Saturday

Woke up nice and late - perfect. Aneesa was in need of some nice material for her custom made sari, so we decided to take a rickshaw over to Commercial Street, which is nothing if not full of fabric stores.

Indian fabrics are mesmerizing, generated in an obscene array of colors and patterns and textures. It's a marvel that they manage to manufacture so many different varieties, and insofar as I can tell, no woman steps out dressed the same as another, completely eliminating the western mortification of Wearing The Same Thing To The Party. No, Indian women dress in every color and pattern they damned well like - it's only the shape that seems to be set in stone.

Shopping for fabrics is a similarily dizzying experience, as the grinning and slightly oily salesman or woman unfolds and lays out linens at you at warp speed - "You like this color, you like this shape, you no like....like?", everything running together into some deeply confusing retail rainbow. Aneesa is much better at this then I am (I'm just looking for now...waiting until the last week to buy) and managed to find some nice material, sifting through the seeming oceans of possibilities to find something she liked.

We stopped for lunch at the Oasis seafood restaurant on Church Street, which was excellent. It's a big and dark and slightly formal looking place, but the prices were eminently reasonable - and the food was great. We began with chili squid, lightly fried squid rings tossed with onions, peppers, and chili sauce. Next was spicy and sweet tandoori crab, cooked for just the right amount of time, served in a generous portion (i spent a happy hour gnawing at its blackened little legs.) Finally, an excellent vegetable kadai curry, filled with mixed vegetables in a creamy and spicy curry sauce, washed down with some thick and buttery naan bread. Perfect. I intend to return soon.

Commercial Street turns into an oven during mid-day, as shoppers limp through the streets drenched in sweat, licking at soft-serve ice cream cones. Part of Commercial Street seems to be mainly Muslim, and you'll encounter veiled women leading children by the hand, tiny sparkling flashes of embroidery showing through their black clothing. (I especially like the women who wear neon-yellow or turquoise pants under the chador...I think that's what it's called.) In any case, everyone is hot and miserable and cold drinks are few and far between.....but we were saved by the Natural Ice Cream Shop.

This magnificent place sells all natural, coloring n' fake flavoring and cream and egg free ice cream, and it is amazing. I ordered sugarcane ginger and guava, and the flavors were intense, the ginger full of tangy, chewy spice and the guava sharp and pungent as the actual fruit. This stuff is reminiescent of gelato but a little icier and a little faster to melt - delicious stuff, and inexpensive too. They offer elaborate ice cream cakes, and I am sorely tempted to make up an excuse to get one. In the shape of a tiger.

In any case, we met up with Christian again (who was leaving that evening), Mira, and Sepna, who had been shopping as well. Christian amused us with a story about being unsubtly pinched by a pashmina seller in exchange for modeling some of his wares (but she got free pashminas out of it, no?.) After a stop at Coffee Day, we returned to Katari - it's not worth moving around in the heat of the day.

We had plans to go out on the town that night but unfortunately nature intervened, in the form of a God Hates Us sort of torrential rain. It began with a few innocous little spatters then suddenly and unexpectedly turned into a movie-set esque flood, pounding viciously on the ceiling and windows, quickly and efficiently cutting the power. We sat in the dark, discontented for a bit, then decided Goddammit We Were Going To Go Out. Unfortunately rickshaws weren't running and cabs weren't interested either, and none of us was walking.

Everyone was hungry, and I decided I could really use a Diet Coke (my one Western addiction) and some chewing gum, maybe take a look at the destruction outside. I put on my cowboy boots and took along an umbrella. Completely under-dressed unfortunately. I discovered our street had turned into a churning, muddy ocean, trash and god knows what floating along the currents. (Chris told me he saw a severed chicken foot float by that night, which I do not disbelieve.) I tried hopping from rock to rock for a bit, and almost stayed dry until a car charged by, sloshing piss water almost up to my knees. The battle was lost now and I decided to go on, sideswiping abandoned bicycles and melancholy, submerged motorbikes, waving at the packs of laughing men sipping tea underneath their dripping awnings. I made it to Thippasandra road, up to my knees in India brand Toxic Waste and decided to turn back, but not before buying some biscuits and chewing gum for Christian by candlelight, dripping water from seemingly every pore.

The others decided to make a break for the bar but I stayed back. I'd had enough water for that night. Apparantly they made it but I'm not sure any stiff drink is enough to compensate for being transformed into a drowned rat.