I had been in India about two weeks when I had a sudden realization about food. I love Indian food, but I needed a sandwich. Or a salad, but I can't eat food without a peel without contracting an exotic disease and they didn't appear to have sandwiches. There is no non Indian food, not even British food. Pratha and sambal for breakfast with papaya, naan and daal for lunch, thali with pickle for dinner.
I used to love Indian food very much, but we may need to take a little break from each other, see other people, just try to be ourselves for a bit, you know? Try to figure out who we really ARE without the other one always there, being salty and sweet and overly cuminy. You know what I mean? Is that cold? I mean, we have been together for 25 years, but I think I may need more variety like maybe we could have an open relationship with Vietnamese or something. Or even go nuts and have French night once a week. This is so typical - pushing up against 40 and then you just throw away that perfectly good relationship you had with Indian food and blow it all in a one night stand with Moroccan and then where are you? Sitting with a plain pratha and no chutney, that is where you are.
In Kolkata, I did have one of the most fantastic meals of my life, though. We had a training for 12 new hires from all over India and took them sight seeing and to dinner at this Bengali foodie place. It is kind of the Herb Garden of Calcutta. I had never had Indian food like this - it was sweet and floral and we started with roasted lime mango juice with chile and cumin. It doesn't sound good, but it was amazing - in a Mexican lemon aid kind of way. Then little bites of some kind of sour picked vegetable in yogurt, tons of little dishes of veggies and for dessert, a yogurt creme brulee and paan. OMG. It was served in this cute little pot with a little wooden paddle spoon like you used to get with the cheap ice cream at elementary school lunch. Paan is sweet masala, lime (like quick lime/phosphorus not lime like lemons and limes), some crunchy things, betel nut and a bit of tobacco all rolled up in a leaf. I didn't get that far with it because I don’t think it is attractive to have red spittle coming out of my mouth, but it was an interesting sensation.
I am an early riser and work up nearly every morning at 5:00 a.m. every morning to walk and explore. The most important thing was that I found the holy grail of tacky merchandise. I found the bedazzled Che Guevera t shirt stand.
It took hours of dodging around the open garbage pits, guys peeing on the street at all hours of the day and night (stealing a quote here, but I haven't seen this many hands on dicks since the Eminem show), jumping out of the way of lopsided and dangerously loaded public transit vehicles before they hit me going the wrong way down a one way street, scaling down walls to get into the crazy bazaars under the subway tracks - I am not kidding. But I managed to secure two shirts - these are more valuable than tickets to the Justin Beiber show.
Some totally awesomely random things happened in Kolkata. I was talking to one of my colleagues outside the conference room we were meeting in and this drunk guy walked out of the bar and started taking off his pants outside of the elevator. Then he put them back on, took them part way off, shuffled his shirt around, stopped, turned and walked into the kitchen. I don't know what that was about, but since I live in Seattle’s University District, it felt just so much like home, you know?
I used to love Indian food very much, but we may need to take a little break from each other, see other people, just try to be ourselves for a bit, you know? Try to figure out who we really ARE without the other one always there, being salty and sweet and overly cuminy. You know what I mean? Is that cold? I mean, we have been together for 25 years, but I think I may need more variety like maybe we could have an open relationship with Vietnamese or something. Or even go nuts and have French night once a week. This is so typical - pushing up against 40 and then you just throw away that perfectly good relationship you had with Indian food and blow it all in a one night stand with Moroccan and then where are you? Sitting with a plain pratha and no chutney, that is where you are.
In Kolkata, I did have one of the most fantastic meals of my life, though. We had a training for 12 new hires from all over India and took them sight seeing and to dinner at this Bengali foodie place. It is kind of the Herb Garden of Calcutta. I had never had Indian food like this - it was sweet and floral and we started with roasted lime mango juice with chile and cumin. It doesn't sound good, but it was amazing - in a Mexican lemon aid kind of way. Then little bites of some kind of sour picked vegetable in yogurt, tons of little dishes of veggies and for dessert, a yogurt creme brulee and paan. OMG. It was served in this cute little pot with a little wooden paddle spoon like you used to get with the cheap ice cream at elementary school lunch. Paan is sweet masala, lime (like quick lime/phosphorus not lime like lemons and limes), some crunchy things, betel nut and a bit of tobacco all rolled up in a leaf. I didn't get that far with it because I don’t think it is attractive to have red spittle coming out of my mouth, but it was an interesting sensation.
I am an early riser and work up nearly every morning at 5:00 a.m. every morning to walk and explore. The most important thing was that I found the holy grail of tacky merchandise. I found the bedazzled Che Guevera t shirt stand.
It took hours of dodging around the open garbage pits, guys peeing on the street at all hours of the day and night (stealing a quote here, but I haven't seen this many hands on dicks since the Eminem show), jumping out of the way of lopsided and dangerously loaded public transit vehicles before they hit me going the wrong way down a one way street, scaling down walls to get into the crazy bazaars under the subway tracks - I am not kidding. But I managed to secure two shirts - these are more valuable than tickets to the Justin Beiber show.
Some totally awesomely random things happened in Kolkata. I was talking to one of my colleagues outside the conference room we were meeting in and this drunk guy walked out of the bar and started taking off his pants outside of the elevator. Then he put them back on, took them part way off, shuffled his shirt around, stopped, turned and walked into the kitchen. I don't know what that was about, but since I live in Seattle’s University District, it felt just so much like home, you know?
I knew it was bound to happen eventually – I was going to have a melt down. Hopping a plane every morning at 7 am, sitting in an office until 7 p.m. listening to people complain about stuff that happened 2 years ago (that is my job!) in gross travel clothes in 90 degree 99% humidity, ankles swollen to the size of baby cows, eating dinner until 10 p.m., falling asleep at midnight, waking up at 3, doing US work emails....lather, rinse, repeat.
I saw absolutely nothing of Hyderabad or Bangalore except the airport, some hotel and an office, it was a full on marathon travel blitz through 5 states of India.
I know the team was trying to be helpful, but I couldn't get a second alone. I am an only child and need my space. They would consider it a lack of their hosting duties if I didn’t want them to come into the bathroom with me. One night I wanted to walk around the city by myself, hopefully taking some pictures. But the State Director insisted I go out with the team. Since the fondling incident in the market in Delhi (I was not the fondler), I haven't been left alone for a minute. I am sorry I ever said anything at all. I should have just let the perv get away with it and I wouldn't be under 24 hour supervision because a Burka can't hide my hotness. I gave in, exhausted and cranky and probably making a horrible impression. For this curse of the passive aggressive politeness that made me agree to this scheme, Seattle, I say fuck you and fuck you hard.
The team was awesome, but they kind of got my demographic wrong. They took me shopping to a place for tourists from New Jersey. There was all this shiny sparkly carved elephant wall covering stuff that I couldn’t even look at without wanting to watch Dynasty and take a ton of valium. The sales guys are asking me to touch stuff and I was like, “mom, I just want a Pepsi”. Actually, I just wanted to walk because I had been sitting for like 98 hours, but they kept ordering the driver to take me to emporium after emporium in Telagu and I was just trying to claw my way out of the car. I was being a total bitch to the sales guys who kept shoving this weird wood carving stuff at me "smell! it will make your house smell so good without Glade". How about I just clean the cat box and call it good?
So I finally escape after about 10 gypsy emporiums (remember, I am from a tourist town and I have an aversion to that stuff) and go do my work from Seattle from my hotel. I had to hop another plane at 8 am to Bhubuneshwar after sleeping maybe 3 hours and was turning into a total bitch very quickly. To quote Airplane “I sure picked a hell of a time to quit drinking”.
Before jumping on the plane, I did have time for a quick walk through Banngalore. I found a little park about a half mile from my hotel and saw all of these square wrappers on the ground around a park bench. I can’t tell if they are condoms or condiments or little packages of incense or maybe all three, so I have this little fantasy about what went down the night before.
Sahara “Let’s get some incense and celebrate Ganesh!”
Sitansu “OK”
Sitansu “I’m kind of hungry, do you want some fries?”
Sahara “Totally! I even have several to-go packets of ketchup!”
Sitansu “Damn, girl! You look good licking ketchup off your fingers by all this incense. Want to screw?”
Sahara “OK”
Sitannsu “Do you have any more ketchup?”
Anyway, I get to Bhubuheshwar and check into my hotel after a straight shot to the office and another 6 hours of the complaint gong show.
There is serious underemployment in India, so I should be more tolerant. Tonight, I am not. I get up to my room and try the wireless to do my 30 hours or work from Seattle in 4 hours, but it requires a code. I call the front desk for the code. They inform me they will send someone up. I explain I don’t need technical support, I need the code. They say they are sending someone up. A guy shows up. I show him the set up. He calls the front desk for the code. They put me on the phone and explain it will be 200 rupees, fine, can I have the code? No, we have to send someone up with it. Guy 1 leaves, guy 2 shows up with the bill. I sign it. Can I have the code? No, someone else brings the code. Guy 3 shows up and gives me the code. I put in the code, it doesn’t work – it is obviously yesterday’s code. I call the front desk, ask for the new code. They can’t give it to me, they have to call IT. I don’t fucking need IT, I need the code. I was on Usenet before you fuckers were born. I changed my tire on the way to prom, I don’t need anything other than a code. Guys 4 and 5 show up, look at the computer, call down for the code. Oh, the CODE. Oh, so sorry, we gave you the wrong code. We will send someone up with the code.
By this time, I am violently angry. If anyone is stupid enough to enter my hotel room, they will be thrown across the room and probably stabbed to death with my cell phone. I go down and get the code then head to the gym and work it out on the floor.
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