Mo' moksha mo' problems

Usually I just type merrily away as the words pop into my head, but today I'll start with a direct excerpt from my journal. I wrote this yesterday, staring down at the Ganges River from a rooftop. It was neither sublime nor mystical:

Varanasi. What a shit hole. I suppose Team Foreigner has, en masse, silently decided to hurrah about this fucking hole because they're worried about misunderstanding Hinduism. Who cares? It's 3000+ years of feces covered in garbage and concrete and noise and assholes.

Varanasi must be one of those "love it or hate it" places, so I fall unequivocally into Camp Hate. Just another Indian city, but more terrible than most. The sounds, the smells, the relentless grift. It's a sacred Hindu place full of non-Hindu tourists. How do they fill their days here?

Yesterday afternoon I paid a boatman to take me on a brief Ganges jaunt. He insisted on pulling over at the burning ghats, despite my protests that I didn't want to crash any funerals. You see, madam, this is where the upper caste people are burned, and this is where lower caste people are burned. It made me think of a comedic bit by David Cross about segregated cemetaries in the American South - how racists were really stickin' to their guns with that one. Wouldn't it be terrible if the grey, greasy ashes of a brahmin got mixed up with those of a farmer? Ewww, yucky!

Our reason for stopping at the burning ghat soon materialized. A gentleman got on board exhorting money from me - ostensibly to buy firewood for the funeral pyres of dying poor people. I got a bad feeling about the guy. He realized that I wasn't going to pay. I said, "maybe I'll come by and check out your hospice tomorrow. I can always donate later, right? Or not at all." And he said, sighing, head drooping theatrically, "Well, it's your karma, ma'am..." Oh shit! No moksha for Molly? His attempt to bring me down had the opposite effect. I didn't feel bad at all. I felt weirdly exultant. Of all the ways I could help India's unfortunates, donating money to those religious rituals would be my last choice. Here's some firewood, and good luck in the next life, old lady! I know that your 70 years on Earth were scrabbling, painful and without respite from horror. But don't worry, next time round it might be marginally less shitty if you follow certain rites. Really, I wish you the best of luck. Because that's all it is - luck, chance, randomness.

Before Varanasi, I spent 2 days in Agra nursing a horrible cold. Instead of describing my visit to the Taj Mahal, I will simply urge readers to use the Google image search term "holding the Taj Mahal". The main attraction of entering the Taj grounds is witnessing hundreds of people simultaneously strike the same pose, while they elbow each other for the "best" spot. Here's a sample picture of a stranger[left]. Oh my God how is he holding up that giant building with just his fingertips??? It mustn't be so large and impressive after all. Nice try, Shah Jahan! Your dead wife must be so disappointed.

Speaking of Google search terms, it appears that many strangers from around the world have found this blog while searching "fat baby". And by talking about it right now, hopefully I will increase the chances of more strangers ending up here, against their will. Fat baby fat baby fat baby fat baby.

Rewinding further, let's talk about Bikaner! Recall that my last blog post had me in Jaisalmer, in far western Rajasthan - desert country. Dad and Ben had just departed. Later on the 17th, I took a bus to Bikaner. Upon arrival, I discovered that pure good fortune had delivered me to Bikaner on the night before the annual Camel Festival! Pretty much the best three days of the entire year to be a tourist in Bikaner. I was dropped off at a hotel I'd randomly chosen from the devil guidebook. No dice - pretty much every hotel room in Bikaner was booked. But good fortune continued; I met a hilarious English woman named Millie whose gentleman friend, Bubbles, owned the hotel. He didn't want his traditional Indian wife to cross paths with Millie, his mistress (?), so she was living in a house down the road. She graciously offered me a room in the house for my first two nights in Bikaner. Bubbles and Millie are one of the oddest couples I've ever met. They were wonderful to me. Millie and I spent the first day laughing our heads off, drunk on sunstroke; we watched the parade, camel dancing, camel decorating, and Mr. Bikaner competition - men sporting enormous mustaches and other absurd facial hair. I was even interviewed by Sahara TV, a regional news channel, due to my exceptionally white skin. Later on, I was too impatient to sit through Indian TV news, so I can never confirm whether my 4 minutes of fame went to air. On the second day of the Camel Festival we drove 40 minutes out to the sand dunes for foot racing, motorcycle racing, and traditional dancing. The constant flow of whisky didn't help my incumbent head cold, but it was fun. On the third day, I skipped the camels and went to nearby Deshnok to visit the Karni Mata temple. Due to obscure Hindu mythology, the Karni Mata temple is full of rats! Hundreds and hundreds of rats. Holy rats. I expected enormous, vicious city-rats... but they were actually small and cute. Some day I will post pictures of everything. After the camel festival, Bubbles and Millie gave me a ride in Bubbles' flashy SUV to Jaipur, where it seemed that every young couple in India was getting married on the same day. Wheeeee! I spent an unremarkable day and bought silly footwear. After Jaipur came Agra, and that just about wraps it up.

Into the ether of the interweb, I must send my heartfelt thanks to India's original odd couple. It was unexpectedly awesome.

Time/Space?

Note: the last post went up today, January 17, but I couldn't figure out how to convince the blog that it's no longer the 14th. I'm no Internet doctor.

Puffy Pants

Much like Woroniuk's quest for MexiFries(TM) across the mountains of Oaxaca and the plains of Yucatan, my search for jodhpurs in Jodhpur yielded no fruit. I threw my hands skyward and screamed, whyyyyyyy?! Why must my pants have tight thighs and loose calves, not vice versa? O cruel modern trousers!

I report with some happiness that it's been jeans-weather for the past 10 days, as we've crept into the subcontinent's more northern latitudes. I loves me some jeans. According to reports, I was not born wearing them, but ever since... I'm reminded of an incident at a Jordache mall outlet in Idaho (Montana?), where I mistakenly tried on baby jeans, thinking they were denim shorts. The denim of the early 90s lacked the forgiving stretch-cotton of today. I got plenty stuck. Luckily, my mom heard my tearful cries from the fitting room and heaved me out of the baby jeans. But it was a near thing. I could have spent the last 18 years in 2x.

I've made a terrible show of blogging in the year 2011, so far. It can be so hard, as they say. A lot of ground has been covered. After Ooty, a charming little hill town, the family jam band ventured further into the state of Tamil Nadu. In Trichy we went to a big temple (photo - left) and in Thanjavur we went to a Big Temple. The Thanjavur temple is called Brihadeeswarar and it's pretty damn amazing. The Cholas who built it some thousand years ago are the folks responsible for bringing Hindu architecture/religion/culture to Bali, Cambodia, Thailand. Awesome show, great job! I've never been to Europe but nevertheless I scoff at the lazy bozos who were crying about the Dark Ages while Indians were getting busy.

Domestic air travel has really taken off in India in recent years. There's a good handful of airlines whose competition keeps prices decent. The sudden bubbling of the Indian middle class hasn't hurt either. So the family jam band took an aeroplane from Trichy to Mumbai, saw some sights, and bid fareful to the mumsies. Bye Mom! We were high on air travel so we decided to keep veepin'. Though lacking our star tabla player, the family jam band flew to Aurangabad as a jumping-off point for the Ellora and Ajanta Caves. Aurangabad's air quality was horrific, as bad as Delhi's, despite being only a fraction the size - barely one million people. Mystifying. As soon as we got off the plane my throat started to hurt and the phlegm built up. But the caves - yes - every traveller to India should see them. Our visit to the Ellora caves coincided with every single school trip in Maharashtra, so I was repeatedly swarmed by dozens of 14-year-old girls. "One picture, one picture!" Only one?? Not quite. And when they get their film developed (yes, they still use noisy old film cameras, bless them) what will they say? "Ah yes, this one is me and Gita and Karuna and our white lady-friend. And this one's a carving of Vishnu..." Who knows.

Back on the plane, the phlegm dried up and we landed in Udaipur, Rajasthan. Hark, clean air! My sometime nemesis, Lonely Planet, describes everything in Udaipur as "the most romantic ___ in India" and it finally got something right. Jodhpur next, with its incredible fort Mehrangarh, was a return to the loud and stinky city standard, but it was not without charm. And now: Jaisalmer. Udaipur was white and Jodhpur was blue, so Jaisalmer is sand-coloured. Yesterday spent the afternoon seeing countryside and riding camels. All is well.

Last night the family jam band formally disbanded, until our next reunion tour. This morning I woke once more a solo act. What now? Well, I'm sure as hell not starting a band called 'Wings' or letting zombie Linda McCartney do back-up vocals. No, sir.

Garam Masala

In Ooty, Tamil Nadu, we purchased a huge pile of fresh whole spices and mailed them back to Dawson. Now I have no excuse - I must attempt some Indian cookery back at home. Garam [hot] masala [mix] varies according to region and personal preference, but here are the ratios supplied by our lady Leelu...

1 cup cinnamon sticks
1/2 cup whole cloves
1/2 cup anise/aniseed - not star anise
5-8 pods black cardamom
1 tbsp black pepper

With a food processor, turn all of this junk into fine powder! Store in a tight container. Keeps for up to 1 year. Some garam masalas use cumin, but only for use in veg curries - not meat.

There are some obvious advantages to making your own garam masala - it's fresh, and you know exactly which spices are in it.

Ooh, now I'm hungry. Time for another excellent meal.

Traditional Keralan Fish Curry

Ben and I took a short cooking class while in Fort Cochin, Kerala, at Leelu Homestay.* Our teacher, Leelu, walked us through a Keralan dinner while we took notes. Then we ate the results! It was one of my favourite meals over the past few months. We made fish curry, sambar (a thin veg curry, ubiquitous in South India), okra curry, thoran (coconut-cabbage dish), and chapatis. Yum! She also gave us her own preferred recipe for garam masala (spice mix).

Leelu says that there are 13-15 traditional Keralan fish curries, which require a different masala mix from vegetable or meat curries; fish masala is only used for fish curries. Here's my rendering of our fish curry recipe...

INGREDIENTS:
1 wide, deep, open pan
500 g fish or prawns
1 piece of fresh ginger the size of a man's thumb, sliced
10 cloves garlic, sliced in large chunks
3 or 4 small shallots, sliced (can substitute with red onion)
10-12 Indian curry leaves, fresh (optional)
4 tbsp coconut oil (can sub. with corn or sunflower oil. don't use ghee, butter or olive oil.)
1 tsp mustard seed
MASALA MIX:
...1/2 tsp turmeric
...1/2 tsp fenugreek - don't go overboard
...4 tsp kashmiri chili powder or another med-hot chili powder
...1/2 glass tepid water
4-5 tsp tamarind, dried and seedless
1 c water
1 tsp salt

Leelu begins: "The secret to Indian cooking is to never, ever turn your stove to high heat. Medium or medium-hot is the highest it should go." With this in mind... on medium heat, put coconut oil in pan. Once oil is hot, add mustard seeds. Let them pop. Now add ginger, garlic, shallots. After a minute, add fresh curry leaves (optional).**

In a separate bowl, make your masala mix. Add masala mix to pan, stir in. After ~3 minutes (stirring occasionally), the spices will darken slightly and the oil will separate.

Add tamarind, which you've been soaking in 1/2 cup of water for the past 10 minutes. Include the water.

Add another cup of water and salt. Leelu notes that the fish will happily absorb salt, but you should be careful when adding salt to a veg curry.

Let the now-watery mixture come to a boil. Don't turn the heat up!

Add prawns/chunks of fish, and gently mix them into the sauce. Don't bust up the fish chunks. It's finally time to cover the pan and cook for 20-25 minutes (fish) or 10-15 minutes (prawns). Leelu recommends prawns. As for fish, your best bet is kingfish or another firm white fish. But you can use almost any fish - for softer fish, reduce cooking time.

I fervently hope that this recipe doesn't taste like shit when I try it at home. Leelu obviously uses fresh seafood, but Dawson is about one million kilometres from the nearest ocean, so let's cross our fingers and hope for the best with frozen stuff.

*Kerala Tourism has hosted some cooking videos by Leelu, which I will certainly check out once I'm back in my kitchen.

**A note on curry leaves. According to a seemingly knowledgeable grocer, everyone in South India throws fresh curry leaves in everything; at the veggie market, the vendors will give you free curry leaves with your purchase! I asked the grocer if I could possibly grow a potted curry plant in Canada and he laughed - no - curry plants need a hot, humid climate. If, by some miracle, you can find dried curry leaves, they would work okay.

Scenes From the Mysore Rail Museum

INSPECTION CAR NO. 07330
MY STORY

I stand aloof as I am the snobbish inspection car used exclusively by Senior Railway Officers for the Inspection.

There is nothing wrong, and in fact everything right, with relating history via anthropomorphic storytelling. I am Jack's bile duct, etc. The rail museum also contained a semi-restored Maharani's saloon car, where old-time Indian nobility would have travelled in style - a mega-first-class train carriage that would cause Wes Anderson to get the vapours. Peeking inside the carriage was a moment of butt-clenching jealousy. Oh, to forgo the dust and cockroaches of modern-day Indian Railways...

------------

The Shore Family Jam Band managed to join forces after all, despite the extra day or three that my parents spent languishing in London during Europe's "freak weather" in the week before Christmas. A few inches of snow in December, what calamity! But now we know with absolute certainty that the Heathrow Airport Authority, among other players, is managed by a squadron of effete turds.

We did a lightning tour of Kochi and Allepey, then spent a few days around Christmas in the Wayanad district of northern Kerala. The longstanding communist government in the state of Kerala must be doing a few things right - more [relative] wealth, less garbage, better roads, and is it possible that the people even seem happier? One of our hosts at Varnam Homestay in Wayanad, Varghese, certainly gave the impression that life is good for many Keralans, including his family. And you can trust a man with a stellar mustache. This much I know.

It's difficult to compare life in Kerala to that in the Yukon. Watching Varghese stroll around his property barefoot in a dhoti (balls free and living the dream), I think of boots and parkas. Sigh. In Wayanad, they grow black pepper, cardamom, coconut, banana, coffee, tea, rice, nutmeg, mangos, tamarind, jackfruit, cinnamon, curry plants... in any old backyard. Goats, chickens, water buffalo, fish pond. Anything a man can't grow, he can buy in the local market a few kilometres away - very likely locally sourced. In Dawson, if the supply trucks stop rolling, we'd be out of edibles right quick. If (when?) our current society implodes, Varghese and co. will be eating like kings and plugging away at the rice harvest while we in Dawson become rioting, cannibalistic jerks. I realize that I'm painting an overly idyllic/idealistic portrait of Keralan living, but...

Altogether it was a successful Christmas in Kerala. We ate homemade, traditional local meals thrice daily, lounged in hammocks, swam in a waterfall, argued over euchre, ate too much chocolate, slept in. My pops gave me some 'light reading' as a gift - Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion - which helps counter my guilt over the fluff-heavy reading list I've been building on this trip. Incidentally, the worst of the fluff has some pretty religious content. Nicholas Sparks has become exceedingly rich writing books about dull (Christian) goodie-goodies, while (Mormon) Stephenie Meyers makes revoltingly un-sexy fiction about vampires and werewolves. So... yeah, I'm having a rich chortle reading Dawkins. He's doing a pretty fine job of convincing me to drop the agnostic safety blanket and jump right in. Indeed, I'm betraying the hippie backpacker tribe - I have not, and likely will not, "find myself" through Indian spirituality. (Sorry.) Three cheers for atheism! I very much enjoyed the following, which was quoted by Dawkins in his book:

"We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart." -H. L. Mencken

Tomorrow the Jam Band travels to the delightfully-named Ooty, formerly a British hill station. Tea, spices, and so on. My phone appears to be back in working order, so if anyone want to give us a dingaling, I think you can call us from Canada by dialing 011 91 0967 416 3361.

Vittles

I don't think this is going to blow anyone's mind, but: Indian food is so damn delicious. We're in Fort Cochin, Kerala, munching on outstanding traditional Keralan foods for breakfast and dinner at our homestay. The toughest question of each day is, "where should we eat lunch??"

The multi-meat dinners of a Canadian Christmas will truly be missed, yes... On the other hand, Indian food is amazing! Barring a rough bout of amoebic dysentery, my plans to lose weight on this trip are wholly shot.

Mum and Dad have spent the last day(+) stranded at the London airport while a pack of English dandies try to deal with the miracle of snow. What a bunch of clowns. Edmonton-Kochi is a brutally long haul even under the best circumstances - I can't imagine how they'll feel once they finally arrive. If they ever get out of London. I have been pestering them to leave Alberta, but forced emigration to England seems a bit extreme.