When a smile is the only thing left in translation...

 …There is a flower that goes by the name of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, it bears three shades of a single color, going from white to pastel to a vibrant coloration of itself in a matter of three days.  Essentially, what it was yesterday it will no longer be today and what it is today it will no longer be tomorrow.  And yet, as charming a metaphor as I instantaneously took this, it quickly reminded me of a sad truth that overwhelms me in my research here as a budding anthropologist.  Many of you know that what I’ve come here to do is finish up the last few pages of my first college experience.  My project, which seeks to find purpose in understanding and contextualizing some of the most prevalent food traditions in South India, namely those found in the states of Kerala and Karnataka, has been the entire reason for my venturing all this way.  What you may not know are some of the crude realities that have kept me so curious in coming.  In my studies, over the last four years, I have had to face up to one cold truth, and that is that the cultures of yesterday, those that have filled me with passion for my field of study, today, are no longer here,  and that those of today are hurriedly fleeting as I speak.  I have had to realize that the basic truth of our species progression results indefinitely not only in growth but in death as well. And that no matter how much you may love something as it was, it is a fruitless endeavour to attempt to maintain it in a world constantly changing around it.  In regards to my research, which I must admit is still early in coming and affected greatly by my inability to converse in Malayalam, I have found that traditional food related knowledge has fleeted from the commoner’s recollection.  Even from those that understand me well, my questions are puzzling and always responded to with question like answers.  I did not realize how ambitious my questions were until I began to ask the people that I only assumed would know the answers.  This is not to say that I haven’t gotten any relative information, but it is to say, that what I’ve learned from books is far changed from what I’ve seen.  I suppose maybe it is already noon time, yesterday…

Our days spent in Munnar have been incredibly fast and it’s become quite impossible to keep up with the days, let alone the time.  What seem to be only hour long ventures into town or towards the mountains turn out to be 4-5 hour journeys that leave our day at its end.  We’ve accomplished our fair bit of lounging about, what with me now cooking our breakfasts and dinners, and have managed a visit to a near by national park, temple, mosque, and spice garden.  Dressing and “bobbing” the part of an Indian pays off a lot in India, and we have had the fortunate luck of being treated like locals when asking for help to get from place to place.  Despite Ian’s initial discomfort, we’ve made the public bus our main means of transport to get around.  It’s a hell of ride that has your head and body bouncing around every mountain curve on the verge of tipping over, but for a ¼ of the price of any rickshaw or taxi, we’ve decided to embrace the pros rather then the cons.  You have to deal with the smells, the crowds, the uncertainty, and the turbulence, but you also get to view the horizons through large glassless windows, get to breathe the fresh mountain air in deeply, offer waves and smiles to the school children and the tea plantation workers, make little staring babies laugh with silly faces, and best of all you get the feeling that you fit in just a little bit better.   The local people seem to get a real kick out of us riding along side them, as no tourist is ever seen riding in a public bus, and offer us smiles that seem to let me know they approve of our courage and humble curiosity to live amongst them. 

This past week has had me for long hours hunched over my grinding stone and stovetop.  Ian spotted a cookbook at a nearby restaurant we ate at one afternoon and I have been obsessing over it since. The book, compiled by a woman from Kerala, is a collection of her own families and friends keralan style recipes.  Although some look rather unpleasant, for the sake of my research, I have been delving into them to get a better idea of how these ingredients compliment one another and make up the distinct palate that is Kerala’s cuisine.  I have learned that most all dishes contain ginger, chilly powder, turmeric, coriander, onions, curry leaves, and green chilies.  There is only a handful, mostly those that our sweet, that don’t have these as their staple ingredients.  Cardamom, which is also a much loved spice in the cuisine, as well as pepper, is widely grown within household spice gardens, often alongside coffee and an ayurvedic plant known as Tullu in Malayalam, which bears a root that is used as a curing agent against mild influenzas.  The spices that make up Garam Masala, nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, star anis, ginger, pepper, and geera, though not usually all grown in the home are also widely used in the cuisine.  A lot of my recent research has revolved around the properties of these spices as the knowledge of how to harvest, dry, store, and use then is as old I’m sure as the day the land first brought them to the people.  Upon my recent visit to the spice garden the guide gave me a vanilla pod, I am in the midst of drying it out to use for my coffee and oatmeal, it takes a weeks time.  The book I am reading right now, titled Eating India, explains a lot of the historical context behind some of India’s indigenous and brought over spices.  It paints a fuller picture of the spices background and lends me understanding as to why so much is known about the peppercorn and yet so little about the nutmeg seed.  I recommend it to anyone interested in my topic of study; the author is a brilliant writer with a refreshingly large knowledge bank of her home state Bombay, India.  She compares and contrasts different regions of India to that of Bombay, all with an obvious love and passion for food and its history in the country…good read to say the least. 

Since the last time I wrote, things have changed indefinitely, and I as well as Ian find ourselves in these sort of odd states of mind that either have us looking obliviously happy, confused, or upset.  I have been straining my mind with ways to get at research opportunities, and Ian stretching his recorded sounds in any which way he can fathom.  We are both craving a bit more then we have at the moment, and realize that the most frustrating bit of it all is that everything either of us could possibly want is literally in arms reach, just waiting for us to find and grab it. Researching via the internet seems more of a waste of concentration then anything else, as I know sitting outside for an hour watching the people go by will give me more valuable insight then any e-book or scholarly journal could ever hope to. I underestimated the importance of patience and Ian has helped me understand this, as he, as the ambitious musician that he is, has battled with it much more then I’ve ever had to.  Transitioning from a student researcher to a fieldwork researcher is something that cannot be taught, only experienced, and it comes with its fair share of hesitations, doubts, and frustrations, I am overwhelmed in the midst of these realizations, and although it is challenging, it is one of the best lessons I’ve ever had to learn.  We only have another couple weeks or so before we head north to Mangalore in the state of Karnataka, and my feelings about this are mixed.  We have built somewhat of a presence for ourselves here in Munnar, and I have grown attached to the familiar faces that now recognize us in the vegetable market and in the neighboring houses to our homestay.  Even a small little kitty seems to know us, and curls up close to us when we pet her.  In a small town like Munnar I guess such a feeling is impossible to avoid, but I know my research has limited outlets here, and if we stay it will be only because we are comfortable.  The host of our homestay has given me a couple leads in advising me to talk to the head baker of a catering bakery in town (the only one of its kind), so that I might get an idea of what kinds of sweets are served at different types of events, as well as to the pastor of the Christian church near by, to see what kind of food offerings are brought in for the saints.  We are not allowed In the Hindu temple or the mosque, and I have been hesitant to linger about them for too long as to avoid any offense to the devotees.  I know Hindu rituals have much to do with food offerings and I am all to hopeful to enter at least one in my four month stay here to verify or rectify some of the things I’ve read about them.  I will be spending the last couple weeks interviewing these contacts and see who or where else they might be able to refer me to.  

Wednesday morning we decided it was time to return to the spice gardens.  After a quick breakfast of overly sweet oatmeal (we have been using sweet condensed milk as we do not have a fridge) we dressed and waited for the bus that would take us to Kullar.  After having hopped on the wrong bus, the conductor dropped us off at a nearby stop where we would soon be picked up by another bus that could take us to where we needed to go.  Ian, always on the prowl for a tasty treat, spotted these little deep fried fishes that he loves so much, being sold at a near by street vendor, he purchased a pack and happily munched away until our bus arrived.  The drive was bumpy and vibrant with wild life sounding in the trees and the ever changing shades of green consuming us the deeper and deeper we went.  We made it to the spice garden and sat with the hosts that were to guide us around the garden, I attempted to explain my research and the questions I was hoping to answer, and the friendly host tried his best to explain to the woman that would be guiding us, what I was hoping to learn.  She tried to answer my queries, and I thanked her wholeheartedly for this, as she shared all she knew about the ayurvedic plants that spotted the garden.  This in unison with my previous visit to the gardens was a good start to getting to know some of the knowledge that surrounded the most commonly used herbs and spices in this region of India.  I still have much to learn, and I am hoping that a visit to the tribal communities later on in my trip will give me a more in depth understanding as to how this knowledge was initially attained, and continuously shared.  Many of the village people here make up the labor population for both the tea plantations and the spice gardens, and a good 60% of them come from the neighboring state of Tamil Nadu.  This has made finding a translator to help me talk to them harder then I thought, and I’m left shifting through the knowledge that tea and spice store clerks have of their products.  It has been a challenge.

Our last weekend’s trip to the national park of Eravikulam, where a large indigenous population resides far past where the visitor is allowed to trek, was a hopeful step In the right direction.  I thought maybe I’d find an old woman crushing up cocoa beans to brew up a fresh batch of homemade chocolates, or maybe a skilled artisan selling handmade jewelry made of dried fruits and/or nuts.  These two items are sold everywhere in town, but the makers are said to live far beyond the eyes of any busy town.  Much to my dismay only the typical street vendors selling chili seasoned fruits (pineapples & mangoes J) and vegetables (corn and carrots) were all that lined the road leading to the ticket booth.  The homemade chocolates here are absolutely wonderful and I am all too hopeful to see how they’re made.  We’ve tried the bitter dark chocolate, which is far lighter then any dark chocolate I’ve had, walnut and chocolate, which is by far our favorite, and a white chocolate laced with dried fruits and nuts.  I only wish I could bring these home, especially the white and walnut chocolate, because mom I know you love your chocolate white, and gigi I know you love yours with walnuts,  but I know as soon as we venture out of the cool climate of Munnar these little treats will quickly melt.  Anna and Marya love chocolate but rarely get to enjoy it because away from Munnar chocolate is quite the commodity, having to be constantly refrigerated, making it cost a lot for a little.  I hope we can stop by Munnar on our way back down to Cochin to gather them up a couple bags. 

Other then my creative attempts to research much has been ok, and with only one quick trip to the hospital to get some antibiotics, I feel rather lucky that neither of us has gotten terribly ill.  (You wouldn’t believe how inexpensive it is to visit a hospital here and buy medicines…they truly are in it for the people) We’ve gotten a bit more curious and daring in trying street vendors and drinking hot water served in restaurants, but only because we’ve felt it safe and lucky for us it has always proven to be.  Ian has turned out to be pretty good at picking out fresh fish from the open market, so it’s been the only non-veg dish I’ve cooked.  I am still a bit leery about buying meat because it is not a hot item on the overall population’s grocery list, and so I’m not sure how fresh it will be.  And I still cannot get myself to watch an animal being slaughtered in front of me for the sake of simply feeding me.  I’ll take a bowl full of veggies above this any day of the week.  My hand is getting more skilled at spicing my curries, and I have successfully made several dishes that I think both Gigi’s would be proud of.  When I had initially cooked with Geigi my first impression was “wow how simple,” but now cooking on my own I realize it takes a knowing hand to spice each dish just right.  I had a most unfortunate lesson of this when I tried to recreate Geigi’s potato kari that I spiced so heavily with chili powder that it was completely inedible.  The only person that might have been able to eat it would be my friend Luis, and that is saying quite a lot for anyone who knows him.  Ian and I declared ourselves beaten by the one spice we always prided ourselves on being able to take.  We’ve got nothing on the Indian chili. 

If I am not cooking or researching, we are usually out an about, hiking up a well beaten path or munching at a side street vendor and watching the crowds hustle by.  On one of our hikes we spotted a snake, on another a giant squirrel, and still on another, a medium sized gray macaque.  The wildlife here is everywhere, and although at times it feels a bit scary when you’re walking through brush or cutting your way through with a stick, it is an amazing thing to see an animal in its natural habitat, simply living and thriving as it knows best.  You can appreciate them so much more when you see them In their element and the people that live here seem to know this best, posting habitat conservation signs wherever heavy traffic runs thru, to remind us all that this is not only our home but a multitude of other creatures as well.  It is an awful sight to see foreigners or just ill willed individual who will throw their trash wherever they please; it reminds me of how stupid and inconsiderate a species we can sometimes be.  But on the whole, India, or at least the places I’ve been so far, I must say, has got it down when it comes to conservation efforts.  With so many people you would think that trash piles would be as tall as the hilltops, but every household that I can tell recycles and burns all their organic waste.  Some will burn plastics, and it smells absolutely awful, but overall, most reuse whatever plastic items they have or simply do not use them at all.  Everyone at the market has their shopping bag, and every vendor, from grains to vegetables gives you your purchase in a newspaper parcel wrapped tightly with hemp yarn.  They have plastic bags but rarely need use them as everyone has brought their own.  We call it being “green” in California but in India it is just plain old being considerate of the habitat that surrounds you.  If we had everyone back home be in charge of getting rid of their own waste, I bet you the plastic companies would go out of business, and the amount of items we felt we needed to throw away would shrink ten fold.  I have learned a lot about myself in regards to this these last three weeks, and although I find it embarrassing I am glad to be aware of it, and happy to start attempting a life that will leave a smaller footprint.            

                         

Today I am off to the bakery to try and catch Mr. Yeri, the head baker who I hope can schedule me in for an interview somewhere in the next couple weeks.  I hear he’s extremely busy so I can only hope he’ll have a bit of time to spare for me; if not I’ll be waiting till Sunday to go to church to observe and record.  Yesterday was a Hindu celebration, and the goddesses in their decorated chambers traveled along the streets held by devotees.  I didn’t get the reason for the celebration, but I’m sure I can ask around today.  I also didn’t see any food offerings during the parade, but I’m sure there were some in the actual temple.  This regretfully is probably the closest I’ll get to Hindu rituals in the town of Munnar.  Maybe in our next home I’ll get luckier…

To the land of spices we go...

Namaste from Munnar, Kerala India…Our days have grown to a vivid shade of green, our spirits to a staggering height of nirvana, and our overall love for India to a point of utter lust. 

Where we last left you was on the peninsula of Fort Cochin in the final days of our departure, where we’ve now come is somewhere I can’t hardly begin to explain. Though being it as its grandeur has much to do with our new found Indian father Ansel, I suppose it best to begin in sharing with you all just how much a part of their family we’ve truly become.  Our final days with them were spent not only visiting their closest family members but also being visited by them, all the while gaining the love of two grandmothers and a couple more nieces, Neena and Roussale.  In this time our dinners grew ever more special, with at least two types of fish being served along side a couple of vegetable dishes and the always available parboiled rich so essential to the Keralan meal. I hadn’t quite realized just how generous Geigi and Ansel had been with our servings of fish until I saw how they served the other guests.  While we received enough for a least three people, the others received hardly enough for one, and were asked to pay extra for more.  Ansel confessed to us that in all his time as a homestay host, about the last 5 years, he has never once had guests like us.  This was a wonderful thing to hear especially after having realized just how awful many European travelers can be.  It is gravely unfortunate what many an Indian has to put up with for the sake of their livelihood.  Ian, on more then one occasion, found his fists clenched at the crude offenses of our fellow tourists.  We thank you mom and dad for teaching us humility and compassion.  With it we’ve managed to bring happiness and hope to beautiful people half-way across the globe, and you can’t imagine how absolutely fulfilling it feels. 

On our last night with the Sanay family I conducted my first Eating Vedas research interview with Ansel and Geigi.  We discussed celebratory occasion like weddings and birthdays, baby showers and festivals, funerals and holidays, and what their relation to particular dishes and/or food items was traditionally and contemporarily in the state of Kerala, more specifically in the central region near their home city of Cochin.  What I gathered will give my previous research findings a whole lot of flavor and spice. But one bit of information in particular, that I found perfectly telling of the ways in which India’s vast contextual richness is explained and carried on generation after generation was this story about the festival of Onam, or the festival of peace. The story goes that once there was a king who ruled the whole of Kerala.  Such a fine and compassionate king was he that no one man or woman ever craved for want of more, for whatever they asked they received from their generous and all-loving king.  Because no want filled the hearts or minds of the citizens, the gods above began to fear that praise and devotion to them would soon fleet from all who were ruled under this king.  And so the gods devised a plan to test the king’s devotion to his people.  The goddess shiva cast herself upon the earth disguised as a sheepish peasant man, and requested of the king a piece of land spanning the length of three strides. The king, taken aback by such a humble request, urged the peasant to request more, the peasant meekly refused and the king respectfully granted him his wish.  Soon the man began to grow and grow until neither his head nor knees were in sight.  His first stride covered the whole of the earth, his second the expanse of the heavens, and his third, upon the request of the king who had now realized this was no ordinary villager, atop the head of the king himself.  The king was vanquished to the underworld and given one wish.  His single bid was to be able to visit his people and ensure that their happiness had flourished at least once a year, this annual visit is now the reason behind the festival of Onam. 

Stories in India have the ability to reveal an idea, a thought, a belief, about a people, a place, a reality, kept intact for so long that you can’t help but question why histories are told in any other way.  One of my favorite writers, Jean Jacques Rousseau, once wrote “the human understanding is greatly indebted to the passions, which, on their side, are likewise universally allowed to be greatly indebted to the human understanding. It is by the activity of our passions, that our reason improves: we covet knowledge merely because we covet enjoyment, and it is impossible to conceive why a man exempt from fears and desires should take the trouble to reason.”  For the people in India their stories kept in explanation of their traditions are not held because fact has imprinted them somewhere in a book, but rather because their passions in keeping them alive outweigh their curiosity to forget them, themselves and their people in the midst of new logic. The story of Onam originally came from Hindusim but every Muslim, Jain, and Christian can recite it.  There is something to be said about such a thing, as simple as a story that can manage to unite a people in identity, no matter how far they’ve diverged from what they once were.  Throughout my interview I was reminded of this as Ansel danced his way through explanations of the Keralan past and present. It has by far been my most insightful encounter yet.

Our departure from MaryAnns was in the early morning and warmed by Geigis delicious black tea and hugs.  Our driver was an interesting fellow who had stories for just about anything you had a question for.  He had been a cab driver for the last 20 odd years and had been all throughout India.  His knowledge of everything from the rubber tree to the Mathoot (elephant trainer) was captivating and informative.  Our long journey was intertwined with spans of his voice informing us of curiosities found on the windy sides of the road we traveled. Once out of the main city we found ourselves stopped and walking into a lush landscape, with thick braided vines crawling up trees, man made walls fallen to the efforts of the elements, and roads turned to mud, I knew we had come into a place far different from that of the well developed city of cochin.  Our trek led us down through a narrowly shaded passageway leading to a large pool of misty water. Alas, we’d made it to the elephants bathing pools that by now had become lined with tourists taking pictures and feeding the elephants with goodies from their bags.  Never having felt these creatures at such close a range I was overwhelmed with giddiness to hug and pet the baby elephants. These massive creatures, with skin as thick and tight as a cargo trucks tires, were becoming overwhelmed with the amount of attention, so soon after their bath, that the mathoots were constantly having to shout in their ears and whip them to behave.  Our driver informed me that they could not feel the mathoots wimpy whip, and that his efforts to discipline were just like those of a father to his child.  We petted the elephants as much as we could and soon were on our way back to the car, this time in search of food.  Saaji, our driver, took us into what appeared to be nothing more then a home.  We were seated across from an attractive young Swedish couple with two adorable little girls, and fed family style with chickpea dhal, appam, coconut chutney, rice flour patties, and bowls of deliciously cut up bananas and pineapples.  It was a light and energetic meal filled with good conversation. 

We met back up with Saaji and again continued on our way to Munnar. A quick stop at a small wildlife zoo and a waterfall showed us just how dense the wild life in this area truly was. Going to the restroom stop built near the waterfall we had our fist encounter with a band of monkeys, socializing atop the roof of the bathroom stalls.  It was amazing to see how numerous and curious they were, with expressions on their face that let us know we were the intruders, and should best be on our way as we had disrupted their morning back tick-picking session. Our final stop along the way left us at a 22 acre spice garden that could have captured even the most complex of chef’s imagination.  A small serious faced Indian man acted as our guide and led us through the fragrant dirt roads that lined the rows of various spice trees, plants, shrubs, and roots.  In a mere 20 minutes spent with this man I gained a bag full of information pertaining to the medicinal and culinary properties of these spices.  I hope to return with my notebook and recorder in hand to acquire as much as possible from as many of these knowledgeable caretakers as I can.  These spice gardens are going be a goldmine of information for my Eating Vedas research.

After a four hour car drive, chock full of excitement and sights, we reached our homestay in Munnar.  Had I taken my judgment from the one way dirt road that led to our homestay I might have thought we were staying in a hut, but much to my surprise our luscious abode proved to be anything but humble, by any standard.  Ansel had hooked it up with what seemed like nothing less then a luxury room, complete with a full sized bed, balcony overlooking the lush landscape, hot water, clothing rack, and a TV.  I felt like a queen and Ian my king living in what could be donned one of the most beautiful places on earth.  Though the room was quoted at over 1200 Rps. a night Ansel made sure we paid no more then 750 Rps.  This is a place to call home, which is why we’ve decided to spend at least a month here to acquire all there is to know about the spices that make this city literally “The Land of Spices.” 

Tea plantations and spice gardens line the hills and mountains that surround the small villages erected within Munnar. And their products are all too apparent when you reach the center of town where tea stalls and spice shops line the roads, selling all and any kind of spice/tea your heart could desire. I may have very well found my little piece of heaven on earth here in Munnar, for anyone who knows me knows that these two treats are two of my most favorite culinary commodities.  Rest assured, I will be returning home with enough to share for all who share with me this same obsession.

The few days we’ve spent here have been fast in coming and going, which I guess is a good indication of how much we are truly enjoying it.  Just a couple days past we ventured out on a trek the opposite way of town to see what lie ahead.  In what seemed no time at all, hours had dissipated and night had come upon us without warning.  The climate is so comfortable, at an average 67 degrees that trekking a ways takes no apparent effort on your bodies temperature or thirst. It is such a change from Cochin, where even a fans constant wind can’t relieve you of your body’s sticky moisture and your throats constant itch for cool water. Yesterday we spent much of our time in town, perusing the shops at leisure in search of a bookstore.  I suppose I am all too impatient on unwrapping the knowledge contained within the spices surrounding me, and much to my dismay no bookstores were to be found.  I’ll go back to my internet research in the mean time, to suffice my appetite until I can set up another trip into the spice gardens.  As we walked and stopped for undomberri (not sure on the spelling), a treat Ansel had introduced us to on a visit to his brothers, I was thrilled to find it laced with fresh bananas instead of just sweetened wheat flour.  Essentially like a plain donut hole, these fried tasty delights are served only around 9am and 3 pm, just in time for all the school children who devour them by the dozens on their way to and from school.  I can’t wait to get my fill on another this afternoon. 

Continuously we came upon interesting handicrafts, and bake shops serving mouth watering concoctions that I can hardly keep myself from trying all at once.  As we entered the lane of textiles and tailors we noticed a portable electric stovetop.  This was a great find for us as we had just that morning discussed possibly getting a small gas stove, to heat our morning tea and our left over food from dining out.  Because it gets so cold at night, even Ian who doesn’t mind cold food, found our leftovers to be inedible.  Especially when in the waking hours of the day the cool air has you craving for comfort in anything warm. We shopped around for the cheapest stovetop we could find and happily walked home discussing the now infinite culinary possibilities at our fingertips.  Neither of us is especially keen on eating out day after day, and although it has only been a few days since we left the comforting kitchen of Geigi and her home cooked meals, we had already grown weary of eating out three meals a day.  When hunger stuck around 6:30pm we hurriedly headed back to town to get vegetables and spices for a simple vegetable and rice soup.  Most of the vendors had closed up shop for the day so we gathered what we could and headed happily back home with a bag of vegetables (potatoes, carrots, onion, garlic, lemons, and chilly peppers), ½ lb of rice, 3 eggs, sunflower oil, and a bag of salt and pepper, all for less then $3.  Though in need of a bit more flavoring the soup was warming and satisfying and left us full bellied as we drifted off to sleep. 

Today I will be researching some Keralan dishes to cook for dinner in the days to come.  We will still eat out for research purposes, but probably no more then an occasional snack, which in Ian’s case always consists of at least two dishes, accompanying my side of veggies.  I truly miss cooking, as I haven’t had the time to give it my all for quite a while what with all my studying and working back home.  My classes with Geigi sparked up a huge craving in me to start again on my cooking experimentation, and I am overwhelmed with joy to start again here with spices and veggies galore for me to play with.  I will be posting some recipes of my own very soon, so stay hungry and curious.  Noon time has come and my eagerness to hit up the open market has consumed me.  Stall after stall of vegetables, baskets and bags filled with grains, colorful wagons displaying the catches of the day, are all that I have to look forward to when I head to market, not to mention the butchering of live chickens for any and all of your poultry delights.  I don’t know if I have the stomach to witness this, but based off Ian’s account of the taste of chicken here, I know I will sometime in the month have to gather up enough courage and get one for a kari chicken dish Geigi cooked up for Ian one lazy afternoon last week. 

I suppose I’ll leave this post here and will let you know, very soon, how my research and dishes have come along.  Namaste. 

The arrival

Namaste from Fort Cocin, Kerala India.  For all who knew our plans, they’ve changed, and for all who hadn’t here’s what they’ve become…

We arrived in a daze of exhaustion mixed with childlike curiosity and excitement. A departure from LAX at 12 pm on December 29^th left us in Cochin, Kerala India at 4:00 AM on December 31^st. We were timeworn to say the least.  Our cab driver, a handsome dark devotee as hairy on the arms as my papi and as hairy on the face as Jujie, held my printed name on a simple sheet of printer paper right outside the arrival gates.  The air was dense with the moist odors of heat, and the mass of people, though all looking rather tired, exuded excitement for the arrival of their loved ones.  We waited for our driver and another Ashram guest that was scheduled to be picked up with us, he never arrived and so we headed to the car to begin our three hour journey to Amma’s Ashram in Kollam, Kerala.  Our driver spoke only through his focused intentions and knew only a couple words of English, one being coffee, which he offered to stop and grab.  He did so for himself and we sat waiting beside him with some water we had purchased.  My first impression of this quick stop for coffee was one that would prove to be true, and that was that quick was never necessarily so when it came to food and drink.  Most all side street vendors use real dishes to serve and so you must sit and sip and/or eat, at a speed of your leisure, or at a speed of the vendors depending on the flow of business, your entire serving right there so as to return the cup or dish.  This particular vendor had a table and chairs and so we all sat and sipped watching the cars wiz by in the dim fading lights of an early morning.  The group of men huddled around the blue tent that would very soon begin to serve greasy fried delights gave us a curious stare.  We paid and offered smiles, were given none in return, and off we went to start our journey. 

Now for those of you who have witnessed driving in the busy cities of Mexico you have a slight idea of the experience I am about to explain, but for those of you that haven’t, you can’t possibly imagine.  To put it simply, every single driver on the road, rickshaw, car, bus, cargo carrier, even bicycle for that matter has one objective, get in front of the vehicle in front of you no matter how fast or slow it is moving.  A two way road, one lane per either way, quickly becomes a three or four lane road with vehicles jutting out to the sides on the verge of impaling cyclist with their bumpers, and zigzagging in and out of their lane and into the oncoming traffic like those purple headed creatures that you bop on the head to get a point before they disappear at venues like chucky cheese and shakeys. How there isn’t a “bop” every other car I haven’t the slightest idea.  We were on the edge of our seats for the first half of the ride with all too many gasps coming from either one of us.  The driver must have thought we were asthmatic. The state of the roads is a whole other thing and makes you cherish even the worst of roads back home.  Lucky for me, I was fortunate enough to see how they built them, which I found most interesting and all the same, very telling as to why they are so inundated with potholes.  On the sides of roads you’ll commonly see mounds of rocks, gray in color and more or less all equal in size, ranging between the size of a soda bottle cap and a golf ball, these are the building blocks of all the paved roads.  When it is time for filling in holes or repaving all together you will see and smell the burning of tar into liquid form that is then placed into heavy cast iron woks and carried atop the head (most commonly women’s) and poured over the leveled layers of rocks.  Each layer is hand poured so you can image how long it would take to do even a short length of road.  The crew of the road layers I saw were no less then 15 and were conjugated around a mere stretch of road no longer then a few meters.  I assume for the highways they have heavy machinery to do the job on a larger scale but for the town and village roads this is how it’s done.

As our fear of dying in an unruly car crash subsided and the hue of night uplifted itself to unveil stirring life in every corner our eyes could peek, all that was left to do was smile.  As we left the quick pace commotion of the city and entered into the rural village that surrounded our final destination the roads got increasingly smaller and bumpier, the people more curious, and the women and children much more obvious in numbers.  Children bathing, men reading the paper, women casually perfecting the folds of their saris were all but a few of the side sights that welcomed us into Kollam.  The most refreshing reality of it all was that the flow of life here was calmingly relaxed as though time itself had slowed so as to not presume any pressure on the daily endeavors of the people.  Life was alive and well, breathing at the rate of slumber.

We arrived at the Ashram a quarter past 8am, Ian unloaded the luggage while I ventured into the main temple to register at the international office.   Much to my dismay the calming sway of timelessness was not at all the tempo that resided once within the Ashram walls, the man behind the gated counter that I was checking in with was abrupt and rushed for time, having no time for all the questions I’d prepared along the way. He took our passports, gave me our room ID’s and pass code and sent me on my way to use a wordless map as my guide.  Lucky for us, our room was in the tall building adjacent to the temple, so we quickly loaded up into the elevator and eventually found our way to the room with the help of a devotee.  Our room was simple with a twin size bed, ceiling fan, broom, bathroom, and a picture sized mirror.  Our view was absolutely beautiful with swaying coconut trees shading the estuary and coastal life around it.  We could see the movement of devotees below completing their seva (selfless service) for various sects of the ashram, and could hear the multitude of bird calls peaking through the palm leaves.  It was inspiring.  We freshened up with a cold shower and relieved our exhaustion with about 18 hours of sleep.  When we awoke the sounds of the morning we had arrived too had changed to an ominous glow of mantras that filled the air like a hollow drum sounding to the beat of a tepid pulse.  If devotion ever had a single sound this was it, and if ever it could make your heartbeat like the moment you first fell in love, this would be the sound echoed straight into the pit of your giddied soul.  To wake to such an auditory sensation was something only the most imaginative of dreamers could fully understand.

Waiting for the day to arrive we read and played with our silhouettes in the shadow of our book light.  We had several hours to kill before the ashram demanded our attention.  Once it did we rushed downstairs to nose about and wait for the information stands to open at 10.  Breakfast was served at 9 and was delicious consisting of dosas (rice flour pancakes) and dhal (spiced lentil stew) with hot lemon tea and fresh water.  We hadn’t eaten since the plane and were starved for a hot meal.  The only thing that had sustained us were chili mangoes and Swedish fishes (thanks gabsJ) brought from home.  After breakfast we headed to the main temple to collect our seva assignments.  Ian was sent to the garbage sorting area and I to the ecology center, an all organic, fair trade, health foods store (Gabs and Patricia you would have loved it).  My job was listed as the store assistant and my duties entailed whatever was needed to be done.  The three women I worked with were wonderfully nice and had me stocking shelves and re-pricing essential oils.  The odors that emitted out of the spice mix room in the back of the shop were heavenly and made my stomach roar for their tastes.  Jaggery (a sugar substance made from the coconut palm), turmeric, cocoa, cinnamon, cloves, cumin, and kari (curry) filled the air and danced to the playing mantras that sounded over the crackling speakers.  My seva was over before I was ready and I was excited to return the following day.  Ian unfortunately had a rather regrettable smelling experience (“sanitary pads and poop”) as he sorted through the insurmountable amount of trash of the ashram guests.  We showered and again drifted off to sleep for another 12 hours or so only to awake to the still dark night of the ashram. 

Our days spent at the Ashram were all like this, mostly due to the overcoming power of jetlag on our sense of time.  We stayed for four days and three nights in total with nothing more gained then a few good nights of rest, enlightening sounds, and an overwhelming feeling of spiritual inadequacy.  For all who know us, and I presume the majority reading this do, they know that godly matters are not anywhere near the focal points of our lives.  I say this with no intentions of offense, just plain old truthfulness. And so for us to have entered into a realm of individuals so devout in their beliefs of Amma, who they revere as a living god, that all other topics of conversation become obsolete or merely a means to further discuss her greatness was just downright not my kind of thing.  My research was going absolutely nowhere, and I kind of knew it wouldn’t the moment I arrived there.  Food was quite the commodity as a matter of fact, as it was only served three very specific times a day, and only until it ran out, which happened sometimes within a mere 20 minutes.  If you completed seva at 12:30 and wanted to wash before lunch, which in Ians case was a must, by the time you made it to the lunch line the food was gone.  Many people visit the ashram at all times of the day, but during lunch time it seemed a grave deal more hectic.  I’m sure we were not the only staying guests that went hungry.  When I attempted to discuss traditions of food with the women I worked with I was given irrelative responses, and not because they did not know, but because they did not care of what I was talking about.  Mostly everyone at the Ashram was extremely kind but the first and final question they’d ask you was “and how did you meet Amma?” and if all you’d to say was, I haven’t yet, then the conversation would quickly become one sided (not yours) and you were forced to choke down your now irrelevant queries.  I had hoped, very much so, that my little fascination of how religious doctrines play out in different cultural contexts would help me in staying and acclimating to the ways of the ashram.  It didn’t and I suppose maybe the time is not now for delving into such indoctrinated ideologies.

Our move from the Ashram would take us back to the city of Cochin, only this time off into a quaint little peninsula known as Fort Cochin.  Though the area at this time of the year is overflowing with tourists it is not hard to find and stay where the locals conjugant, if your willing to walk a ways from the local shopping spots.  Though it seemed unfortunate at the time, but proved quite the opposite soon after, when we arrived the hostel we had intended to stay at was booked and the nearest one for 800 Rps. ($18) instead of 500 Rps. ($11) was our only option.  It wasn’t until we ventured out on our own away from the tourist shops that we found Mary Ann’s homestay.  Upon their sign hung on the wall were four words that caught my attention “we teach, you cook” this had us hurriedly crossing the street to inquire.  When we arrived we were greeted by a smiley Indian man who invited us in to talk.  He explained that the class was taught by his wife, who also cooks all meals for the homestay, and that the class could be either all vegetarian or non-vegetarian dishes.  It would be 500 Rps. for 5 dishes and a dessert.  I accepted with eager excitement and was told to report to class by 11am tomorrow.  My research was off to a good start and I couldn’t wait to ask the 100’s of questions my previous semester’s research had conjured up.  Our search for lunch continued, and I couldn’t keep from fantasying about all that was in store for me come tomorrow.  It was one of those rare moments where you wish time would simply dissipate and leave you right at the moment you’ve been craving to be.  The first restaurant we came across that seemed safe and tasty enough was actually a Thai BBQ place (good sign your in a tourist area), and since we were pretty starved, we decided to stay and give it a try.  I tried a lemon soda for the first time, Indian style, and it turned out to be the highlight of the entire meal.  What it is is the juice of a single small lemon with mineral water, sugar and salt on the side to add to your liking.  I’ve never been too big on soda, but this is by far one of my favorite beverages here next to my morning lemon tea.  I would even say it could take the Pepsi challenge against the bottled soda in Mexico, which is also quite the tasty treat for any type of soda drinker.  Our meal arrived consisting of a side of noodles, rice, and beef, and was quite forgettable.  But I guess that’s why you don’t go to India to eat Taiwanese cuisine.  We perused the town a bit and returned to our homestay at “The Good Shepard”(the Christian population in Kerala is notably large) to get some rest and call it a day.  

The morning of my first cooking class day was spent organizing our luggage to be ready for check out by 2:00 pm to move to another homestay.  Ian was to ask around while I was in class for the afternoon.  The host of Mary Ann’s homestay had offered a room at 650 Rps a night when we had inquired about the class, so that was one viable option.  By 10:40 we began heading for my class, Ian dropped me off in the care of the wife Geigi (pronounced just like Gigi…patricia J) and husband Anten who had initially greeted us yesterday, while he set about in search of our next home.  My first assignment was to copy down several recipes of Geigi’s, all of her own creation though still staples of the Keralan cuisine.  This in it of itself was like being given bits of gold to be cherished and taken care of, a cooks recipes are after all their culinary secrets, which is why I asked if I could share them on my blog before writing any of this down, lucky for you all…she said of course with the ever comforting Indian head bob which in this instance meant, yes. After this was completed it was into the kitchen to begin on our first dish which she titled (in English L)  Prawns with Coconut. I’ll have to get all the real names of the dishes before I leave.  Here is the recipe for any interested foodies J

Geigi’s Prawns with Coconut

Serves 1 (or if you eat like Ian…its an appetizer)

Ingredients        

Prawns- As per your need (we only used 5)

Red Onion-2 chopped (Onions in India are about the size of a small garlic bulb…so this amount should be altered if using our regular sized red onions to about a ¼ of a large one)

Garlic-2-3 cloves smashed

Ginger- 3 small pieces chopped

Green Chilly- 2 chopped

Fresh Curry leaves- 1 branch or about 6 leaves

Chilly Powder- 1 ½ Tsp.

Turmeric Powder- ½ Tsp.

Salt

Coconut Pieces finely chopped (the amount you add is to your liking, we used about 1/3cup)

Water- ¼ cup

Coconut Oil- 1 Tbsp

Vinegar- 1Tbsp

In a small pot add the prawns, onions, garlic, ginger, chilly, curry leaves, chilly powder, turmeric, salt, coconut, and water.  Bring to a boil and let cook on med-high heat for five minutes.  Add coconut oil and vinegar and reduce heat to med-low and let cook for another 5 minutes.  Turn off the heat and enjoy.

This dish is especially spicy and beats the sha-bang medium sauce at the Boiling Crab by a long shot in spicyness and in flavor.  Give it a go..you will not be disappointed.  Ian was smelling and licking his fingers for hours afterward.

The next dish we did was called baigan kari or Eggplant Curry. It was a nice veggie to go alongside the prawns but I imagine it would go just as well with a side of rice or noodles. I have Geigi’s coconut rice recipe as well if anyone is interested.

Geigi’s Baigan Kari

Serves 1

Ingredients

Eggplant-2-3 (again the eggplants in India are tiny, about the size of a guava, so edit this if you are using our huge ones found in local markets back home in California)

Ginger- Small piece chopped

Green Chilly- 2

Garlic- 2 cloves minced

Red Onion-1 (or a ¼ of a small onion)

*Coconut Milk- 1 cup

Fresh Curry leaves- 1 branch or 6 leaves

Turmeric Powder- ¼ Tsp.

Coriander Powder- 1 Tsp.

Coconut Oil- 1 Tbsp

Vinegar- 1 tbsp

Salt

* If you don’t have coconut milk on hand, make your own like they do in India, for 1 cup simply grate about ½ cup coconut on high speed in a blender or food processor, add in 1 cup water and blend till milky.  Strain the milk from the coconut pulp by squeezing the pulp above a strainer.  Do not throw the pulp away it can be used to make chutney for Masala Dosa or a couple of other breakfast dishes…recipes to come J

In a small pot on med-high, heat the coconut oil.  Sauté the onions and garlic adding in the ginger, chilly, curry leaves, salt, turmeric powder, and coriander power respectively.  Once at a boil add in the coconut milk and let come to a boil.  Add in the eggplant and lower the heat.  Cook for 10 minutes on low, or until eggplant has softened completely. Turn off the heat and mix in the vinegar.  Enjoy..

The final dish we prepared was a potato curried dish, boiled in a similar sauce to that of the prawns.  If anyone is interested I can post that one up as well.  They are all worth a try.  Class ended around 12:15 and I anxiously anticipated Ians arrival to see how my dishes came out.  He arrived and went straight for the prawns dish, paying no mind to the vegetables.  When he realized he’d swallowed the few prepared he sadly continued in with the other two dishes, enjoying them only slightly in comparison to the prawns.  He was happy, as was I, knowing my first try was good one.  After lunch we spoke to Anten about a room at his homestay.  He offered us a deal we couldn’t resist, 700 Rps a night inclusive of three meals a day.  We gathered our luggage and made our way back to Mary Anns. 

Our time here has been amazing, and feels just like home.  The two little girls, Maria and Ann, seven and six respectively, are two of the most beautiful children I’ve ever met.  They are cheerfully curious and imaginative making games out of just about anything you could think of.   Today I was hijacked by Maria and Ann had to rescue me by paying her 5000 bananas.  We communicated, from across the hallway, through the walkie talkies I brought from home (Jessie and Adam your gift has given us hours of fun J).  Maria is really interested in the guitar and has been hugging it since yesterday saying it’s her favorite instrument ever.  Ian with his big bear heart has given her his own so that she might take music classes at school with her friends.  She was so thankful she hugged Ian around his neck till he could hardly breathe. It was a beautiful thing that neither Ian nor Maria will ever forget. Her parents were equally thankful as they haven’t been able to afford to buy her one for 3000 Rps. ($68), though she’s been asking for months.  Ian’s been teaching her little things during the evening before and after dinner.

The food at Mary Anns has been some of the most deliciously comforting food I’ve ever had.  Geigi’s hand in the kitchen is that of an artist that I could parallel to only that of Patricia’s (Ian’s mum) and Adams (hermano), two of the best cooks I’ve ever had the opportunity to enjoy.  It often leaves me and Ian in a state of intoxication, drunk with sleep and delight.  Her dinners are the best, and the heaviest.  Always consisting of rice and some sort of fried fish, depending on what she picked up at the fish market just up the street.  With this life it feels like I never left the comforts of home.  When homesickness hits we will be returning here for sure.  For now we will enjoy it while it lasts, as our departure date from here is scheduled for the 11^th of January.  We will be heading too Maneer to live amongst “the village of elephants” and experience their take on Kerala’s cuisine.  Although I’ve been taking notes after every meal, I will officially be interviewing the family on the 9^th to talk about Eating Vedas, I am interested to hear how much the little ones know about the meaning behind the foods they eat.  The father is the only one who knows enough English to really understand me, so he’ll be helping me out a lot.  Because the family is Christian some of the research I’ve collected may be irrelevant as most has come from Hindu beliefs, I am eager to find the differences and similarities if there are in fact any at all.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

I suppose this is as good a place as any to leave this post...so until next time Namaste. and Nanni (thank you) for tuning in.   

Ian's music lessons with Marya and Anne

  

Magda and Anne

Eating with the Family

Ians biggest transport fear...the Rickshaw

Goats roaming the streets of Fort Cochin

             

The Departure

The clock turns to a memorable hour and in an instant I am left with these wings of flight..With a stride now a hop, a hop now a drift, and a drift now my only sense of reality, what will soon become of these impulsive curiosities?  Bright eyed and blind I am consumed by the thought of sight...by the thought of satisfying unconscious cravings that have led me exactly to where I've come.

An old tattered journal with room left for thought now holds the only words I've left for you....

Come along, it's time to go.

When you meet a Nagual

Memories can be our closest entities of comfort or the vivid instigators of our most tempestuous impulses; can be the light at the end of the tunnel or the hidden rock inside of that dark crevice that makes us tumble and bruise our sense of self. Beauty it is is to have the capacity for such a dual reality of any one given thing, of any one given remembrance; beauty it is to have learned so simply in a world so complicated, through the memories of a single life's journey. Every grain of every sac, every skill of every effort, every taste of every sensation remains only so because it has chosen, through the mind of its capturer, to yield to its journeys intentions at the advent of it being. All of everything is the all of anything, it is the swaying heart, the beating soul, the dancing mind of all that it is. Beauty is you because you, through all the distractions of your memories, have come out on the other side naked and alive.



Te Adoreo Hermano

Srikumar Rao: Plug into your hard-wired happiness | Video on TED.com

Srikumar Rao: Plug into your hard-wired happiness | Video on TED.com

A beautiful reminder for us all...