Day Five

Woke up and per usual, ate a pomegranate. And some honey corn flakes. (I will try the exotic mango variety next.) We had the day off due to the Hindu holiday of Mahashivaratri, celebrating the Churning of the Ocean of Milk, wherein Shiva drank poison to save the world, giving him a blue throat. He had to stay up all night to save himself but was entertained by the people who stayed up with him, giving rise to the holiday's tradition of fasting and chanting. For us, this mostly meant we got to sleep in.

In any case, Aneesa, Adam and I took an incredibly long and convuluted rickshaw ride to the Bull Temple, where a huge black statue of Nandi, Shiva's bull, is erected, dating from 1786. We arrived and after braving the souvenir sellers, walked up to the nearby Ganesh temple, where some sort of ceremony involving a drum machine, flowers and elderly men wearing white loincloths. (I am admittedly no expert on Hinduism.) It is customary to walk around the temples inside an odd number of times and we went for three. Hindus like to touch the walls a few times during each circumnavigation.

We then walked up to the Bull Temple, which was much less crowded. You take your shoes off at an elaborate white entrance-way full of statues, and then pass by the priests, who offer you blessing flowers for a small and negotiable fee. (This deeply offended Adam, but I found it kind of amusing...proving I have the black and shriveled heart of a capitalist I guess.)

The bull itself was dark black due to application of supplicatory coconut oil to the granite surface, and certainly impressive, seeming to glitter slightly with moisture. Chalk drawings of attractive woven symbols ran around the temples stone floors - the same drawings that grace the entryways of many of the houses on our street. We rounded this temple as well, bypassing sunburnt German tourists and stopping to look at the tiny lingnam alcove inside, then went out again.

The map decieved us into believing we could walk to Tipu Sultan's Palace, but it was unfortunately full of lies, and went on a rather Bataan-Death march esque walk down the heat of the day streets, breathing in dust and exhaust. It a curious fact that in the hottest places it is hardest to find a drink, and I soon became dehydrated - I could fairly feel my poor palate withering away inside my mouth, and although there were plenty of tiffin shops and sari makers, none of them actually contained a refrigator with a nice chilly Diet Coke. We limped along a while longer until we found ourselves underneath a particularly poverty-stricke overpass (seedy bars and chicken parts all covered in dust), and hailed a rickshaw to Tipu's.

I by this point felt like a cowboy stricken in the desert, and sat myself down to try not to dry up and blow away while Adam and Aneesa went inside the palace. Like many world attractions, the British packed up all its original treasures into crates and put them in the British Museum - which means there's not much to see at the palace itself. (It has also been tragically badly restored.) I am trying not to regret wussing out.

We went back to Commercial Street and shopped for shoes for Aneesa in an Islamic region of town, hijab-attired women walking through the dusty streets, carrying live chickens and coca-cola bottles. I finally found a drug store with Diet Coke - chilled!- and bought two cans. I almost felt human.

We returned to the Katari Villa to pull ourselvs together, then headed out for a cooking class at a nearby lady's house. The house was one of those large and almost-luxe affairs you see in India, hyper modern kitchen and flat screen plasma TV juxtaposed with unfinished walls - and it was a nice place to relax in. Her high school aged children hung out in the living room and looked sullen like kids do across the world, and she would occasionally yell at her son to go do his darn math homework, whereas he would cagily slink across the room and out of earshot. We are not very different across the world.

We sat around the kitchen and she told us how to make a few dishes, beginning with onion pakoras, dusted with garbanzo bean powder and a little coriander then quickly fried. These were tasty and crispy, like highly evolved onion rings.

She then moved on to saag masala, the Richest Dish On The Planet. You begin with oil then you add some milk, then you add some pureed cashews, then you deep fry the paneer, then you add tomato, onion, and spices, then you add more milk, more butter, heavy cream, and what the hell why not some more oil. This naturaly comes out tasting like one would imagine crack would taste if turned into food. I only had a little lick of it.I like my arteries functional.


We also made channa masala, garbanzo beans cooked in a spicy curry sauce. This was delicious and not as likely to kill you, prepared without aid of milk or cream.

Finally, she showed us how to make aloo parathas - indian stuffed bread - beginning with mashed potatoes mixed with plenty of spices and coriander, slapped into the middle of some bread which is composed of something like a dumpling, then rolled out flat. These were excellent and suprisingly easy to make. We finished with a carrot dessert that begins with nice healthy grated carrots, to which you add milk, cream, butter, condensed milk, sugar, and deep fried cashews, coconut, and raisins. This is also delicious, although I am beginning to wonder why most of India is not dead.

We finished the meal and walked home, watching people lay out flowers at the nearby temple for the holidays and dodging the usual bulls, cows, rickshaws, and cranky dogs. And then I slept again (really well.)