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Jigsaw_Girl
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Birthday: 1/22/1980
Gender: Female
Interests: Talking. Drinking tea. Eating chocolate.
Jesus Christ and all things related. Music. Languages. Foreign currency. International travel. Talking.
Expertise: Hmmm... English language; music; handbrake turns on the beach; last-minute travel arrangements (well, pretty much last minute everything actually!); squeezing past cars on my bike; starting conversations with strangers.
Occupation: Education/training
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
11/8/2005
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| Do they have lions in India?I went to visit a family down the path today. I pass their house every day on the way to work, so it was really good to visit them at last. Her husband was away with work, but I met the son and three daughters, and about 12 of the neighbours. And then her mother-in-law and 3 other relatives who arrived while I was there. We talked, drank tea, ate the biscuits I’d brought (interesting, because I didn’t think people did that here), shared family photos, and finally ate long slices of cucumber with a VERY spicy dressing on. Wow! My new friend asked me if it was too spicy and looking at the 7 other people who seemed to be happily eating the snack, and considering the fact that spice is relative and that I was in fact not dying from the experience, I said that no, it was ok. I finished two slices, and then went into the bathroom to wash my hands with her youngest daughter Priyanka (12), who said, “You’re feeling the spiciness.” Yeah, I was. I smiled at her, appreciating the fact that she’d understood my plight. It was a nice moment.
Well, aside from making what I think will be a nice friend (I found her very and refreshingly easy to talk to) the best thing I have to recount about that visit is that the dog that bit me is DEAD. (I hadn't realised it was their dog.) Eaten by a lion in their village, she tells me. Bravo! Well done that lion! I think possibly I can live in peace now. I've been consciously avoiding every small white dog for the last 6 months, which is quite tricky as the town seems to be full of them. 'Lucky' she was called, the dog. A fairly unlucky end, it has to be said. ☺ I can’t even pretend to be sad. I think the translation my friend offered as 'lion' has to be wrong though. Wrong continent! It must have been a tiger that ate my assailant; I couldn’t have plotted a sweeter revenge if I’d tried! I guess I feel a little bit sorry for the family who lost their dog. But from what I’m told, somewhat disparagingly, by other neighbours the dog was a total menace, so all in all it has to be a good thing. 
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| Two worldsI'm on a high. I feel like I've been transported to another world. That's why I simply must write, even though it's 11pm and I've got work tomorrow. Work. I do a job. (This life I have is so weird sometimes, living here, between two worlds...)
I've just spent the evening at my friends' house. I cooked my favourite pesto pasta dish, which I always enjoy, and then we sat down with some black coffee and European chocolate and watched a Hollywood film about a girl trying to make it in New York. I was totally engrossed in the plot and by the end, as I was leaving, I suddenly felt like I wasn't in India any more. I walked out to my friends' car feeling elated. I was out late, at night, but it was more than that; I felt like I'd been transported to New York, or at least back to the West, and it was so good for a short while.
And then I come home and as the gate squeaks far too loudly I'm aware that no other woman, married or oherwise, would have been out this late tonight, and that my neighbours, even if they don't disapprove, probably find it slightly odd, perhaps amusing, I don't know. To be honest, forget the woman thing, no-one in my town is out this late, full-stop. And I walk through the door of my flat and look straight at the typically Indian display cabinet at the far side of the room, resplendent with the colours of our Christmas cards that we haven't yet taken down (because no-one does).
Standing in my bedroom, I contemplate the fact that I am the most settled I've ever been; I've got a stable job I enjoy and which isn't killing me (!), I'm living in a rented property, but with only one other person who'll be here for a while, and we own a dining room table with 6 chairs, and a lot of china cups (18)... and 7 buckets.
And then I realise I still need to open that packet of imported Weetabix to check whether it's infested with small insects like the other ones were. Life is good. Tomorrow I'm back to normality, but it was good to escape for a while.
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| What do you do with toilet paper then?So the conversation started by Aunty* noticing some newly-purchased rolls of toilet paper in a bag in our kitchen. She asked, "What's that?" So I said, "Toilet paper", in English, because she knows those words, although she's probably never heard them used together before. I thought she might have worked it out for herself, but that was a silly assumption. After only a 2 second pause she asked, "Toilet paper - what do you use that for?" A reasonable question if you're a middle-aged Indian woman living in the mountains, 8 hours' drive from the nearest city. So I gave a reasonable answer. I said, "Just like you use your hand for cleaning [indicating with my left hand], so we use toilet paper for cleaning." Aunty looked unimpressed. Perhaps confused as to how this small roll of paper(?) could help. She asked what we did with the toilet paper afterwards - did we wash it? No, we throw it into the 'dustbin' - their Indian English word for any kind of bin, large or small. Then Aunty inquired as to whether we used water afterwards [to clean ourselves further]. Err, no. Next she inquired whether we used water on the toilet paper, and I said that we didn't. At this point she stopped her questions, looking no more pleased at the information, and I felt decidedly uncomfortable, imagining that she was probably thinking we were rather dirty.
I felt caught between two worlds. Indians, so I've heard, think we're a bit unclean by using TP instead of water to clean ourselves. English people generally think Indians are a bit disgusting for using their hand.
What can I say? I've tried both approaches, and they both work. 
*Aunty is my landlady who lives upstairs with Uncle. In India everybody of that age is called Aunty or Uncle. Easy!
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| Himalayan Christmas Cake SagaSo here's the story of Christmas Cake 2007. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...
It was Saturday December 22nd. My flatmate went out to buy a few essential ingredients for our traditional British Christmas cake at about 10.30am. She came back at 2pm and reported that the following are not available in the town where I live:
- weighing scales (well you can get metal ones with actual weights...)
- castor sugar AND brown sugar (muscovada)
- ground cinammon and nutmeg
- plastic bowls big enough to mix a large cake in
So with only 3 days to go we had to do something:
- we converted the measurements into American cup sizes and used a coffee cup
- we bought jaggery and melted it with butter to make runny brown sugar (jaggery is a local winter delicacy here - totally delicious with or without a cup of tea!). For the uninitiated, jaggery is raw sugar. It's brown, sticky and very very sweet
- I ground cinammon sticks and nutmeg nuts(?) in our mixie (umm that's Hindi for err that electric thing that mixes and grinds and blends - not to be confused with mexie which is a cross between a nightgown and a dressing gown). the nutmegs(?) had to first be broken into small pieces - Uncle did it using the most lethal nutcracker i've ever seen; it has a blade on one side! when he'd found it in his cupboard he informed me with a croaky voice that it was 'KHATARNAK' - dangerous!!
- we mixed the cake in a small-ish washing up bowl, which was the only plastic thing of the right size available in the market
23rd Dec. While we were baking the cake a number of disasters or mishaps occurred:
- our new electric oven didn't seem to be working, so I poked my finger in to check whether the element was on - OUCH! burnt right forefinger recovering nicely. there was a dent in my finger for 3 days which felt quite weird
- my flatmate dropped the cake on the lower element whilst taking it out to check it and the brown paper caught on fire! she was running round the house with a flaming cake for 10 seconds, but i padded it out with our oven mitts and she put water on too
- there were 3 power cuts while we were slow-cooking the cake. the oven was on the floor in my bedroom (where else?) and the smells coming out near the end were heavenly. sadly though...
24th Dec. I mistakenly thought the cake wasn't done (after testing it multiple times with my next-door-neighbour's knitting needle) and put it in for an extra 40 mins. When I took it out it and peeled off the greaseproof paper the bottom 0.5cm was BLACK! The sides were already burnt from the brown paper catching fire. I spent 45 mins sawing off the burnt portion with a small knife, leaving something more promising, albeit rather reduced in size. Then I ground almonds in my mixie... (no, of course you can't buy ground almonds here!)
My flatmate made marzipan while I was out. It was lumpy, due to the sugar not being pukka 'castor', but she assured me the taste was good.
25th Dec. With 30+ guests coming and a lot to do to prepare the house for our morning Indian style worship 'service' we opted for sprinkling sieved icing sugar on the top of the cake, rather than actually making icing.
The result... The cake was so popular with our Indian friends that there's hardly ANY left for us to save and enjoy. A great success!! I feel quite proud considering neither of us had make the cake without our Mums before, and also considering how many of the ingredients had to be dug up from the field, as it were...
What are you waiting for?? Come over here and taste it!!
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