My Addiction Fueled

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I woke up at 5:30 a.m. this morning to be sure I had time to devote to my avid readers before the day began. That was pretty stupid. I'm going to be falling asleep at dinner again tonight. But for now I'm drinking my instant coffee and a power bar from home and trying to wrap my brain around my day yesterday and where to even begin writing about it. As most of you know I'm a traveler with an addiction problem. People that have addictions take those addictions wherever they go. So my addiction followed close by all the way to India; as close as a pack of cigarettes in my pocket. We're never apart. And the happenings of yesterday only served to further my dependence. I love the world. We must be together.

Sudha met me right in the exact spot she said she would and was only about 5 minutes late. A long five minutes. Me standing on the side of the highway trying my best to blend in with my long flowing skirt and modest button-up top. These guys in the rickshaws keep looking at me like they want me to choose their cart for a ride. I just nod 'no' and they leave me alone. In front of the hospital was a good place to meet cause there is lots of security so it wasn't at all a threatening situation. I do breathe a huge sigh of relief when Sudha shows up. I hug her and then she summons a rickshaw to take us to the area she shops in. This is exactly what I wanted. We hop in and its the most amazing experience being whisked through Chennai in this open air rickshaw...down the highway and through the side streets. I can't stop smiling and Sudha is amazed that I'm having so much fun when we haven't even been anywhere yet. I keep making her take my picture and I lean my head out and get lungs full of dust and car exhaust but I feel as happy as one of those beagels leaning out an old Ford F150 window with his tongue flapping in the wind.

She takes us to the part of town where she shops. Perfect. Its a crowded (duh, everthing here is crowded) long stretch of sidewalk full of vendors selling their wares. She is my personal shopping assistant and could put the likes of Sarah, Erin, and Kim Kelm all put together to shame. When we hop out of the rickshaw she laces her arm through mine and we navigate the stalls like two old girlfriends. I point at what I want and she bargains and even pays for everything. I make her keep a tally of what she spends and, of course, reimburse her at the end of the day. She bargains hard. This is intense. To me its almost ridiculous. I see a beautiful skirt I want and its only Rs200 (about $4). She says "that's too much." I dare not interrupt this Indian cut throat version of "Let's Make a Deal." But I'm thinking, "Sudha, I really love this skirt. And we're only talking about 50 cents here. I can totally afford it!" But its really the principal involved. I could pay whatever the vendor asked but then what's the point of having Sudha along? And it just reinforces the idea that Americans are rich and frivolous. Plus it would kind of be insulting to Sudha because 50 cents is a somewhat substantial amount of money here. So I go with it...and go with it all day and come home with bags and bags of the most beautiful Indian clothes, jewelry and scarves and probably spent maybe $60 (including our lunch and rickshaw fares). I've never had that much fun spending $60...ever.

Have I mentioned the heat? I'm not exactly sure what the temperature is but saying its hot just doesn't do the climate here justice. Standing outside shopping in the streets I can feel sweat just running down the back of my legs...dripping down to my sandals. Yes, its hot, but its more than that. My skin feels like it is sweating and then you mix the sweat with the humidity in the air and then you add a layer of fossil fuel and dust and maybe you get the idea of what its like to just be outside. This definitely is how I imagined India would be.

At some point in our shopping I start to feel water splashing against my feet. I think "Please tell me someone's not peeing on me." I don't even want to turn around. But curiosity gets the best of me and I see this crippled old man with no hands standing there wanting some change. I nod no (even though Sudha gives him some!). A shop keeper has a bowl of water in his hands and seems to be ritualistically splashing water on the sidewalk after this man walks off. I'm thinking this must have some kind of spiritistic significance and am enthralled to watch the process and can't wait to get Sudha alone and ask what all this water splashing with the cripple is about. Later I ask her and she says, "Nothing. It just keeps dust out of the shop." Oh. Makes sense I guess.

Sudha is fading fast. I can tell she's hungry but insists she's ok and will keep shopping. I insist she be fed and tell her to take me some place authentic but that won't make me sick. She takes me to a local hotel and up a long flight of stairs is this little restaurant with all the shades pulled shut. Full of Indians out with their family and friends. Perfect. There's even a touch of air conditioning so I'm thrilled. We sit at our table where in front of us are these huge banana leaves folded in half. "What cute placemats!" I think. Only these aren't our placemats, they're our plates. Even better! I ask Sudha to please order me something not too spicy but other than that I was open to anything. We're served several bowls of different rice with chicken and fish paste. "Sudha they didn't bring me a fork," I say, and she laughs. "We eat with our hands madam." Seriously? Ok, well, there has to be napkins right? No. Apparently that's why we're all wearing long skirts. The long skirt also comes in handy when I scoop a big handful of rice into my mouth and its so hot my eyes immediately water and my nose starts running uncontrollably. I lick off my fingers then reach for the bottom of my skirt to wipe my eyes and nose. I think, "Ok, Andrea, get yourself together here. You can do this. Don't cry over hot rice you whimp!" So I do it. I haven't eaten with my fingers in probably 29 years (especially rice) but I shovel in the spicy rice and fish paste like nobody's business. One mouthful, then water. Another mouthful, more water. The cycle repeats itself until my banana leaf is almost clean and I'm crying like a baby with my skirt pulled up to my face. (It was a double layer skirt--don't freak out. No Indians were flashed). When I'm done I almost feel light-headed and weak. But I did it. A small personal victory.

When we finish eating I realize its 2 o'clock. I was suppose to be back at the hotel at 2 to meet Jeremy, Mike and our driver to go out with them. We're a good 45 minute ride away from the hotel so I call Jeremy and tell them to just go on without me for the day. So they do and I trudge on with my new Indian best friend.

Sudha takes me to a big shopping complex where they mostly sell sari's. Ok, being in this building was probably by far the riskiest thing I've done in my world travels. It was like the day before christmas shopping meets soccer stadium stampede meets running of the bulls times 100. Literally back to back people trying to shop. People are pushing but its not a rude push. Its more like pushing through this crowd is just the most efficient way to get from point A to point B. Everyone's nudging and pushing trying to get to the things they want to look at. This had to be like the worst fire hazard imaginable. Sudha holds my hand and we make it up to the fourth floor to look at some traditional Indian clothes. I can't remember what this kind of outfit is called. Its a long shirt that covers your thighs with two slits up the sides, these harem/MC Hammer type pants and a scarf. And there's only one size. So everything looks like it will be huge on me. I find a couple outfits to try on then we have to stand in line for a dressing room which means 20 women pressed up against a dressing room door waiting to just fall in once the woman inside steps out. While we're in line I tell Sudha how in the US its not uncommon for a couple girlfriends to share one dressing room. I knew she'd blush at this idea cause they're so modest here. "No really, me and my sister and sister-in-law can all get in one dressing room and try on clothes. Its really efficient!" When its my turn to finally fall into the dressing room Sudha asks if she can come in. I figure, "Why not. I've known you like 2 days now." Its almost like being with Erin and Sarah. Almost. I unbashfully take off my shirt and she's looking at the floor. I can tell she feels awkward but figure, "hey this is what you asked for." I attempt to get this shirt-like contraption over my head and it gets stuck. Like I'm half naked now and have this shy Indian girl in a tiny dressing room with me and my arms are straight up in the air with this shirt thing stuck around my face! Through the muffeld fabric I say, "Sudha, I'm stuck! You have to get up here and help me!" Of course she does and I squirm and she pulls and we manage to get the shirt over my big American head. When its finally on I can hardly breath and she says, "Its perfect!" Perfect? Well, if she says its perfect, then I think so too. So I buy two! (Thanks for the tip mom). The shirt is long and then to just be funny I take off my skirt and show her how in America we could just wear this as a dress. "See Sudha, just add high heels and red lipstick and you'll fit in at home perfectly!" She knows I'm joking (kind of). She's probably never seen so much white skin in her life!

At the end of our day I'm thoroughly exhausted and fall into bed at 8 after having a slice of Punjabi pizza. Jeremy and Mike get back to the hotel at around 6 and have pizza in his room. Its nice Jeremy and Mike get to spend so much quality time together--even the weekends. Although today we'll all be together. We're going to some city that's a really long word that I can't pronounce that's on the coast. I've had one coffee and two cappuccinos and they're wearing off I can tell. I was so enraptured with my cappuccino this morning that I told the waiter I loved him. Jeremy says, "Uh, Andrea, I'm RIGHT HERE." The waiter laughs and Jeremy says, "She means a different kind of love." I do?

Til tomorrow.

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Comments

[Ajith Chacko]

Hot & spicy memory
I lick off my fingers then reach for the bottom of my skirt to wipe my eyes and nose. I think, "Ok, Andrea, get yourself together here. You can do this. Don't cry over hot rice you whimp!" So I do it. I haven't eaten with my fingers in probably 29 years (especially rice) but I shovel in the spicy rice and fish paste like nobody's business. One mouthful, then water. Another mouthful, more water. The cycle repeats itself until my banana leaf is almost clean and I'm crying like a baby with my skirt pulled up to my face. (It was a double layer skirt--don't freak out. No Indians were flashed). When I'm done I almost feel light-headed and weak. But I did it. A small personal victory. I like the mode of presentation... Fanatastic.... keep it up..