It's Sabbath afternoon. David and I are sitting on the porch of the principal's house in Cuddapah district (not actually occupied by the principal). We have been be staying here for the last week and a half. There is an academy group coming next week who will move in here so we'll have to vacate to an obscure corner somewhere. That means giving up the nice big bed and putting a couple single mattresses on the floor. I tell him he needs to hang a curtain to separate the small kitchen area and make a bedroom for us. He suggests buying "loongies" (wrap around skirts for men) to use as curtains. We both know it's just an excuse for him to buy more "man skirts." He says they are comfortable. He bought his first pair while I was away in Gurgaon. I wasn't too excited about it because men around here grap the bottom corners and lift the fabric up above their knees. The result is something like a baggy miniskirt. David has resisted the temptation to do this (willingly, see below) for which I am grateful. I suggested sharing clothes but he frowned about that. I think it's going to take some time before he's comfortable sharing. He sure looks manly in a long skirt! : )
Sabbath afternoon is very quiet. The contractors are forbidden to work and the children are forbidden to yell and shout. After church service the teacher told all the children to go back into their rooms and enjoy themselves but not to make any noise. We laughed as they immediately began jumping between the top bunks, swinging on the window bars, and (in the case of the boys) running around naked. Finally order was reinstituted. I think the command to enjoy themselves was revoked.
We went off soon after that to find food for ourselves. If we had not made a timely exit we would have been constrained to eat with the children. Everyone here is very gracious about sharing their food but I can't eat it. Everytime I eat Indian food I hate it more. They use oil as if it were water (often palm oil) and chilis as if they were salt. The chilis are everywhere. I can't escape them. Not all chilis are equal. It's the small green chilis that are my archnemesis. My chest feels heavy and my throat constricts after just one bite. They are in every cooked dish from rice pilaf, to lentils, to vegetable curries.
We have really appreciated the generosity of the principal in giving us a small gas canister and burner so that I can cook. Keeping vegetables around is a challenge. We can't just drive to the grocery store. First I have to find someone to go with me to translate (more bodies means more arms to carry bags), then we have to catch a bus. Once in town we buy as much as we can from vendors who supply bags and try to make sure the tomatoes are stacked on top of the potatos and not the other way around. Then we start stuffing spare things in bags wherever there is room (grandma's crocheted bag comes in very handy for this). Finally I buy whatever papayas we can carry. After the necessities, we usually cannot carry as many as we would like. When we board the bus with all of our bags we hope we can find a place to sit. Usually some of the school boys meet us when we get back on campus and help us carry the well traveled bags to their place on the polished stone shelf that serves as a kitchen counter.
I ran out of gas once, I was right in the middle of frying up some eggplant. David went out to see if he could find someone to help us get more. He returned a few minutes later and told me that the children were dancing. Dancing? I had to see this. Back at the children's home Hindi music was being played on the donated DVD player (that machine gets a lot of use) and one of the translators who had come early was leading a sort of dance class. The kids put up a good cheer when we went inside for a closer look and we were immediately pushed up to the front. I kept saying "We don't know how to dance." but I think the language barrier prevented my appeals from having any effect. David, and this is the best part, was wearing a loongie. Everyone kept making motions that he would have to pull it up and tuck it in to which he turned pale and made desperate hand motions to the contrary. In the end he was pulled into a room and after a long time and much encouragement finally emerged again in a baggy miniskirt. We were then forced to improvise an interpretive dance based entirely on our brief experience with Hindi music videos. It was the first time I have ever regretted not paying more attention to Indian dance routines. Our leader made it look so easy and beautiful! I really have a new appreciation for the complexities of Indian dance now. We laughed a lot and looked like complete fools but everyone had a good time and it was a lot of fun. The children still tell me "Ginaka (sister Gina) dance bagondi (beautiful)". They are such charming little liars. Dinner was very late that night. We ate half cooked eggplant and laughed about what a great adventure we had.
David will be buying three more loongies. We determined that is what it will take to make a curtain across the kitchen area in the principal's house.
