We arrived back from Japan at 11.30 3 days ago, I think. Honestly, all the days are mixed together so let's just say we arrived a couple of days ago. That feels more truthful. I never want to live more than an hour away from an airport. I hate arriving "home" and then having another 2+ hours until you actually reach "home". So after we waited the customary hour for our luggage, Star discovered our bag had fallen off the belt and was hidden from view. We grabbed it, made our way through the illegitimate taxi drivers and went to the pre-paid taxi. We loaded our SUV with our suitcases, asked the driver several times if he needed a coffee or gas, and then headed for Mysore.
This drive is painful whenever you do it. In the daytime you have to contend with other cars and buses, as well as the pedestrian traffic around the towns. At night, there is less traffic but you can't see the many potholes and speed bumps that can rip you right out of your seat if you hit them at the wrong speed/angle. Plus at night one person has to remain awake to periodically engage the driver to make sure he is still awake. Luckily for me, we take traditional lines. I manage the kids in the back. Marvel engages the driver. Also, lucky for the driver because at that time I couldn't string 2 Kannada words together. We had been speaking Japanese for 2 weeks straight and that was the only foreign language I could call to my tongue.
When I woke to find Flip's head resting on my head and her feet shoved in my stomach, I pried myself up to see we had arrived in Mysore. At 3 am, the roads were dark and empty and I had no feelings of "returning home". I waited, hoping that once we reached the gates of Sankalp I would feel that relief, but sadly it didn't come. It didn't come as we opened our front door and it didn't come as I fell into bed. Re-entry into India was going to be harder than I thought.
Lakshmi and Srinivas came. They cooked and cleaned. It was good to see them, although with my severe lack of Kannada all I could do was mutter a few hellos. We didn't venture out of the complex all day. And in the daytime and after meeting up with friends, Sankalp did manage to feel a bit more like home. But when we finally ventured out of the complex, Flip helped me put my feelings into words.
"Momma, these people are killing us."
"What?"
"That man (pointing to a man standing in my way). He is killing us all the time."
You see I have this habit of talking to people when I am driving.
"What are you doing? You are killing me, just killing me! Get out of my way." I guess Flip has picked it up.
The workers at the store. They were just killing me. The moment I walked away from Flip or she walked away from me they pounced on her. I know they are just eager for interaction and their general intentions are kind, but Flip's head is buried into my leg and they are still asking her name and trying to pull her hand.
The man begging for money and following me to my car. He was just killing me. After I get in my car, shut and lock the doors (not that he really would do anything) he then switches to assistant trying to guide me out of the parking spot but really he just blocks my view and forces me to crane my neck.
The goats with their shitty little tails stuck in the air, walking down the middle of the road. They were just killing me. I can manage a cow, but the whole herd of goats I can not get around.
Re-entry into India is going to be harder than I thought. Flip's folks arrived and we are enjoying having them here. Soon, I pack up and head to the US for a wedding. Soon, my dad will meet me in Frankfurt and we will come back to India together. There is lots to look forward to. And I know I will adjust again to find the India that I enjoy. But right now it is hard.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Book of Opposites
The first time I came to India it was from Japan. Marvel and I were still living in separate cities. We were still long distance dating. His brother was getting married. Marvel was so sure we were going to get married and be together for ever he had convinced me to use my vacation time and money to attend not one but two of his brother's wedding. We had already attended the western style wedding in Seattle and we were off to attend the Indian style wedding in Mysore. By this time we had lived in Japan for 6 months and I was quite exhausted after trying to unsuccessfully live up to the Japanese level of manners. I remember seeing the two flight attendants sitting side by side. The Japanese lady sitting up with a straight back and hands neatly placed on her lap. The Indian lady had her knees slightly parted, shoulders rounded down and head drooping. I fell in love with India on that first trip.
So now I am traveling to Japan from India after 4 months of living there. And all I can think of is if I was writing a children's book of opposites it would go something like this-
Black- White
Up- Down
India- Japan
Examples? You want examples?
I saw a man not only throw something in the trash can, but miss and go back to pick it up and try again.
Star and I both flinched when we saw a bus heading our direction. But here, despite the size and authority of the bus, the driver stops just in front of the crosswalk and allows the pedestrians to cross. And vice versa, pedestrians do not start crossing if the "walking man" indicator is blinking. If they find themselves in the middle of the crosswalk and the indicator begins blinking, they run. Yes, run, to get out of the way of the traffic.
There are beautiful sakura everywhere. And so many folks are out enjoying them. We see groups of people picnicking under the blooms, taking photos of babies playing as the petals fall and even some young punks passed out from a morning of drinking under the trees. But no where is anyone picking the blossoms. They are there for everyone to enjoy as long as the weather will hold them on the branches. I am reminded of many signs in India that impose fines for picking the lotus flowers. I would try to sum it up in one general statement that Indians live for the moment and what the moment can offer them, not considering the effect their actions might have on others. But I am only a Person of Indian origin (PIO) as designated the India government, not truly an Indian so my surface understanding might be heavily confused.
In India toilets are to be avoided at all costs. And if you must visit a toilet, you should do it quickly and not touch anything. In Japan, the toilets almost invite you to stay a while with their motivating, soft sounds of waterfalls, heated seats, built in bidets and even a gentle wind to dry you off.
But just so you don't think I am one sided, I miss India. Japan is painfully quiet. While this is fabulous at nighttime- no train whistle, no fighting dogs, no call to prayer. It can be humiliating in the daytime with 2 kids, especially when one of those kids is Flippity Floo. Every sound we make seems to bounce of the train walls and sound like roaring despite all my shhhing and reminders to talk quietly. Sitting with my friend Mayumi at lunch, I was reminded of a hurricane. She was the calm center sitting quietly and eating her lunch. My family was the outer spirals popping up and down to get napkins, water, change chairs, knocking over drinks and demanding desires.
I also miss the colors of India. Black is the color of fashion here. If someone does wear a bit of color, it is often a muted pink or brown. Or the color is toned down with black tights and black boots. I miss the cheerful look of the streets of Mysore. Who knew how fashion could effect my mood?
So now I am traveling to Japan from India after 4 months of living there. And all I can think of is if I was writing a children's book of opposites it would go something like this-
Black- White
Up- Down
India- Japan
Examples? You want examples?
I saw a man not only throw something in the trash can, but miss and go back to pick it up and try again.
Star and I both flinched when we saw a bus heading our direction. But here, despite the size and authority of the bus, the driver stops just in front of the crosswalk and allows the pedestrians to cross. And vice versa, pedestrians do not start crossing if the "walking man" indicator is blinking. If they find themselves in the middle of the crosswalk and the indicator begins blinking, they run. Yes, run, to get out of the way of the traffic.
There are beautiful sakura everywhere. And so many folks are out enjoying them. We see groups of people picnicking under the blooms, taking photos of babies playing as the petals fall and even some young punks passed out from a morning of drinking under the trees. But no where is anyone picking the blossoms. They are there for everyone to enjoy as long as the weather will hold them on the branches. I am reminded of many signs in India that impose fines for picking the lotus flowers. I would try to sum it up in one general statement that Indians live for the moment and what the moment can offer them, not considering the effect their actions might have on others. But I am only a Person of Indian origin (PIO) as designated the India government, not truly an Indian so my surface understanding might be heavily confused.
In India toilets are to be avoided at all costs. And if you must visit a toilet, you should do it quickly and not touch anything. In Japan, the toilets almost invite you to stay a while with their motivating, soft sounds of waterfalls, heated seats, built in bidets and even a gentle wind to dry you off.
But just so you don't think I am one sided, I miss India. Japan is painfully quiet. While this is fabulous at nighttime- no train whistle, no fighting dogs, no call to prayer. It can be humiliating in the daytime with 2 kids, especially when one of those kids is Flippity Floo. Every sound we make seems to bounce of the train walls and sound like roaring despite all my shhhing and reminders to talk quietly. Sitting with my friend Mayumi at lunch, I was reminded of a hurricane. She was the calm center sitting quietly and eating her lunch. My family was the outer spirals popping up and down to get napkins, water, change chairs, knocking over drinks and demanding desires.
I also miss the colors of India. Black is the color of fashion here. If someone does wear a bit of color, it is often a muted pink or brown. Or the color is toned down with black tights and black boots. I miss the cheerful look of the streets of Mysore. Who knew how fashion could effect my mood?
In Japan
Well, we made it to Japan. Hard to imagine we spent nearly $200,000 to earn enough points to book this flight, but we did. Because we booked our flight using miles we had to make a stop in Bangkok, Thailand. After 2 personal pan pizzas from Pizza Hut in Bangalore, we hopped on the plane at 11.30 pm. The flight was gloriously empty so we all got a row of 3 seats to ourselves. I passed out happily with a seat belt shoved into my back. Marvel, who can't give up a free meal, stayed up replaying the defense of his proposal meeting in his head. The girls, who take full advantage of travel, begged to watch a video on the iPad and then fell into a deep slumber drooling all over the airline pillows. 3 hours later we drug our sleepy selves around Bangkok airport eating soft pretzels and blueberry muffins until our next flight. The girls again passed out, legs entangled, Calliou playing and earphones still on. And 5 hours later, we stepped off the plane in Osaka, Japan. No matter how many times I travel, the miracle of flight still amazes me.
You know what else amazes me? You can't do anything with Indian rupees outside of India. So Marvel and I both have stacks and stacks of rupee notes but can't exchange them for yen. At least we know no one else can either so we don't worry about keeping them locked away.
Our next 24 hours was filled with treasures- stinky cheese, pea crisps, hummus, bathtubs, black out curtains, sleeping 13 hours, Japanese breakfast buffet, cherry blossoms, Japanese snacks, heated toilet seats, and most fun has been remembering Japan with my husband by my side. I am so lucky to have shared this place with him, not once, but twice.
We are now in Anjo City with our good friends Mayumi, Hiroshi and Mika. Star and Mika are playing like old times. Flip is doing her best to join in, but instead is a right pain in the ass, as most little sisters are. The only bummer is, we have all caught a terrible cold. Star was up all last night with a fever and a loose tooth. I am achy all over and washing the skin off my hands in an attempt not to get our gracious hosts ill.
But we are here, in Japan and nothing is going to dampen my spirits.
You know what else amazes me? You can't do anything with Indian rupees outside of India. So Marvel and I both have stacks and stacks of rupee notes but can't exchange them for yen. At least we know no one else can either so we don't worry about keeping them locked away.
Our next 24 hours was filled with treasures- stinky cheese, pea crisps, hummus, bathtubs, black out curtains, sleeping 13 hours, Japanese breakfast buffet, cherry blossoms, Japanese snacks, heated toilet seats, and most fun has been remembering Japan with my husband by my side. I am so lucky to have shared this place with him, not once, but twice.
We are now in Anjo City with our good friends Mayumi, Hiroshi and Mika. Star and Mika are playing like old times. Flip is doing her best to join in, but instead is a right pain in the ass, as most little sisters are. The only bummer is, we have all caught a terrible cold. Star was up all last night with a fever and a loose tooth. I am achy all over and washing the skin off my hands in an attempt not to get our gracious hosts ill.
But we are here, in Japan and nothing is going to dampen my spirits.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Annual Day
My Annual Day was on 29 of March,Thursday 5:00 to 6:30. An annual day is when you show your Mom and Dad what you have learned over the year. Here is a picture of my class at annual day singing "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" and "God Has a Plan for My Life."
In my dance drama I was a lion. I loved being a lion. Our dance teacher is very nice. Her name is Roma Didi. I loved when we painted our faces. My friend, Nagesh, was a gorilla. He had to paint his lips because he had no tail and no props. He couldn't eat the chips during snack. My friend, Roohee, acted very well as an elephant.
I did a play called Big Sir B and the Monster Maid. In this play, I was a narrator with my friends Anya and Roohee.
For the conclusion of our Annual Day the whole primary school sang "Heal the World". My friends, Jay and Aditya, brought out a paper mache globe that we made.
In the morning, my sister had her Annual Day. Some of the songs I knew but some I didn't. It was the whole Kindergarten's annual day. My sister's class, Pre-KG, did a song about the rainbow.
The theme for the Kindergarten Annual Day was seasons. Pre-KG was supposed to be winter but it was too hot to wear their hats and sweaters. Also, they couldn't turn on the AC because a rat had died in the ducts and it stunk.
Now that Annual Day is finished, so is school. We are on summer holidays for 2 months. I plan to swim everyday and have lots of fun playing with my friends. Everyday we gather in someone's house to play board games. I hope you are close to summer holidays, too.
In my dance drama I was a lion. I loved being a lion. Our dance teacher is very nice. Her name is Roma Didi. I loved when we painted our faces. My friend, Nagesh, was a gorilla. He had to paint his lips because he had no tail and no props. He couldn't eat the chips during snack. My friend, Roohee, acted very well as an elephant.
I did a play called Big Sir B and the Monster Maid. In this play, I was a narrator with my friends Anya and Roohee.
For the conclusion of our Annual Day the whole primary school sang "Heal the World". My friends, Jay and Aditya, brought out a paper mache globe that we made.
In the morning, my sister had her Annual Day. Some of the songs I knew but some I didn't. It was the whole Kindergarten's annual day. My sister's class, Pre-KG, did a song about the rainbow.
The theme for the Kindergarten Annual Day was seasons. Pre-KG was supposed to be winter but it was too hot to wear their hats and sweaters. Also, they couldn't turn on the AC because a rat had died in the ducts and it stunk.
Now that Annual Day is finished, so is school. We are on summer holidays for 2 months. I plan to swim everyday and have lots of fun playing with my friends. Everyday we gather in someone's house to play board games. I hope you are close to summer holidays, too.
Parade of Little Girls
Today was the 9th day of Vasanta Navaratri a festival of nine days dedicated to the nine forms of Shakti (Mother Goddess) in the spring season. Little girls, 10 and under, were called from all over Sankalp to come for pujas in homes. I was told because these little girls are so pure and innocent many believe the goddess is in them. Guess they haven't seen my kids at bedtime, eh?
But we did our part. The girls dressed up in fancy Indian clothes and went off to peoples' homes. The invitations came by word of mouth. Last night on the playground two women approached me and mentioned they heard I had 2 little girls and could I bring them by their apartment. After this puja finished the girls began chatting about who else had called them for a puja. My little goddesses listened up and made sure they were included in the next round of pujas. I would love to say it was because of the delicious food they were served-fried pooris, channa and sweets. Or perhaps for the cultural experience? No, it was because at every house they received an offering of 10 rupees.
This is the 2nd puja. All the little girls eating together.
But we did our part. The girls dressed up in fancy Indian clothes and went off to peoples' homes. The invitations came by word of mouth. Last night on the playground two women approached me and mentioned they heard I had 2 little girls and could I bring them by their apartment. After this puja finished the girls began chatting about who else had called them for a puja. My little goddesses listened up and made sure they were included in the next round of pujas. I would love to say it was because of the delicious food they were served-fried pooris, channa and sweets. Or perhaps for the cultural experience? No, it was because at every house they received an offering of 10 rupees.
This is the 2nd puja. All the little girls eating together.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
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?
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?
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
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.
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.
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