Posted on November 10, 2016 under Thursday Tidbits with 2 comments

One of the many street level farmers’ markets

 

Food.  Lots of food. Lots of spicy food.

It has been almost two weeks since I arrived in India and my stomach is slowly adapting. While I haven’t had any problems with the intake of food so far, I know my body is going through culture shock as it tries to figure of what in the hell I’m up to. As I said in Monday’s post, “ life only begins at the end of one’s comfort zone.” I’m sure if you’re in India as a tourist and are only staying a short time, you can work around food issues, especially  if you’re in the big cities. But if you’re staying awhile, then you better be prepared to adapt. “ When in Rome….”

I think breakfast is the biggest adjustment. At home, my breakfast is bland to the nth. degree. I start every day with a cup of black coffee ( more on this later ), and a slice of raisin toast with peanut butter. Then it’s out the door for a brisk 8K walk. The walking here is very challenging. I’m still trying to figure this one out.

Hyderabad is known for its spicy cuisine and breakfast is just another meal laced with all manner of wonderful seasonings. It just feels weird washing down breakfast with curd ( sort of like yoghurt ) just to cool the mouth down a bit. I now have a fairly intimate knowledge of idli, dosa, sambar, coconut chutney and wada. And I have now nearly mastered the art of eating with my hands… one hand that is. I have not progressed to that rarest of art forms of eating with one hand and texting with the other , which is as common as walking and  chewing gum around here. It took the CEO and the Executive Director to demonstrate the refined art of eating with one meat hook! It’s amazing what you can learn when you’re hungry. One of first nights that they let me out in public with Nagendra,  we went to a small outdoor restaurant to have chicken biryani, and a gaggle of young boys chortled the whole time watching me ( try to ) consume this popular entrée with my mitts.

My new best friend, Nagendra has been my go to guy for food. His English is limited and my Hindi is not what it used to be (!) , so ordering food is a delicate mix of gesturing, pointing and translating. Somehow we’ve made it work and I am now comfortable enough that the last few days, I’ve been able to wander off and get my own grub. A major grocery store is a few miles away and I am able to get whole wheat bread and a jar of peanut butter… for emergencies. Oh yes. My breakfast haunt is Bheema’s hotel. The café opens at 7:00. By this I mean , the doors open at 7:00 but they do not begin to serve until a small shrine in the corner is prepared. Candles and incense are lit and the incense is carried to different parts of the room as a sign of reverence, I believe. The first day I found it odd but now I have come to admire this ritual. Take time and give praise before eating seems pretty sensible to me.

One thing that has struck me, and I’m not one bit surprised, is that language is so crucial. I have a much deeper appreciation for our new Syrian friends as they try to make their way in a language that is completely foreign to them. Most times I have a translator with me but I don’t want to use this as a crutch or else I won’t learn anything. I have learned how to say “ my name is Len MacDonald “ in Hindi. It’s a start.

Ok. I have one eeny teeny complaint. Coffee. I love the thimble sized cups of coffee that I can get at breakfast ( for 15rs or about .30 ) but there’s not enough caffeine in it to get a squirrel’s heart started. In order to lock in some kind of routine ( an early morning cup of good, strong, black coffee ), I must acquire a coffee maker. The quest began in earnest on Tuesday. Qadheer is my designated chauffeur at the office and a really nice guy. We went scouting and after a few unsuccessful attempts, a drip coffee maker, very much like the one we have at home, was sitting in front of me. Having just purchased a big bag of coffee moments earlier, I was salivating at the thought of a large cup of java at suppertime. There was a small problem. They didn’t have any others in stock and the young clerk was adamant that I could not buy it. Very menacing thoughts ran through my head. The poor unsuspecting young man probably had no idea what a two week coffee drought looked like. I took a couple of deep yoga breaths and left the store. I will let you know when “ the eagle has landed.” !

Have a great day.

P.S. I must admit that I shed a tear when I watched the CBC video of Alaa’s arrival at the airport in Halifax.

 

 

 

Posted on November 7, 2016 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Mundy Tomato Market in Madanapalle , India

 

 

“ Life only begins at the end of one’s comfort zone.”

A young female colleague at the APMAS office, Madhu, shared this gem with me the other day. She is young, very bright and has an excellent command of the English language.  It’s so true. Most of us get into our comfort zone and rarely deviate. We like things structured and change is to be avoided. But if you want to discover who you really are, take a step outside your comfort zone. You will encounter some remarkable things.

Quite simply, after a week and a half in India, my head is spinning… but in a good way. I scarcely know where to start. Most have you have been following my antics on Facebook but if not, here’s a brief snapshot of the last several days.

I will be attending a traditional Indian wedding later this week on Thursday morning at 3:00 a.m. No, that’s not a typo. Apparently the ceremony takes a long time and for some reason starting in the wee hours of the morning is supposed to be a good omen. Truth be told, I inadvertently attended an Indian wedding a few nights ago in Madanapalle. I was staying at a local hotel during a field visit. After a bumpy train ride the previous evening and a long day of visiting farms, I arrived at the hotel at 6:00,  barely able to keep upright. I lay on the bed and like a bolt of electricity, a deafening noise emanated from the adjoining room. It was the beginning of an Indian wedding ceremony. Blaring horns and thundering drumming greeted the new bride. After an hour, I went to the front desk and asked when I could expect the music to stop. The clerk assured me that it would be 9:00. He just didn’t say which day! The music lasted until 6:00 a.m. the following day. Oh do I have a story to tell. Stay tuned in the days to come.

In order to get to Madanapalle, I had to take a 13 hour train ride. Half of the ride was extremely bumpy. While I cannot claim to have ever been inside a washing machine during the “ agitate cycle”, I think this must be what it feels like. Our bodies were thrown from one end of the berth to the other.

I was taken on many field visits by the affable and accommodating APMAS staff. Many thanks to my colleagues, Vinayaka, Praballabh, and Jegan.  I saw the amazing work that was being carried out to improve the lives of many farmers. While each and every visit was interesting, the two hours that I spent with the women farmer’s group is the one that I will long remember. These women have very little and in many cases are supporting extended families. Several of them are widows. They were gracious, witty and intelligent. They provided me with snacks like fresh coconut and a mixture of warmed ( fresh ) peanuts, fresh garlic and salt…yummy. I will fill you in later on how you folks back home might want to get involved in helping these women.

The most mind boggling thing I saw ( and trust me, I saw a LOT of them ), was the wholesale tomato market where upwards of 1000 metric tonnes of tomatoes exchange hands every day. It is the largest wholesale distributor of tomatoes in Asia. Farmers, commission agents and buyers get together to establish prices for different grades of tomatoes. Covering 19 acres, the site employs over 5000 workers. A picture cannot convey the scope of the operation.

After my visit with the women farmers yesterday, I had no choice but to travel from the village of Embadi to Madanapalle by motorcycle. I have had an inherent fear of this mode of transportation as my one and only time on a bike was when a dear ( deceased ) friend “ Slim” convinced me to go for a ride after school in grade X11. We had scarcely left the premises when he hit some gravel and we went “ arse over tea kettle.” I had many scrapes and bruises and vowed to never get on one again. Now, when you’re in Embadi and you have no other choice… well… I hopped on the back of the bike ( no helmet – there wasn’t one available ) and had one of the most pleasant experiences of my life as we cruised through the countryside in 30+ temperatures. Even when we got into the city , amidst all the traffic chaos, I was very serene.

I travelled back to Hyderabad Saturday evening, an overnight trip of 11 hours. This was my first solo venture with no field staff or colleagues. I wasn’t nervous but these trains are very busy and English is not the working language. When I got to my seat ( a lower berth ) there were two guys occupying my seat. They were having their supper. Somebody in the next seat suggested I just take any available seat and wait till they were done. Of course, as has become the case everywhere I went, I drew a crowd… bees to honey ( there are other analogies that I won’t use! ). I ended up having a lively discussion with 4 university professors. They were quickly joined by three incredibly bright children and about 15 other people ( standing room only! ) as I answered every possible question about Canada for two solid hours. I managed to make it to my seat and then encountered many more people who wanted to shake my hand and take selfies.  Indian people are unbelievably friendly.

So, somehow, one of the local papers found out that I was in the area. They did a write up about my visit and referred to me as Dr. Len MacDonald, a visiting professor from Germany. Their fact checker must have been on lunch break when the story was being prepared!

Have a great week. I know I will.

 

Posted on November 2, 2016 under Thursday Tidbits with 4 comments

Charminar in Hyderabad

Pandemonium.

Definition: An evening at the arches of Charminar on the last night of Diwali.

So, I had planned a quiet evening giving some English lessons to one of my colleagues, Nagendra. I was finishing up a major editing job ( a 56 page annual report for APMAS ) when I was introduced to this unassuming grad student Lubna from Gujarat. As part of her studies, she is going to a small village to do some research in the agriculture sector.

I had known her for a total of five minutes, when she blurted out, “ Do you want to come with me to Charminar?” This is a famous landmark in Hyderabad built in the late 1500’s. Before I had a chance to digest this offer, she had summoned a Uber cab and off we went. The drive through this city of 10 million would have been fascinating enough. I am quickly understanding that India is a series of contradictions.

Forty-five minutes later ( and a $2.20 cab ride – most things are ridiculously cheap by North American standards ) we arrived at the gates of chaos. Before reaching the arches, we travelled down a street congested with vehicles and humanity, that had about 100 jewelry stores side by side. Lubna told me that the Indian people love glittery stuff. I have purchased exactly one piece of jewelry for my wife. She has it on her finger. My second attempt was a dismal failure so I learned how to do the dishes which she appreciates more than sparkly things.

I was trying to find the right words to describe what I was witnessing. When I got back to my residence several hours later, I sent a message to my dear friend, Anuj Jain. Here’s how he summarized it: “ How do you capture that mix of noises? Women haggling, shopkeepers enticing, a loud rickshaw ( or a thousand …my words! ) zipping past your body and missing you by a hair’s breath; the smell of deep fried chili fritters, bangles of all possible colors , sparkling and changing shades, children running around…” What he failed to mention that half of the population of India was occupying a space the size of Main Street in Antigonish.

Did I mention that Lubna was a Muslim woman but one of a new breed who are stepping out , exerting some independence? She was not wearing a hijab ( although she covered her head with a scarf as we passed a nearby mosque). The crush of humanity was a bit intimidating. If I had lost contact with her, I’m not sure what I would have done. So, being the wimp that I am and emulating a daycare centre with children holding onto a rope, she allowed me to take her by the hand. She dragged me through the throngs amid the cacophony of beeping horns, yelling and general traffic noise.

We were quite hungry. In order to get to the restaurant that was a block away, it was safer and quicker to take a rickshaw! Being the gallant gentleman that I am ( ?), I picked up the tab. An amazing meal ( for 2 )  of chicken biryani came to a grand total of 400 rupees… $ 8.00 Canadian! And this was at a very respectable place. It was the hottest, spiciest food I have eaten in India so far. I am writing this the morning after and am VERY happy to report that the meal settled in my stomach without incident!!!

It was easily one of most amazing things that I have witnessed. At 65, one becomes quite blasé in that you think you’ve seen it all and done it all. Wrong. There are many, many untold treasures awaiting if you have the courage to step outside your comfort zone.

By the time you receive this, I will be travelling on one of India’s celebrated trains on a 14 hour ride to a village where I will commence with some of my field work. Please join me for the ride. I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon.

Have a great day.