In India, a glass of chai is never more than 20 meters away. Makes no difference whether you’re in the bustling alleyways of Chandni Chowk, or on a windy mountain road in Himachal, or wandering the main thoroughfare of a tiny village. Somewhere, close by, will be a stall manned by a gentleman who’s made it his career to turn out glass after glass of piping hot, sweet and milky chai, at 3 to 5 rupees a pop.
Chai is a much more than a national beverage. It’s a social and business lubricant, smoothing personal interactions by the millions daily throughout the country. Here in Rewalsar, for example, the main chai-wallahs are strategically located at main thoroughfares, so that a customer enjoying a chai can see old friends, acquaintances, enemies and just plain interesting strangers from the comfort of a shady bench. If you’re already seated with a cuppa as a friend passes by, it’s good form to invite them to join you, at your treat. At some point in the near future, they’re sure to return the favor.
It’s in the souks and bazaars, however, where the chai-wallah really makes a decent living. Stop in any stall or shop, and the first thing to happen is a conversation with the vendor about what you’re looking for, and whether or not he has any in stock, and so on. Then comes a period of looking at all of the wares available. In a fabric store, especially, this step can take some time. Once a decision’s been reached, there’s the crucial step of determining whether the item you wish to purchase is actually physically in the shop right now, or whether someone will have to be dispatched to fetch it from elsewhere. And last but not least, comes the expected stage of haggling back and forth before any money changes hands. For all of these steps, once it looks like a buyer will be spending a considerable amount of time, or money , or both in the shop, the wallah offers chai, and sends out a helper or kid to fetch it. What comes back is usually a set of glasses nestled in a wire carrier, containing nuclear-hot chai, freshly boiled and made with milk and spices. The glasses are served bare, without holders; most people grasp the glass at the top, above the tea, where the temperature of the glass is still in the tolerable stage.
So you see where tea-selling can become quite lucrative. A chai-wallah strategically located in a souk full of fabric-sellers, or jewelry makers, or so on will find himself selling tea all day long, without having to fit all of the chai drinkers in his tiny stall. The vendors have an easy way of entertaining customers without having to whip up the chai themselves, and so turn the wheels of Indian commerce.
October 31st, 2006
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Just passing along this bizarre story, because I can…
Every (and I mean every) woman in Tso Pema who can manipulate yarn and a set of needles is doing so right now. Seriously, porches and storefronts and anywhere else a woman can park with her knitting, there’s a woman parked with her knitting, working on a sweater or a hat or whatever. Partly it’s a funciton of the season–most farming harvests are about done, but the really cold weather hasn’t started yet–and partly it’s driven by capitalism, because there’s apparently a large market in Delhi for handknit stuff from Himachal. I find myself looking at everyone’s sweaters these days–most of the ones you see here are definitely handmade, probably with yarn from the Fancy Wool Store. Many menfolk are wandering around in vests obviously handmande by an ama, or mata, or chachi, or whoever…Since some colors have a different meaning or no meaning at all compared to their significance in the States, and there’s a cultural convention where siblings or friends of the same sex can show public displays of affection, some fashion choices tend to startle Westerners. I think this is one of the few places on Earth where you can see two men going down the street, holding hands, one in a pink sweater, and one in a police uniform, with no comment whatsoever.
Anyway, knitting. Since I’d dragged along a few needles and skeins of sock yarn, I figured I would start another pair ‘o socks and join the ranks of fiber-oriented femininity stationed in the thorougfares of Tso Pema.
So I start a new pair with cotton-and-spandex Fixation yarn. I use circular needles for knitting socks; I’ve just dropped double-pointed needles one time too often. Many passersby were fascinated by my circular needles. It kept reminding me of a story Lena once told me about performing a piece of magic, and manifesting a bunch of food, neatly packed in Ziplock bags. This happened in India, years back, and so everyone got really excited about Lena’s feat, because manifesting beans is pretty usual, but manifesting something as rare and useful as ziplocks is pretty darned good. I had a number of people stop to inspect my knitting and check out how the needles worked. So one of the folks who did this was the chai-wallah next to the handweaver, just outside the Lotus hotel. No lie, this man actually came out from behind his pots of chai and dudh to sit next to me, and inspect my work and the needles and everything. He was amazed by the fact that I was knitting circular style with “no join”. After I told him the needles and yarn came from America, and I was using a different style to knit, I explained I was making socks.
“Too loose for socks,” he siad knowledgeably, and showed me how large the cuff was stretching open. When I got home I recalculated my stitches and darned if he wasn’t right. So I frogged and restarted…
Knitting tips from the local chai wallah? What next?
October 28th, 2006
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I’ve already written quite a bit about the local cuisine here in Rewalsar, and also about some of the Western foods I’ve missed since coming to India. I’m scheduled now to return to the States in about a month; and it’s no secret that I’ve already assembled a list of meals to catch up on when I come back. (Hint: the first ten on the list are all-you-can-eat sushi dinners….)
Meantime, in order to preserve some sanity, I’ve done some serious food-blog cruising, reasoning that if I couldn’t enjoy my comfort foods in person, some virtual food porn would provide relief. While it worked to some degree, I also got some strange new insights into what America’s attitudes toward food must look like to the rest of the world. America has long had a reputation for super-sized fast foods, super-thin beauty standards, and super-expensive food trends, but it wasn’t until the last couple of days that I noticed that America’s food attitudes were producing a synergy that was absolutely saturated with The Crazy. The horrible part for me was that each concept started off sounding as reasonable as could be, and then kept taking little baby steps into madness…
I can only describe what the progression felt like by analogy. Once upon a time, (mumble) years ago, Lena and I were attending a pro-union demonstration in downtown San Francisco. While we were there, a well-dressed Black woman came up and began to talk to the two of us. She started going on about how she owned “all of the buildings around here” (gesturing vaguely to most of the real estate located at Polk and Market). We went along with her because hey, this is San Francisco we’re talking about; anything’s possible, right? Then her little talk moved on to the subject of earthquake proofing for all of her buildings, and we went along with this idea, too, and allowed as how earthquake-proofing was a good thing. She then began to describe how she had equipped every building with roller skates, so that if the ground started shaking, everyone could just roll the buildings to safety, and that was when we realized we were dealing with a better-dressed-than-average street crazy. These brave new food ideas would start off the same way, moving along so smoothly, only to take that Bugs Bunny-like turn past Albuquerque and off into the wilderness.
Concept 1: “Eat local”. Now this one sounded great at first, and also more than a little ironic since most people in Rewalsar “eat local’ by default. It’s just too expensive and takes too long to truck much out-of-season produce to remote points in Himachal–especially without refrigeration–so the stuff most produce-wallahs sell is grown by farmers located just over in the next valley or so. The “eat local” idea is to buy as much of your food as possible from producers located within a 100-mile radius of your home. That way you support smaller farmers, ranchers, beekeepers and such while socking it to the suppliers of the hormone- and pesticide-ridden Stepford produce usually available in Safeway. Now we MommyWizards have done our share of this, patronizing Bay Area farmer’s markets when possible to support our local growers. But I ran into a problem with the latest version of this concept. For the trendier foodies, what this idea really translates to is markets with super-expensive organic specialties, and boxes of precious baby and heirloom produce, bought on a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) membership plan of several hundred dollars a year, just for one household. You hear a lot less about things like the People’s Grocery trucking produce into West Oakland. so that non-wealthy folks can get some fresh veggies without having to rob a 7-11 first. When I try to picture a typical Rewalsar family plunking down thousands of rupees for a CSA box–the equivalent of at least a month’s earnings for many around here–all of the “that ain’t right” alarm bells go off. Eating locally is a great concept, but the execution needs work.
Concept 2: “pro-ana and pro-mia”. I was kinda surprised, and kinda not, when I encountered this one. “Ana” and “mia” are shortened slang terms for “anorexia” and “bulimia”. Over the last little while controversial “pro-ana” and “pro-mia” websites have sprung up. Some of these sites are “pro-ana-or-mia” in the sense that they are actually support group sites for anorexics and bulimics who are not fully recovered. Well, okay. A particularly vicious side effect of many eating disorders is their tendency to isolate the sufferer. So a web site that keeps these folks from being isolated, helps them find support, and maybe a way out of their eating disorder is a good thing, right? Sure. But there are also “pro-ana” and “pro-mia” sites whose purpose is to inspire anorexics and bulimics to keep on keepin’ on, completely with tips for fooling your parents about how much you’re really eating, non-food food replacements, and so on. The more reasonable ISP’s are taking down the crazier “pro-ana-mia” sites, rightfully citing Terms of Service violations, since they’re basically endangering minors. But even the saner support sites have their “WTF?” moments. The scariest area on one site listed the stuff you shouldn’t do to lose weight. One of the no-no’s listed was tying a string to a LifeSaver, swallowing it, and using the string to promote your gag reflex to puke it up again, along with any other stomach contents. Words failed me for a moment. What has to happen in a kid’s life, where that even begins to look like a reasonable meal plan? Something in America’s food attitudes has gone seriously, seriously, wrong.
In India’s more Third-World parts, obesity is not a problem most people have. If anything people are looking to bulk up and gain weight. TV ads for things like cookies still use things like the “sugar=energy” equation as a selling point. I haven’t tried it, but I expect describing an American anorexia problem to, say, a newly-arrived Tibetan refugee, or to the Biharis working in the kitchen downstairs, would be met with a complete lack of comprehension, and more than a little bewilderment.
Concept 3: CRON (Calorie Reduction - Optimal Nutrition). This idea, like ‘eating locally”, started off sounding great.They’re done studies on CRON, and mice put on the diet tend to live the equivalent of 150, 300, even 500 years. Folks who have followed the diet so far get much thinner, look younger, have better sex lives….Wowie-kazowie! Eat less food, live longer. Simple, yes?
Yes.
The trick is to get the maximum amount of nutrients in the minimum amount of calories (not at all like the anorexic goal of getting thinner). Turns out the optimum number of calories can go lower than the calories taken in by Eritrean famine sufferers. Reasonable, yes?
Yes.
Most of your nutrients will be coming from things like fresh fruits, nuts, meat, eggs, and vegetables. Sounds tasty, yes?
Yes, except for the nuts–I’m allergic.
Okay, so the way you make sure you’re following the diet correctly is to weigh your food before eating it, and calculate out the nutrient values.
Well…I don’t normally weigh my food, but I can see the sense of that.
So now we get to the expensive part of the CR diet, where to make sure you’re getting all of the nutrients your body needs, you pay US$25-US$50 for a bottle of supplements.
Hold up. How much?
US$25-US$50. Per bottle. Oh, yeah, and another bunch of $$$ for nutritional calculation software. And a computer or laptop to run it on. And the scales for weighing food. And because the diet’s so radical, you’ll need to order up a bunch of blood tests from your doctor before you start.
Sounds expensive.
But you’re living longer, dude! Just earn more money! And did we mention the cool bit where one of the diet’s leading proponents is turning orange, from all the beta-carotene he’s taking in from eating carrots and beets?
Um, wait…so…to live longer, I have to spend more money, to eat less food, and if I do it right, I turn a different color?
Yeah! Um, no! Wait a minute….
Can I get back to you? I’ve got to go to an inline-skate fitting for the House of Shields, down on Montgomery…
October 25th, 2006
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It’s nearly impossible to go anywhere without seeing them, hard at work. Young boys, anywhere from eight years old on up, sweeping out storefronts, washing dishes for dhaba service, delivering glasses of chai, cooking, cleaning, fetching and so on. All of them much darker-skinned than I am. When I first saw these kids, my African-American upbringing made me assume I was seeing discrimination also hard at work, keeping the kids in place because of their color. But, of course, this is India; and the situation is a lot more complex than a simple race line.
The boys are usually from Bihar, one of the poorest states in India. (I’ll leave it as an exercise for the socio-political student to determine whether the Biharis are poor because they’re darker-skinned, or darker-skinned because they’re poor.) Over the years a contract system has evolved so that poor families with too many mouths to feed can earn money: the kids are hired to work elsewhere, and their employers provide them with room and board while sending their earnings home to Bihar to the family. The contracts run for about three years, with work taking the place of any education, and then the kids can return home.
Yes, we’re talking about a form of indentured servitude. And yes, the opportunities for abuse and exploitation are myriad.
At a rate of 300 to 400 rupees per month, the average shop or dhaba gets a hard-working employee at a fraction of the cost of an adult with a family to support. The family receives some welcome income while not having to support the kid earning the money at the same time. I’ve been told the contracts are actually overseen by the state of Bihar to some extent, so there is some overnment oversight to prevent abuse. Older laws already in place make it illegal to employ children in dangerous industries like meat-packing or chemical production. So, the whole situation seems to be some kinder, gentler form of child labor that’s almost sensible, except for the part where the kid loses out on education and normal family life while doing hard, dirty scutwork an adult would barely tolerate.
However, all of that is supposed to change now. A new federal law just took effect, making it illegal to employ children under the age of 14 in shops and dhabas. Violators face a fine of R10,000. Child labor in India is a long-standing issue the government has been trying to do something about, in its bid to make India more of a First-World power. However, this particular law is one officials are going to run into trouble enforcing. Why? Well, for the simplest reason there is: the law removes a regulated way for the kids to earn money, and replaces it with…nothing.
Errrr….nothing? What about education? Unfortunately, a recent study of Bihar’s educational system showed that the schools in Bihar are so bad, many families prefer the contract system. Sending a child to school represents additional expense for things like uniforms, textbooks and supplies, over and above the food-and-shelter equation. Most families do the math, and ship the kids off to work.
So this is the part of the story where India begins to learn about all of the hidden chain-reaction expenses in becoming “First World”. Child labor is bad. So you make it illegal, levying stiff fines to motivate business owners to toe the line. Suddenly hotel and restaurant meals become a little more expensive. Meantime, you’ve got to motivate the kids–and their families–to take advantage of any available education. That means spending more money to fix the educational system. Where does the money come from? Well, where does it usually come from?
Taxpayers, usually. But getting money out of taxpayers takes time. And fixing a school system takes even more time (Just ask any Californian…) And getting the money spent properly takes even more time. Meanwhile, poor families back in Bihar are still trying to solve the basic food and shelter equation.
Unfortunately, we already know how that equation gets solved in the First World: crime, and lots of it. Robbery, drugs, prostitution–all of the high risk, high-return activities that are a lot more profitable then sitting in a broken-down classroom for a few years. Here’s hoping that this time, with India doing the math, they can come up with a different answer…
October 13th, 2006
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It’s only fair, since I did a similar post on Mexican buses when I was in San Miguel, that I write a bit about Indian buses, too. “Town” from here is Mandi, about 45 minutes away driving the 24 kilometer road that winds through the hills. The bus takes more like an hour and a half, because of all the stops at local villages. As for the ride itself, I’ll try to describe it by analogy.
Imagine, if you will, that you’re at Disneyland, most likely near FantasyLand. Now picture getting into one of those innocuous rides like “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride”, or “Peter Pan”.
Now picture doing the same thing, about 400 feet up.
Oh, and the equipment you’re riding on is the original stuff from about 1955.
And there’s other sets of coasters coming the opposite direction on the same track your coasters are using.
And then there’s the occasional living obstacles like cows, goats, and children, who wander in the way from time to time.
And…did I mention that all safety restraints and guard rails and stuff like that have been permanently removed? No? My bad.
That kind of sums up the experience, in a nutshell. The twisty mountain roads of northern India are paved a bit smoother than the gravelly tracks of Mexico, but there are no guardrails, or other vehicle stoppers. Along the best maintained stretches, they’ve placed rocks painted white at regular intervals. The rocks are too small to actually prevent a vehicle of any size from going over the high side–they’re more of a warning device. It’s common to look out the window, and, if you make the mistake of looking down, end up looking at the tops of farmers and cows a couple hundred feet below. The place to look is across, where you can get the best view of the misty hillsides and valley vistas.
Another place to avoid looking at is through the front windshield, which will display examples of yaw, pitch, and roll normally seen only outside the windows of a student-flown Cessna. Ironically, if you are looking in that direction at all, there will be plenty of stuff to distract you, because no Indian vehicle is really complete without some little shrine to the gods on the dashboard. And despite the fact that roadside shrines and temples tend to appear every few kilometers or so, a few minutes on any mountain road is enough to convince one of the absolute need for a dashboard deity. The decorations range from the subtle to the sublime to the ridiculous.
Even the smallest private vehicle will have something on the dashboard to propitiate the demons of the road. It may be no more than a bit a red cloth decked with gold tinsel, or a small plastic statue of Ganesh, Laxmi, or Shiva. But no bus is complete without a full-on shrine up front, decked out with strand after strand of tinsel, holiday lights, and plastic flowers. Long-distance truckers–commonly called “public carriers” here–also pimp out their rides on the outside, adding fancy wrought iron work, bright colors, blinking lights, paintings of Shiva and Garuda, along with patriotic fervor like “India is great.” I find the Garuda decoratoins on autorickshaws the most ironic. Some autorickshaw drivers deck the roofs of ther cars with these little statues of Garuda in flight. The plastic wobbles in the slightest breeze generated by movement, so it’s not unusal to see an autorickshaw putt-putting along at 20 kph, with its Garuda decorations flapping like mad, as if they’re assisting the engine in getting the passengers somewhere.
But I digress….back to our bus.
A bus crew includes one guy, stationed in the rear of the bus, in addition to the driver. This second crewman I think of as ‘the purser,’ since his jobs involves carrying a purse with a shoulder strap. This guy has several jobs, including helping people on and off, collecting fares, and so on. The most important job by far is acting as the driver’s rearview mirror, since the bus doesn’t really have any. A single whistle lets the driver know to either stop, and let someone off, or go, because everyone’s on board. The purser uses more complicated signals for backing up and turning while in reverse. When two buses meet on a mountain road, they back and fill delicately around each other, like two old ladies shifting past one another in a very narrow hallway. The whistle of the purser is what keeps a bus from simply shuffling over a cliff edge by mistake, so I’ve come to find the shrill tweets and toots to be a reassuring sound.
October 4th, 2006
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