Minutes later she produced a beautiful lavender colored saree. I put on the choli, a fitted short-sleeve bodice worn beneath the yards of silk. It fit perfectly. I was a little horrified my less-than-toned stomach was exposed, but relieved to know that a couple meters of the six meter saree would soon hide my indulgences.

I stepped into the simple, same-colored cotton skirt that serves as both slip and recipient of the saree fabric about to be stuffed into the waist of it. Since Aruna has been married for some time, and married women are typically the wearers of sarees, she began folding the length of the fabric accordion style. With Monica's help, they tucked it into the skirt, swathed my upper torso in sparkly lavender and threw the tail of the saree over my shoulder. It fell down my back like a waterfall and stopped short of the floor. It was the perfect length.

Monica brought out her boxed engagement jewelry for me to wear. We chose a matching lavender rhinestone bindhi, the mark married women wear on their forehead. I felt like an Indian princess.

Monica told me she didn't know what to expect when she heard I was coming. "I did not know what your character would be like, your behavior, what you would think. I'm very happy you came. I don't want you to leave." I was touched by this young woman's sincerity. She gave me a set of bangles—the same ones that I noticed she was wearing in her engagement pictures. I gave her a pair of peridot and carnelian earrings that a very dear friend made. They were stunning on her.

Sharad's Sisters Part I

During my recent trip to India I went to Agra. This city in Uttar Pradesh is home to the incomparable Taj Mahal. It's also the home of my friend, Sharad. He was kind enough to invite me to stay there with his family on my way to Khajaraho.

I took the train from Sawai Madhopur to Agra. When I arrived at Sharad's home in a tuk tuk (motorized rickshaw), his sisters and father immediately came out to greet me. Their welcome was so warm and genuine, I was taken aback. I was a total stranger. But they made me feel like a special guest, not an inconvenience. There is a saying in India I have heard before: Guests are God.

We had chai and chatted. Monica is Sharad's younger sister, a beautiful girl of 30 who will be getting married December 7. His older, sister Aruna, was visiting in part to study computers and to help Monica with wedding preparations. Sharad's father is a respectable, quiet, and scholarly man. Monica showed me pictures of her recent engagement and future family. She looked beautiful in her sparkly red tunic and arms decorated with golden bangles.

Monica and Aruna prepared a wonderful home-cooked meal in the small, colorful kitchen. I love the simplicity of the kitchens. I am always amazed at the fabulous, multi-spiced and complex meals that are prepared within small workspaces like these that typically feature two countertop burners. I can relate, since the kitchen of my 1948 house literally has about three square feet of counter space and lacks a dishwasher (save for myself or my husband).

Looking around the kitchen I noticed there were two imprints of hands on the emerald green tiled wall. They were those of Monica and Aruna. They recently celebrated a holiday that recognizes daughters. The girls dipped their hands in a paste of turmeric and made their mark on the wall.

The girls were a flurry of activity in the kitchen before they served a feast of baby eggplants stuffed with spices; puffy puri breads, some of which were stuffed with potatoes; a salad with chilies and tomatoes, and sweet deserts including the famous Petha of Agra, which are super sweet pieces of sugared white pumpkin.

We talked at dinner and I asked Monica if she was excited about her upcoming weddings. Her eyes widened a bit and she politely smiled. There was a brief silence before Sharad gently offered that my question was not normally something you asked a daughter in front of her father. Everyone smiled and laughed. We would talk later.

Under the stars on the rooftop courtyard, I chatted with the girls. Monica talked about wedding preparations and buying saris (which are only worn by married women). She was clearly happy. Sadly, their mother had recently passed away and would not be part of this long-awaited joyous occasion. Monica was quite close to her mother and missed her very much.

I brought some cosmetics with me for Monica—face cream, lip gloss, eye shadow. Indian women are very beautiful and love cosmetics, but don't have access to the multitude of brands we do. Monica was delighted and decided she would save the facial cream for her wedding day.

It was time to go to bed. As the guest, I was given a very large bed. The girls brought in another cot-type bed to share. I insisted they take the larger bed but they said they are very close and would easily sleep side by side. They slipped into bed, beneath light blankets, clothing and all. I followed their lead and took off my belt and bangles, and slept comfortably in my jeans and top, a tummy full of spicy Indian food within the warmth of this Agra home.

Thoughts for Mumbai

After returning from India on October 22 I meant to resume my long neglected blog. During my six week stay there I had limited access to internet and a time schedule that did not permit entries. Now, I am sad to resume under these very unfortunate circumstances.

The horror, terror, death and destruction that innocent people in Mumbai have suffered is really beyond my comprehension—specifically, that compartment in my mind that cannot understand any senseless act of violence. During this holiday weekend of thanks, I have felt very, very sad for a country that I am enamored with, for all its fantastic facets and human faults.

I am sad for all the hardworking people taking the train home—and never making it. I am sad for the untold innocents who died doing their daily jobs. I have had the pleasure and privilege of staying at Oberoi Hotels. They are beautiful places that employ intelligent, kind, and handsome young people. Some of them are now dead. I also spent a special evening at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, a gloriously ornate structure where I saw the famous travel writer Paul Theroux give a lecture, partly about a country he loved—India. Now the scene of a horrible massacre.

During my short stay in Mumbai I found it to be a fascinating city with its Portuguese and British influence. I looked on as businessmen watched the LED readout during their lunchtime in the financial center of this massive country. I read the weekly entertainment publication, full of cultural events and listing establishments touting their rich and vibrant nightlife. I walked by brilliantly colored posters advertising Bollywood movies. It was a city I wanted to visit again.

I think about the poor, ubiquitous vendors selling oversized, phallic-shaped balloons in bright orange, yellow and red. (I couldn't quite understand why they choose this particular retail vehicle, but it didn't matter). They sold the balloons for just a few rupees. I hope they are safe. I think about the man in the Colaba neighborhood where I marveled over his cart of mineral specimens. He then pulled out special pieces from underneath the cart wrapped in newspaper. I bought three fine specimens from him. I hope he is safe. I hope the man I bought fried snacks from in the narrow streets of the lunch-serving dhaba-wallahs is safe. And to all the taxi drivers who drive beat up black and yellow Fiats throughout the grueling traffic in the city—I hope you are safe, too.

India is so multi-layered and multi-faceted it is difficult at times to know where to start. If I were to begin at the beginning I'd have many anecdotes to share, both commonplace and bizarre, at least in the eyes of some.

So instead of challenging myself, especially since I am sitting here with a Kingfisher Strong, The King of Good Times and very nice Indian beer, I will just write about my day.

When I woke up this morning at the crack of dawn (mild jetlag) I heard the ringing of bells. It was the local pujari (priest), offering morning puja (prayer) at the Ganesh temple (the elephant god) in front of the guest house where I stay. I realize there are many parentheses here. So I went outside to pay my respects to the elephant headed deity, who is in charge of auspicious beginnings and is the remover of obstacles. Something I think everyone could use. The pujari threw holy water in my face which was helped me wake up. I actually did not ask Ganesh for anything, I was just saying hello.

Since it was early morning the birds were active in the gorgeous garden of Santha Bagh. I decided to go for a swim and listen to the birds. The peacocks and green parakeets were the most vociferous and I saw two baby peacocks following their mothers. I saw bul buls, a white breasted kingfisher, black eagle, myna birds, green bee eaters, and many other birds greeting the day. Chipmunks frolicked everywhere. Yes, they were frolicking. It is a little slice of paradise here in my estimation. As my husband Dean said, he was surprised I did not see a unicorn. I often think how wondrous India must have been 200 years ago with regard to wildlife when there were a few billion less people. However, even today I am still sufficiently awed by the wildlife here from the pigs, cows, and elephants on the streets to the tigers, wild boars, and pythons in the National parks.

After my dip I went to the wholesale jewelry market by tuk tuk (small motorized vehicle). Sadly, there are many beggars along the street. It is difficult to ignore them, but it is impossible to tell who is legitimately impoverished and who is just collecting money for others. There are many legitimate organizations here that one can donate to (I have suggestions for interested parties). Some of the beggars are very persistent. Today one old, bent-over crone came up to my tuk tuk and touched my feet (an act of respect). She was smiling broadly. I ignored her, then she poked my leg several times with her crooked finger. No response out of me, no siree. She poked my knee. She then poked my ribs—several times. Nothing. The traffic light was long, and soon she wasn't just poking me, but tickling me. I laughed out loud. She had earned her 5 rupees. I'm sure this is one of the tricks in her bag, but it was new to me and worth the price of admission.

Until tomorrow (or whenever I have internet access).

Off to India

Today I am embarking on my fifth trip to India. In less than two years. Needless to say, I am fascinated by and enthralled with this exotic, over-the-top country.

I have been hesitant to write about it for a couple of reasons. Much of what I love about India seems very private and personal to me and exposing that makes me feel vulnerable. The other reason I haven't written about it is I was saving material to be published. And while some of it has, events and adventures I find interesting are not necessarily interesting to the editors of Conde Nast. Who, after all, wants to read about Kender Nath, the Nepalese man who sat on the floor of my hotel room in Mumbai drinking tea and watching me work. Or the mutant cow I saw outside of a temple in Pushkar with an extra hoof sticking out of its back (just 30 rupees for one picture). Or my tug of war with a monkey over a rose garland a holy man placed around my neck. Or watching the 88-year old Maharani (once voted one of the most beautiful women on earth) arrive at Rambagh Palace to entertain Prince Edward.

So, I am going to write about my adventures, both past and present. If you're interested, and would like to come along, please do.

Namaste,

Kathy