I am the White Girl Who Opened the Pressure Cooker

I am the white girl who opened the pressure cooker

Everyone told me not to do it.

Just two days ago, I had a conversation

And vehemently affirmed that I would never

- Ever -

 Open the pressure cooker while it was cooking.

Why would I want an explosion, steam, burns?

That would just be stupid.

That was two days ago…

But today is always a different story.

I was cooking black-eyed-peas

In an effort to re-create a yummy masala that I made last week.

Boil the beans, empty the water.  Boil the beans, empty the water.

Simmer for 45 minutes.

I put the cover on the pressure cooker during the simmer step…

And realized about halfway into it that it hadn’t steamed at all.

For some reason,

I took this as a sign that I shouldn’t have put the cover on,

That it wasn’t working,

And I should take it off and simmer coverless.

What I didn’t realize

Was

That if it hadn’t steamed at all in 20 minutes,

There was a heck of a lot of pressure in the cooker.

I wrestled with the cover.

This should have been my first sign

That the cover shouldn’t be removed.

But I failed to heed the warning

And continued to wrestle it off.

I had the sense enough to know

That it was indeed going to explode at least a little bit,

(Why did I continue?)

And I was prepared to jump back when it did.

Well, let me tell you…

It definitely exploded.

The cover came off.

Steam poured.

Beans flew.

Water boiled.

I jumped…but not fast enough.

My kitchen is a mess -

but it made for a good Twitpic.

I have quite the burn on my hand -

but I’ve been told that all Indian ladies

have burnmarks on their hands from the cookers…

Looks like I’m now officially an Indian lady.

I’ve already been mocked

(by my boss)

Scolded

(by my friend)

And “tut-tutted” over

(by my neighbors).

The burn mark tells it all,

And because my cooking skills were already in question

(I have this problem with burning rice…)

I’ll probably never live it down.

Yes, I am the white girl who opened the pressure cooker.

Cheating the Grocer

Whenever I go grocery shopping, I feel as if I have cheated the grocer.  Like I am getting away with way more food than I have paid for.  Which means that when I go back to the grocery store, I worry that the cheapness of the last time was a freak accident and that I won’t even have enough money to buy my food.

This happens while I am in the checkout line.  Today I had my okra, tomatoes, onions, sweet oranges, garbanzo beans, white lentils, black eyed peas, a ready-made opma breakfast mix, a soft-drink mango juice, and two candy bars.  Enough to feed me for a week, with the exception of perhaps a few more veggies along the way (I stocked up on my rices and spices long ago).  With the dried and packaged goods, gauging price is no problem because I can count up the stickers.  When it comes to fruits and veggies, though, I have no idea how to measure what it will cost.

I was not to worry today, though, because – whether by freak accident or by true math – my grand total was 196 rupees.  The conversion? $3.97.  Four dollars to feed me for a week.  My mind is racing as I walk home – I thought food prices are rising? Four dollars for a week? Man, if I bought this at home it would have cost so much money – who can I tell about my great buy?

Then, I look around.  I was walking through the slum area of my neighborhood, and immediately my thoughts changed.  196 rupees is, to the average Indian (according to purchasing power parity), a little more than $10.  Still not a bad deal if I would have bought my goods in America.  But my neighbors in this area may not make that in a day; perhaps not even in a week (I’m not positive on the socioeconomic status of the area I live). 

As I slowed down and looked around, stopped to chat with some children, my thoughts slowed down too.  They slowed and they transformed.  Now I become thankful, not just that I can buy so many fresh fruits and veggies for a “good price”, but that I am able to buy food.

Experiencing Expatriotism

I am an expat.

Yes, I confess it.

As much as I don’t want to be, I am one.

I can’t help it.

According to the dictionary, an expatriate is “a person who lives outside of his or her native country.”

Guilty.

But I solemnly swear that I am not like them.

I do not brunch at the Oberoi

Or lounge at the Leela Palace.

I don’t have a car and driver,

And I would much rather go to a play at the local Indian theatre

Than spend the night clubbing with other feringhees (foreigners).

I don’t see my time in India as transitory;

Rather, I am fully present (or at least try to be).

I’d prefer to converse with you about a topic of substance

Instead of complain about how difficult life in India is,

How “different” it is to work with “them”.

Please.

Have we ever thought about how “different” it is

For “them” to work with “us”?

I brush my teeth with tap water

…and sometimes I drink it.

I eat with my hands.

I like taking autos.

And I ride the bus.

What brought me to India, you ask?

Well, I was here last year for a 6 month internship…

What’s that you say?

Yes, yes, I chose to come back.

This is My Town

I love Bangalore.  and I love that it's home.
Today I spent time with my friend from SIT who just arrived Friday for his practicum.  I met him on MG Road, we met some friends by UB city, walked Brigade and Commercial, and I dropped him at Shivaji Nagar.  It was SO fun to show someone around my town and to share with him my India :)
The best part?
We were in FabIndia and he was trying on some gorgeous kurtas.  I picked one up that was next to me so I could feel the embroidery, and the salesman said, "That is a large, madam" to which I replied "Yeah, that's too big - I need a small."  The security guard laughed and said something to the salesman, who then turned to me and asked, "Excuse me madam, but are you a regular here?"
I was taken aback.  "Well, I haven't been here for 8 months, but when I lived here last year I came often and always brought friends..."
"Yes, madam.  It is just that this guy here just told me that I don't need to tell you about sizes because you were a regular and used to come often."
I am a regular at FabIndia.
The second best part?
After making sure Cabbie got to the right platform and knew his bus number, I walked back down Commercial to catch an auto at dispensary.  I haggled for a price, feeling like this guy was a bit familiar but not knowing how.  Once we started driving, he turned to make conversation.
And I knew.
This was the driver I had last December who taught me how to drive an auto rickshaw.
I answered his question about how long I had been and how long I was staying, and then I said, "But I lived here 6 months in 2010, and I think that you drove me in December.  You taught me how to drive your auto...?"  He looked back at me, looked at the road, looked back again and said, "Ahhh yes madam!  On Hennur Main Road - Kothanur!"
"Yes!" I said, laughing.
"Do you want to drive today? After Mekhri circle?" he asked.
"No, no. It's dark, and there is traffic, and the road is so busy!"
But when he pulled over after Mekhri circle and motioned for me to get into the front seat, I couldn't resist.
And I drove myself the rest of the way home :)

Running into People I know

My coworker takes French lessons at the Alliance Francaise, and this week they were having some cultural events.  It is right down the street from the office, so after work we ambled over to check it out.
We were early for the concert, but there was an art exhibition opening.  Of course we'll take the free wine, thank you.  They also had bread and cheese, which was very cute and French.  We stood chatting with each other, wanting to meet new people but unsure how to go about it, as everyone seemed to stay with the people they came with.  None of Suma's classmates were there, so she was bummed she didn't know anyone.
"Wait a minute," I said.  "I think I know those people - see the man in the hat with traces of pink in his beard?  I'm pretty positive that they sat by me on the plane from Delhi on the way here....yeah, there's his wife.  I sat by her...I slept the whole time though. Should I say hi?"
We ventured over and stood on the outer ring of their conversation circle.  When they looked at us inquisitively, I said, "Hi - I'm Jen.  I think I sat by you on the plane from Delhi 3 weeks ago...?"  He looked at me and said, "Yes, yes you did!  I remember your hair.  And you must remember my beard." (I'm glad he said that before I did!)  His wife said, "I think that you must have been very tired, because if I remember you were sleeping the entire flight."  Yeah, sorry I was antisocial.
We chatted for a while, though, and it turns out that they are very active at the Alliance Francaise.  She took our numbers so that she can let us know what is going on, and "we don't have to wait for that - we can have coffee."
Suma turned to me and said, "Of course.  I'm the Bangalorean.  I'm the one who is a student here.  But I don't see a single person I know.  You have been living here 3 weeks, and already you are running into friends."
What can I say? It's a small world.  And if you look around, you might start to see (my favorite quote by Anne Lamott, found in the book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life).

Getting Settled

Today I FINALLY finalized on a cute little apartment!!!!
I found one I mostly liked last weekend, near an area I was familiar with, for the right price.
But when I visited again, I started having my doubts. It was kind of cramped, not a lot of light or ventilation, and I would had had to buy a lot of extra things - aka a refrigerator and a stove, which is kind of pricy.
Today, in the afternoon of when I had to say yay or nay, though, my friend burst into the office and said, "Jen! I found you a house!"
She had been eavesdropping on a conversation while shopping, which led her to a broker (who actually knows her father) which led us to this house.

It is in an area I am not that familiar with, but it is a bit closer to work (and still in a residential neighborhood so I am away from the hustle and bustle and honking...and there is lots of foliage!), has 24-hour security and covered parking for when I get my bike, and already has a stove and refrigerator.
The furniture is kind of reminiscent of Bethel's "chastity couches" but I'm excited to see what kind of magic I can work to make it a nice and cozy warm and welcoming space.
More pics to come!

#thingsidontloveaboutindia

Tonight it started monsooning at about 7:14.
We were supposed to leave the office at 7, but our call went late.
I was supposed to be home by 8 because the bank was coming over to verify that I hadn't given them a fraudulent address when I opened my account.

I love being caught in the monsoon unexpectedly. Seriously.  I know a lot of people hate it and find it inconvenient, and yes, sometimes it is inconvenient, but there's just this feeling of "well, I guess I really don't have control over anything, and the best thing I can do is stand here in / watching the rain until it's finished." and if you've read my blog from the last time around, you  know that there are some pretty classic moments that come from being monsooned.

But tonight, it was different.  I had to run outside in the pouring rain to try to catch an auto - it's kind of hard to convince them to drive me to Amruthahalli (where?!?) anyway, but in the rain it was double the fight.  Two turned me down, and when the third demanded way too much money I gave in so I wouldn't get soaked to the bone.

He complained the whole way there.  Oh, look at the traffic madam.  Oh, this is so far away madam.  Oh, I can't see through the windshield because there is too much rain madam.

Save it, buddy.  You chose to drive me here.  But at this point I decided that I wasn't going to ask him to drive me down the dirt road to the apartment - I would walk.

When he dropped me, he asked me for more money.  I was already paying double, I told him.  No way was he getting more.  I told him from the start where we were going, and this is what he signed up for.  Ten rupees, madam?  No.  A kiss, madam?  Definitely not.

On the list of #thingsIdontloveaboutindia?  Deciding not to barter for a dollar in order to stay dry, only to be stuck with a greedy driver who has the audacity to ask for a kiss after you've paid him double what he already deserved.