fourth day

I woke up early as usual (what's up with that) and took a shower or rather a dribble under the spigot. At least the water was warm. I waited a bit for my hair to dry out, then walked down the street to engage in my now daily struggle with the Pomegranate Day. The lady who runs the villa advised me that one must never pay more then 20 rupees for a pomegranate and I have taken this to heart, bargaining brutally over the tasty little things, regarding the primitive weighing system the cart uses with steely-eyed scorn. (I am as always myself.)

This was our first day of work, so we hopped in a rickshaw to the office, which is next to the Citibank and actually rather nice - marble must be dirt cheap here in India, since pretty much everything is made of it.

I met the senior editor and the associate editor, Louise, and was assigned to do CD reviews - one Hilary Duff album (gragh) and one Birth of the Blues album (hooray!). After scrambling to find a computer with something approximating a working sound system, I listened to the musical stylings of Hilary Duff and attempted to say something that wasn't overtly vicious. Hopefully I suceeded.

Aneesa, Pipa, Adam, James and I all went out for lunch around one, turning the dusty corner to the local Juice Junction, which also sells chaat - yummy Indian snacks. I sprang for my favorite chaat dish - bhel puri, a mixture of puffed rice, sev (fried rice noodle things), coriander, tamarind chutney, and a bit of potato. Squirted with hot chili sauce and a bit of cilantro chutney, bhel puri becomes a thing of profound beauty, especiallly when consumed out of a paper plate while sitting on the ground. (Whaat? You want seaaatting? You crazy missie?) Another fun fact: unlike many delicious things, bhel puri is low fat and actually good for you. I sense the next food trend to sweep the nation. The frothy freshly made papaya and pineapple shakes looked tempting as well.

Anyway, we came back to the office and finished up the day, as I began another blues CD review and watched the poor design interns attempt to find something, anything, to do.

We took a rickshaw back and I got out halfway at 100 Foot Road to walk home - I was feeling energetic, and walking in India is always an exciting experience. You may encounter terrifyingly huge cattle, tranvestite beggers, run-away-auto-rickshaws and poorly managed construction sites...it's all part of the fun! Another interesting aspect of Bangalore downtown: immaculate, luxury shops selling Gucci and plasma screen TV's next to falling down poverty ridden houses and bullock carts. Unlike in the USA, there doesn't seem to be any "luxury" district of town. Everything is thrown together. (Welcome to India!)

Dinner at Katari was excellent - they had ordered out the food. Chicken masala, chicken saag, curried peas, chutneys, cucumber salad...delicious.

We went out to Le Rock, a very poser-riffic bar on Commercial Street afterwards. The drinks were scandalously expensive for India and I refrained (wasn't in a sloshy mood), but I did enjoy the people watching, as nattily dressed Indians schmoozed over baskets of Deep Fried Potato Treats and foreigners of all inclinations wandered on through. The African guys at the next table took a liking to me and one stopped me on my way back to the bathroom: "Excuse me missy - can we have your numbers?" "My what?" "Your numbers!" "...I don't have a telephone here, I'm very sorry." (I beat a quick retreat, and they kept sneaking vaguely scorned glances for the rest of the evening.) Le Rock also features humongous, elaborate beer spigot things with a core of pure ice in them. Modern technology!

Bars in Bangalore shut down at exactly 11:30 and you had best get your butt out of Dodge well before. The bar was air conditioned to sub-arctic levels and I hopped outside to enjoy the evening air, watching as a horde of sloshed English kids spilled out of a bar across the street, drunken Indian men staring right back. I felt perfectly safe, as local security guards with ample moustaches and khaki clothes stalked around, real honest-to-god blunderbusses over their shoulders. Just as the fetching English guy I was making eyes at began to wander over with a big friendly smile, the owner of the bar tapped my shoulder.

"Ah, why do you let yourself be harassed by this?" he said, gesturing at the begging lady nearby. I shrugged -"I think it's safe, isn't it? I'm standing right here..." and he shrugged, tragically, imploring me to step inside the fence. (The English boy sadly turned away. Dammit!) The owner, in any case, discussed California with me for a bit, and then gave me his card. (He also told me Rolling Stone is opening up in Delhi and Bangalore which offers interesting career possibilities.)

In any case, we went back to Katari Villa, and I as usual passed out asleep almost before my head hit the pillow. If nothing else, I'm sleeping great.