Basil Update

I know you might not really care about my basil situation but for some reason I have staked my happiness on whether or not I can get fresh basil. I bought new soil and it looked surprisingly like the potting soil I am used to. I did mix it with a bit of the red Indian dirt just to make sure the seeds knew where they were. And several little sprouts came up. I was so excited. I diligently shifted the lot all around following the sunshine.

30 minutes at the foot of the bed in the girls' room in the morning

I took permission from my neighbor to place the pot along the walkway that leads to our 2 flats. So everyday from 12 to 3 I carefully slid the pot down the walkway as the sun progressed down its' path.

Then I relocated the pot around the corner from the elevators to the last patch of sunshine available along the walkways. Often this is where my pot spent the night as by this time in the day I was well I to the evening rush- snacks, play ground, herding children through dinner and bath and into bed- that I just plain forgot about the basil.

But as soon as I saw the sun hit the girls' bedroom in the morning I would race outside to get the pot.

Regardless of my doting, 3 seedlings wilted up and died. All my hope was in one last seedling. It seemed to be up to the task. It had just sprouted 2 more tiny leaves and gained maybe a 1/8 inch of height.

And then it happened. Flip offered to slide it down the hallway for me. I am trying to say yes to Flip more. She is such an eager child. She wants to do anything I am doing. So I said, "sure." And that was the end of my little plant. She dumped it completely over. I did my best to replant that little seedling but it withered and died. And I am out of seeds.

I guess I am doomed to walk upon this red dirt of India basil free. I am still not sure if I am ready to accept this fate.

Last night we went out to eat at a place called Olive Garden, although it has nothing to do with the mediocre Italian franchise back in the US. I am sure someone stole the name and they both serve pasta. That is about all they have in common. The family we went with are parents of Star's classmate. The mom is a teacher and the dad is a farmer. After I blubbered to him about my lack of sunshine and the demise of my basil he told me if I can get some seeds he will grow the herbs for me. Could it be? Could fresh basil and I finally make nice?

Milk in India

Yes, I am going to write a whole blog post on that milk. I spend so much time devoted to the frothy, white liquid I thought it was only right.

Every night I have to determine the amount of milk I would like for the following day. I pull off the appropriate amount of tickets and tuck them into the door and add a bag to collect them. In the morning the milk man and a boy collect my tickets and deposit the milk in the bag. Usually this happens prior to my waking. So when I finally drag myself out of bed, I open the door to find a bag of milk in bags and my newspaper. I carry my bundle to the kitchen and begin my morning burden.


This milk has been pasteurized but because nothing in India is a sure deal, everyone boils it as well. There is a great art to boiling milk and the first step down this path is DO NOT WALK AWAY. Traditionally when a family moves into a new home there is a house warming puja done and to end this puja the woman of the house boils milk and lets it overflow. The same way the milk flows, goodness will flow into the house. Well, I gotta tell ya, there should be a whole lot of goodness going on in our place. Flip will call me from the potty and I think if I run I can make it. Or Star screams bloody murder and when I come running she has a hair tie stuck in her hair. And just to take the blame off my sweet muffins, occasionally I will put the milk on and walk away for a quick errand only to hear that very delicate sound of the milk hissing along the sides of the pot as it creeps up. I have learned to be nimble. I run over whisk it off the stove and immediately blow on the foam. 2 out of 5 times I am successful. The rest of the time Srinivas, the cook just curses me when he sees my stove top.

In fact this blowing technique is part of the art. In the beginning I chose too small of a pot and all kinds of mess ensued. Then I learned to choose the bigger pot. But then I had the larger pot and 2 packets of milk. The milk would begin boiling and I knew it had to boil for some time to kill all the potential dangerous microbes, but how to keep it boiling? I tried stirring it but this takes so much time and effort, not to mention a clean, long spoon. Being on limited funds, we have only purchased limited cooking supplies so there was never a guarantee a clean spoon was available. Then I learned not to keep the flame on low because it causes the milk to collect and burn the bottom of the pan. So now, I bring it to boil on a medium flame and turn it to a low flame when it boils. And I blow on the foam. As soon as it appears you give it a good gust of wind to break it up. And stay there. One time is not enough, you must keep a constant watch ready to blow on the milk at a moment's notice. (Yes, I am admitting I BLOW MY MILK, have your giggle and now get your minds out the gutter!)

After the milk boils for 3-4 minutes now I must undertake the process of cooling the milk. There are many ways to do this. Of course leaving it for a while works, but most of the time I have Flip beside me begging for milk and cereal so that is not an option. Many Indian mothers arise early in the morning and boil their milk in preparation for the young, but I am American. I sleep in as long as my kids will let me. Option 2 includes putting some milk into a smaller container and holding the bottom of the container in cool water. Option 3 is to pour the hot milk back and forth between 2 cups until it cools. This takes talent and practice to not spill and to hold the stainless steel cup just right so you don't burn your finger pads onto the cup. Flip loves this as it makes the milk foam up and she can eat the bubbles. Option 4 is put it in the freezer. Option 5 is add ice cubes. Makes you just want to reach for that jug of cold milk in your fridge right now. Not to drink it but to just daydream about how easy it is to make your kid a bowl of cereal in the morning. Don't rub it in!

And now comes the straining. The milk is not homogenized so once it cools there is a layer of fat on top. So if in India and someone gives you a nice not cup of coffee or tea, drink it down. If you leave it to cool, you will have to decide what to do with the film on top. Do you close your eyes and slurp it down? Do you try to remove it with a strainer or spoon? That often requires getting up from the spot I have just plopped myself. So I have worked out a way to take a sip from one side so that gravity brings the film to the side of the cup and sticks there. Then I turn my cup to the other side and gently sip from the fat-film-free side. Yes, I am always a Southern Belle with the most impeccable manners. That is until the film breaks apart and a bit lands on my lip and my daughters start laughing at me.

Flip has a HUGE aversion to this fat. She can point out the tiny piece in her bowl of cereal and will turn down chocolate milk in a heartbeat if it has sat too long and succumbed to the fat-film. So timing the heating, the cooling, and the straining perfectly with her attention span is quite impossible these days. Often she declares she wants cereal but by the time it is ready she is in the next room screaming because Marvel has told her she can not use the IPad, so the film comes and then I have to spend 5 minutes picking out the pieces of fat from her corn flakes.

Then a couple of weeks ago we were lucky enough to meet our upstairs neighbors who happen to have one of the only organic dairy farms in India.
http://www.oxygenacres.com
This guy was a software engineer in the US for 15 years before returning home to Mysore with his wife and 3 kids. When they arrived there was a huge scandal that broke loose about milk, very similar to this one that just happened a couple of days ago.



In an attempt to make more profits some distributors diluted their milk with non-dairy items including caustic acid and washing powder. The software engineer decided since he had a farm, he should get a cow to provide milk for his family. Soon friends asked if they could have fresh milk as well and his farm has grown and grown. We visited the farm last weekend and it was fabulous. They grow organic grasses on the farm as well as algae to feed the cattle. The rest of the feed they import and do their best to use organic products. Here is a photo of the girls feeding the cows some of those organic grasses.



The farm uses the cow poop to turn into methane gas and run their generator off of it. They are completely off the grid. We signed up as quickly as possible. Even though we now get our milk from "happy cows" I still have devote a portion of my day to milk, but it seems to be a bit easier now. I have to purchase 2 liters a day, that's the minimum. I boil it all at once in our one giant pot, cool it, skim it and pour it into a pitcher that we put in the fridge for easy access cold milk. The girls are much happier with this milk, not only is it cold like they like but it tastes so much better.

There are little things like Oxygen Acres that make our time in India so much nicer.

Uncomfortable Places

Yesterday, I got lost. Utterly and totally lost.

I had dropped the girls at school and had 3 errands to run.
1) collect my phone which was with "a guy" getting its microphone fixed
2) return books to the library and pick out some new ones.
3) And just so you don't think my life in India is too exotic and exciting, pick up toilet bowl cleaner and bread.

#3 was an easy one because the shop opens up early. So after I dropped the girls off I zipped down to Loyal World and breezed through the empty store because the foreign yoga students are recovering from their sunrise classes and the Indians aren't finished with breakfast yet. As I didn't have my phone, I had no idea of the time but I took a chance and headed to Spice telecom store to take care of #1. It of course was not open. In fact nothing in the mall was open. There was just me and some kid skipping school walking around. Onto #2. Instead of backtracking and heading down roads I knew I took a chance and tried to wing it.
There are reasons we choose the partners in life that we do. One of my reasons for choosing Marvel, unbeknownst to me, is his fine sense of direction. The GPS was made for folks like me. When we lived in DC, before our iPhone and Google Maps, I would head out to do something, miss my turn, get totally lost, start crying, circle round on 495 and then drag myself home again. For 2 years I did this.
So I kept looking up and at the horizon as if that would help. I tried to turn in the direction I felt like I should head. This took me down roads with homes that look similar to homes of my relatives and I felt ok. Some turns took me down roads that took me out of my comfort zone. Half-clothed kids, lots of dogs, houses smaller than my bedroom, people just sitting in doorways. The poor sections of town. The daily wage workers. The maids. The cooks. I had to keep telling myself aloud that I was ok. I had gas. I had money. I was going to be fine. Really there is no "bad" section of Mysore. It is all fairly safe.
It is difficult to be in another culture and in a different place. At the time I truly felt I had to put myself out there and trust the folks around me. I stopped for gas and asked the attendant how to get back to Kalidasa Rd basically the only road name I know. He gave me vague directions but headed me in the right direction. I stopped again and asked 3 guys on motorcycles. More vagueness but still heading in the right direction. I asked an auto driver and he gave me clear directions in English. It was only then did I feel my body relax and I allowed myself to 1) stop talking to myself, 2) breathe normally and 3) reflect on what had just happened.
I have been reading about the Trayvon Martin incident. It feels me with sadness for Trayvon's family. I am angry with that hyped-up, racist vigilante who judged Trayvon by the color of his skin, was fearful of someone different and decided without a doubt that this young, black boy was dangerous. And I am furious with the police who do absolutely nothing to attempt to right this tremendous wrong. I am disheartened for all the parents of black boys who have to once again tell their children that they have to overcompensate for some folks who allow their prejudices rule their actions.
Prejudices are slowly subsiding. People are changing, I know. But we have to want this change. We have to work hard to make these changes deep within ourselves. I think about my irrational fear just because I was driving down a road with folks who lived differently than myself. For me the fear had nothing to do with skin color, but with the unknown thought processes of these people. People I never really spend time with, unless it is to watch them dig a ditch in my apartment complex or to tell them just how I want my food cooked or to resent them because they want to charge me 10 extra rupees to ride in their auto.
Two weeks ago, my cook and my cleaner invited us to a festival in their neighborhood. Marvel was not able to go. It was in the middle of Flip's nap. Star was at school and I had to return to pick her up on time. These were all the reasons I told myself I could not go. The real reason was it might be uncomfortable. What if they offered me food? Would I risk getting ill and eat it? What if there were people there who saw my white skin and decided I was an easy target? How many times would I have to explain that YES, Flip is my daughter. YES, she is Indian. And YES, she looks just like her Indian father? The thought of going to an unknown festival by myself in an unknown area made me uncomfortable and I avoided it.
This little wrong turn has made me think very hard about the ways I am working to make a change. I am very proud of my family for moving half way across the world to live. I am proud of my girls adjusting to an Indian lifestyle, making friends and trying to communicate in a new language. I love my home town. For such a small city it has a lot of cultural diversity and we do our best to soak it in. We do our best to embrace differences and yes, I will even admit to actively trying to build a rainbow of friends. But is it enough? Will my kids still have irrational fears if they make a wrong turn in a strange city? Will they still have to hear awful tales such as Trayvon's?

In the end, the road the auto driver directed me to ended up across the street from the library, so task #2 was completely easily. Task #3 still took a couple more days, as is the way in India. But now the phone is back and in working condition. I am hoping for another not to be missed invitation from our cook and cleaner. Perhaps we will attempt the city bus for fun or maybe even a second class rail ticket.

Having a Day

I am having one of those days. I want to hop in my Subaru, drive on my orderly streets and attend to all the random errands that need to be done. What do I need?

Caulk for the horrible place on my counter where the grout falls out and makes a giant white mess
Presents for cousins we are visiting on Saturday
Butter
Books for my kids to read on the train
Salwar for me

I know, I know I can obtain all of these things here. And honestly I know where to go for all of them. But minus the salwar which I can't get anywhere else none of them will be exactly right. Not today.

I want the clear caulk that comes in a tube with the little cap. The kind that makes my hands an incredible sticky mess. The kind I keep wetting and running my finger back over because I think I can make it smoother only to find out I have wiped all the caulk off and I need to reapply. Instead here, I need to call the maintenance guy who promises to come in half an hour but does not show. Or he tells me the painter has not come today. I will have to keep calling and pestering until I get someone to come. Thankfully it is not the electrician though, who comes reliably at 9pm ringing the bell and waking the kids.

I have this thing for giving hand towels. Perhaps it is because mine at home are a complete stained mess so I am always hoping someone will return the favor. So today I want to go to Peaceable Kingdom which sells hand towels made from flour sacks, washed until white and soft then printed with seasonal designs. It is almost spring. Perhaps they have flowers or herbs or birds or frogs.

I want to make cookies for the teachers at I Can. I need butter to make these no bake chocolate cookies but my imperial recipes calls for 1/2 cup of butter and they only sell butter in grams. Yes, I have a brain that functions, eyes that see and an Internet connection to figure it all out but today I just want to look on the side of the wrapper and see those little lines with Tablespoon markings telling me how much of that fatty goodness equals my 1/2 cup.

We have a library and we use it regularly but it works this way. We pay a deposit depending on how many books we want to be able to take out at a time. Right now we have signed up for 2- one for Flip and one for Star. We can go every day and get new books but that means a ride in the car. And the selection is limited. Most of the books are from series- Curious George, Manny, Noddy, Magic School Bus, etc. It makes me miss the downtown library with their shelves filled with beautiful picture books and our favorite librarian, Laura, waiting at the desk to suggest a new chapter book for Star. I want to walk out with my bag so full it weighs the stroller down and makes it hard to push back up our street, so when Flip asks to get out and walk I am grateful.

UPDATE:
I actually had trouble posting this so I saved it til after my shopping. And just to release you of all your worries I am not "having a day" any longer. I decided to walk to another part of the city to do my errands. I put a sleeveless shirt and a loose skirt on, plugged in my IPod, and trotted off down the road. Instead of dish towels I bought 4 super cute wooden trays painted like watermelons for all the houses we will visit this weekend. And they were only 180 rupees a piece. Peaceable Kingdom would at least took $8 per towel. I also found theses sweet wooden letter magnets for the kids we are visiting. I decided to skip the salwar because I am going to buy some cotton material and have someone stitch one for me. That couldn't happen in Michigan. Perhaps the girls and I should all get coordinating ones. That wouldn't happen in the US either. ;-) Instead I bought these white baggy pants to go under my existing tops. I bought the butter in grams and a loaf of bread that will taste like cardboard in comparison to one of my homemade loaves, but it will do. I also treated myself to a cold can of Pepsi and trotted on home happily listening to my music and singing aloud. I picked up an auto with our fave driver, Manjanath, and for 20 rupees I zipped over to pick up Flip from school. After a quick lunch Flip drifted off to nap, the maid came and cleaned the whole place while I drank tea and spent time on the Internet. Not bad for a day that started off kinda funky, as Flip would say.

Getting Dressed

Part of me always wonders if I baby Flip too much. I try to think back to Star at this age and I seem to recall she was much more mature. We were able to reason with her, discuss with her, play more complex games with her and we definitely had higher expectations for her. I think. When I was in the moment with Star age 3 I thought I would remember every detail. Where was my ever ready IPhone?
At the age of 2 Star started choosing her own clothes. I remember for her first toddler class school photo she chose to wear 2 necklaces and carried a car in the photo. At the age of 3 it was my job to keep the clothes clean and the drawers stocked. Star picked her own clothes and dressed herself. She brushed her teeth and styled her own hair, with my help. Even though I wanted a button for her to announce "I dressed myself today." I don't think I needed it. People could tell by the layers upon layers of dresses and pants she wore. Or the multiple patterns on her socks. When Flip came around I was super glad to be able to dress someone again. They make little kid clothes so cute and finally I got to choose. But here is the curse, I am still choosing and putting on and taking off and washing and putting away. The fun is over. Grow up, kid!
Don't get me wrong occasionally she throws me a bone by taking off her clothes and running around naked. Or sometimes she will declare a preference for a certain set of pajamas or a shirt. She tried for a couple of days to put on her own shoes. One time she got herself fully dressed. But they are all short lived.
Today Flip was home with me. Her teachers are holding PTM - Parent Teacher Meetings. Ever noticed how Indians love acronyms? You will now. For the past couple of days Flip has been branching out and going over to friend's house to play. This is all very exciting to her. She calls up someone on the apartment intercom, arranges a play and then I march her off upstairs or down the hall. This morning she wanted to go 2 floors up to a 6 year olds house. Other than the endless supply of kids I this place the other great thing is the kids play no matter the age gap. It is perfectly fun for a 3 year old to play with a 6 year old. Or for 7 year old to be invited to a 12 year old's bday party. I reminded her she was still in her pajamas and needed to get ready. I suggested she could do this by herself while I tidy up the kitchen. She said, "ok Momma, but not my shirt. Last time I put my shirt on this boy said "thirga marga" (on backwards) and it made me sad."
I remembered exactly the time she is talking about. It was one of the rare occasions she dressed herself in her bright orange Virgnia t shirt. And she did indeed put it on backwards with the lettering across her back. She walked past all the boys playing cricket and they noticed and giggled at her shirt. I know those boys meant no harm. They probably thought it was cute as I did too, but she had taken the time and effort to dress herself and her efforts were laughed at.
So now I know 1) Flip is doing her best to grow up, 2) I need to honor her efforts more and 3) my baby understands Kannada.

3 Determinded Girls

I made Mexican food- beans, rice, salsa, etc. and we used chapatis to make burritos. We had left overs so I called our upstairs neighbors, the ones from Novi, MI, to come and help us finish them off today for lunch. Another little girl from down the hall joined us as well, so after lunch the 3 girls are playing in our house. I convinced Flip into a nap, ignored the large pile of dishes on the counter and sat down to waste some time on the IPad.
As always, the moment my bottom hit the chair the girls declare they are hungry. Marvel suggests they go to another house for a snack. Out they go and return with Barbies and a bag of sandige type things. Not made. They present them to me and suggest I fry them in oil. Marvel attempts to save me by telling the girl I don't know how to make them and sends her back to her house with them. They return and each take a turn telling me how to heat some oil, add the little colored noodles, watch them puff and the remove them. I suggest microwave popcorn. They insist they can eat the popcorn and then eat the sandige. I try the direct route by telling them I am tired from cooking this morning, I still have dishes to wash and I have some things to do on the computer. "It's ok, Auntie," one little girl says, "you can do your work, wash the dishes and then make them for us."

No Sleep for the Weary

This post has absolutely nothing to do with India but everything to do with just living. Flip was finally on board to send her mum mums to her cousin, Baby Cate, who really isn't so much of a baby any more but that doesn't matter. We wrote a letter, stuck the pacifiers in an envelope, and "mailed" them to Georgia.
If you were not with us when we first brought Flip home, let me catch you up to speed. It was hell. It was heartbreaking. It was backbreaking. It was frustrating. It was terribly painful. It was a sleepless time. Flip cried for an hour before passing out for 45 minutes, only to wake and start it all over again. She didn't care if it were the moon or sun''s turn in the sky. And right from the beginning, Flip was a Momma's girl. After a night of absolutely no sleep I would pass her to Marvel for one more hour of shut eye before he had to go to work and she would wail as if all of her previous painful separations in her short little life were coming back to haunt her. Or that is at least how this guilt ridden mom felt. The only way to get her back to sleep was to give her a bottle and hope she fell asleep so I could do some fancy Spiderman moves to lay her down as gently as a snowflake on a hot burning coal. Sometimes she suckled so much her little belly rebelled and she returned it all, but still the only thing to get her to quiet back down was yet another bottle.
So, enter the mum mum. I worked hard to get this girl to take to the mum mum. I put it in my mouth and sucked on it. We took turns sucking and laughing. We took turns pulling it out of each other's mouths. I think I sucked on more silicon than a porn star, but it worked! She took to it and finally we could travel in the car without her wailing her head off. Stroller rides were no longer restricted to how long the teething biscuit lasted. And most importantly, sleep was easier. We were down from 5 bottles at night to 2 and at times I actually got 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Now here we are 3 years later saying good bye to this blessed piece of plastic. And once again it is hellish. We are playing musical beds shuffling Flip the Great Fighter of Sleep back and forth between the two of us. Last night she woke 10-12 times and there was nothing that could help. I could hear the girl sucking on the absent mum mum and I think it was one of the saddest sounds I have heard in a while.
It has been a while but I find myself going back to the new mother mantra- This too will pass. But I am not a new mother. I am a 8 year veteran mother saying, "This better pass in a week's time."

Bend 'em, don't Break 'em

One of the things I have struggled to learn is how to bend the rules here in India. If there is a sidewalk, I walk along the sidewalk. I don't cut the corner. I am a rules follower. I look for rules. I give rules. I enforce rules even if it is not my duty to do so. But here the rules are stated freely, but rarely ever followed strictly. There is a sign in our complex that reads, "Don't walk on the grass." Firstly, what in the world? Why put in grass if you can't walk on it? No one follows this rule. We all walk on the grass. So why even go through the trouble of putting this sign up? It all seems a bit like a game to me.

Yesterday, I got stopped by the cops. I knew it would happen sometime, but still I was unprepared for it. The girls and I were driving to the library and just before our destination there stood 5 or 6 cops. They were waving folks over left and right. I was hoping to slip on by, but no such luck.
He asked for my papers and then walked away. Papers? I didn't even know we had papers. I looked in the glove box and surprise there were papers with some strange man's picture printed on the page. The previous owner? I checked and our insurance is good until June 2012. Woo Hoo! I joined the crowd around the officer. There were probably 10 of us. I showed him my papers and he asked for my license. I went back to get it. When we first arrived a cousin checked with the RTO, the Indian equivalent of the U.S. DMV. Our cousin reported it was ok to drive on a U.S. license. I doubted it but I didn't question him. Now it was show time. I presented my license and the officer said no that he needed an international license.
What to do? What to do? Star and Flip are in the car. Marvel is out of town. I have about 3 rupees left on my prepaid calling plan, so I couldn't actually contact anyone else. Should I grovel like the 2 whiney Iranian girls who had recently joined the group?
Instead I was firm, confident and lied straight through my teeth.
I looked the officer straight in the eye, "My U.S. license is good for a year. I called and they told me."
He shook his head and replied, "Pay 400 rupees fine."
"No,"I repeated. "My license is good. I called and checked."
The whole time my heart is beating like a rocket ship that is about to take off through my mouth. The officer just shook his head and looked back towards the others who were handing him money for their fines. Some of this money went straight into his pocket. Some of this money was given a receipt in exchange. I had no idea if we were playing above the law or below. And those Iranian girls were really whining. I wanted to pay their fine to just to get them out of there.
I walked back to my car, got out my wallet, tried to explain to worried Star and bouncing off the walls Flip what was going on. My rule abiding, Star, suggested I just pay it. I had it. Just pay it. I almost did, but I decided to give it one more go.
I walked back up to the dwindling group, plus the 2 Queens of Whine, looked him straight in the eye and said, "I think you should call someone. I know I can drive with my license. You and I have a misunderstanding."
Really who know why he did it. I'd like to think it was my calm and confident manner. It could have been he collected his quota for the day. He might have just wanted us all to SHUT UP and walk away. But, regardless, he waved me off.
Rules successfully bent.

On Tuesdays, our pool and club house is closed. I don't know why for certain. I imagine the manager needs a holiday from all of us. That is fine. That makes sense. But then, shouldn't they use Tuesday as a day to clean the clubhouse and the pools? I walked down to the pool and found a guy vacuuming the pool. "
Mam," he said as he saw me approach, "the pool is closed for cleaning."
"I will just swim on this side, " I replied and gestured to the other side of the pool.
Now, I know this won't work. If you are vacuuming the pool you want the water as calm as possible so all the matter will sink to the bottom.
"No, mam. You can come back at 1," the cleaner replied.
"Why don't you clean on Tuesday? The pool is closed then. No one swims on Tuesdays, " I said in an effort to steer the conversation.
He just bobbled his head very ambiguously and went back to his cleaning.
This is when Sowmya enters. Think of most of the Disney movies you have seen. There is a beautiful woman with long, dark flowing hair high on a balcony. 4th floor, actually. But now, flip it. I am not there to rescue this lady, she is there to rescue me. "Do you need any help?" she asks. And then she takes over. Very patiently, very persistently, and very successfully she talks this cleaner into letting me swim on the other side while he cleans.
Rules successfully bent.

I did come home and google the fines one should pay if caught driving without a license here in India. 300 rupees. And I found out definitely I am not allowed to drive on a U.S. license. I looked into getting an India license, as I am not sure I can get an international license now that I am already international. This is the rules part of me trying to comply and trying to make amends with the Indian rules bending side.

Staying Alive in my Maruti

With Marvel gone for 4 days I have had full access to the car and necessarily I have been driving everywhere. Slowly, it is becoming less stressful. Or perhaps I am just becoming immune to all the craziness out there. Regardless, I am doing my best to stay alive by following these simple tactics

1) Stay away from buses and other large honking vehicles. Sure everyone is honking, but there is nothing like the sound of a bus horn bearing down on you to make you, or me rather, want to find the nearest potty. When one unfortunately happens to wind up close to a bus you can see first hand what makes them dangerous. The whole front is covered in dings, dents, bumps, missing bumpers and scraped paint proving they have hit things in the past and will do it again if necessary.

2) Do not be the first one from your direction to enter the intersection. When I watch the roads I actually find them beautiful. The traffic patterns move like animals. Well except the actual animals in the roads. They couldn't give a flying fart what you are doing or where you want to go. They just keep walking at their own pace seemingly oblivious to all the noise around them. But often when I look up and see a bunch of scooters and motorcycles on my side of the road and heading straight for me I think of bees. Somehow they manage to fly right by me, not make contact, nor slow down. When I come to an intersection or a round about, I wait for my crew, like a small school of fish heading in my direction and then we venture out causing the other directions to pause,regroup and regather, hoping their mass will allow them the right of way.

3) Do not be the only one in the middle of a major intersection or the last one for that matter. Think about penguins and killer whales. Stick to the middle and you will be fine. Straggle behind and the other direction will think you are weak and cut you off.

4) When in doubt just honk. How can they know you are there if you don't honk?

Food Fights, Food Wins

There are 2 battles going on in this house and they are both over food.
When we first arrived the girls were excited about dinner- fresh chapatis, non spicy veggies and dal they tolerated because we let the eat it with haplas. We had a blast spinning things around on the lazy Susan or Susie as we call her. Now there is a fight every dinner time. Actually Flip doesn't even wait til dinner. On the way up in the elevator she asks if we are having ------ for dinner because she knows we are and when I confirm it she goes nuts. And for the record most Indians do not let their kids or any other kids cry for that matter. They give biscuits, even spoonfuls of sugar to make them happy. Flip's screaming and crying reverberates off the elevator walls and Indians all over the complex know that the American mother is not meeting her child's immediate desires. At the table it continues, me trying to force a crying Star to eat. Me feeding Flip her whole meal in front of a video. Thankfully for me, but unfortunately for them, Heather and Aditya were here to witness the climax. I threatened to send them off to bed without supper. I did use my low and serious tone instead of my loud and out of control voice, because if any other Indians heard me threatened to not feed my kids properly my PIO status would be promptly revoked. I think that was a question on my application. Do you feed your kids the required 3 servings of rice at every meal? Later, I laid down the law. No more snacks. No more sweets. No more ice cream. No more haplas. Only oota (growing food) that Srnivas makes. Really it is ridiculous for me to prepare separate snacks. The man prepares lunch and dinner at 9 am and it sits on the counter waiting for us. Yes, I have been through the Serve Safe training at Food Gathers and know leaving food out allows the pathogens to grow but for some reason that doesn't count here. Perhaps there are too many pathogens fighting it out for the right to make us ill and they all kill eat other off.
But the good news is my girls are eating food again. Sure Flip still screaming her way up all 3 floors but she eats once she is at the table. And Star is no longer claiming that it hurts her stomach to even bring the food to her lips.
This brings us to the second battle. Me verses the junk food- cause it is here, in the house, calling my name. Now that the girls aren't allowed to eat the junk it sits in the fridge. Well until I eat it. Yes, Ganesh, your lovely Cadbury Gems that you brought the girls are gone. I ate them while they were sleeping. The girls are thoroughly enjoying the purple containers though. They make great water bombs in the bath. And just for the record, no Cadbury Gems aren't as good as M&Ms. And since I am confessing, I don't like Smarties. I like the good old hydrogenated oil in a candy coating shell. Guess I am not so international after all, just good old American. All this junk food is taking its toll. I am getting plumper and this is not good. I have a wedding to attend in May. I have already tried on and bought the bridesmaids dress. The other night I attempted to wear a sundress to a party. I used to dress very conservatively while in India- salwars all the time. No shorts. No tank tops. Then a vouple of years ago one night out a same-age cousin looked at me and asked, "Is that what you are wearing?" I went out the next day and bought a sundress. The same sundress I was attempting to wear Friday night. I walked through the house and considered the fact that I would be kid- tending in the dress and decided it wouldn't work. After I changed Star asked me, "Momma, did you change because that dress was tight on your belly?" This is how I know I have got to either let my kids eat junk again, throw it all out or perhaps just get a little will power.

It all begins and ends with basil

When I first arrived in India I remembered one of the things I forgot-basil seeds. I quickly emailed my friend, Heather, and she said she would try to find some and and bring them to me. And then I heard a rumor I could get fresh basil in Easy Day (aka Indian Wal Mart). The rumor was true and I made delicious tomato sauce, only to mess it up if you all remember my previous post. To keep the basil fresh I clipped the stems and put it in a glass of water. To my surprise the stems began sprouting roots. I am not sure what this says about our water supply as I have never had this happen in Michigan. But whatever! I had fresh basil growing!
My next plan involved a pot and some dirt.
Our play area has been under massive construction. There are 3 feet deep trenches dug directly under the monkey bars. It has been hard to keep the children out of the ditches and safe with all the construction going on.
What? I am done working for the day? I think I will leave this board with 12 sharp nails right here on the grassy knoll. This sharp metal pole? I think I will place it right at the bottom of the slide. It will be safe until I return tomorrow for work.
So one day as we all sat amongst this construction asked another mom where I could get some dirt to plant. She laughed and gestured towards the piles of dirt that had previously filled in those ditches and that were surrounding us. I collected a bit, put it in a pot, added my rooting basil pants and brought them inside. Although I knew it about my place, somehow bringing a potted plant in confirmed it. We get NO direct sun. Sure for 30 minutes or so the morning sun hits our window ledges but with the bars covering the windows (very normal in India) I can't get the pot to fit. And then there is the fact that the dirt is actually red clay, which must have some nutrients as other vegetation grows here, but this red clay did absolutely nothing for my basil pants excelt hold them upright. They withered and died. My mother in law sent us petunia seeds as we live in Petunia block, so I put those in. My cook suggested we add some chili seeds to see if they grow. I tried for a week to shuffle the plants along the small patches of sun I could find but nothing came up. I decided it had to be nutrients. At the store, back to Easy Day, I found potting soil with pesticides, no fresh basil and a bag of neem organic matter. I opted for the neem. I brought it home, took it on the balcony, used Flip's sand buckets and mixed it all in. By this time Heather had passed on the basil seeds so I added them to the collection of seeds.
So now what do I have? 3 pots on my balcony with a whole lot of mold growing. And they stink like, well, let's just say they attract lots of flies. I need to dump them. But here in India, everyone is watching. People are everywhere! Where do I go? And how do I explain that yes I am dumping this pile of putrid and walking away? And how do I get more basil?