#Americaheckyeah

We recently completed a brief trip to the U.S. for a wedding. A great time & the occasion for some observations:

Upon landing at O’Hare on non-stop flight from Delhi, we made a beeline to Frontera Grill for some breakfast. If given the opportunity, I think C would leave me in a heartbeat for Rick—if he promised to share his kitchen with her. Well, he wasn’t there & for now she’s satisfied with my company to enjoy some Rick-Mexican goodness. The taste of good quality Mexican food is a real treat. We just don’t get much variety here. While fans of Indian food, we don’t have much of break from it, even on our own.

We arrive on time to DSM. We promptly and efficiently rent our car & are on the road. Aw, the road, where the few vehicles on the road (“Where is everyone?”) and drivers stay in lanes and drive wonderfully predictably. We get on the ring road on the south side of DM and looking out at the countryside we see the beautiful Grant Wood-style fields. Everything so neat, clean, and orderly. Spring is late, but a hue of green is beginning to frame the countryside. What a joy to be behind the wheel through the lovely countryside—even if it is in a Ford Focus with an automatic transmission. 

We arrive at our first destination: the “Super Target” near Jordan Creek Mall. Entering the store, we find it nearly deserted. “Where is everybody?” “Where are the hordes of people?” Although the store seems short of people, it was full of goods. I think that we in the U.S. are way too consumerist and too enamored with stuff, but it is a gift to go to a store to find all kinds of stuff that you need in a roomy, well-organized, friendly atmosphere. We had a long list of stuff we wanted to purchase, and we were just in luck. Lots of stuff, easy to find. Good quality. Wow. We left a lot lighter in the wallet, but with many of our needs met.

We then went to Cheesecake Factory for lunch (no cheesecake!). Not great, but we could order a salad, and we did, along with some steak tips. Yum. A modest but most welcome salad. We get some more stuff & then head to our digs at the Hotel Fort Des Moines, that venerable old institution from days of Republican political gatherings and basketball tournaments. The room had a radiator, which as it turns out, we needed. The down side of our visit at the beginning was the weather: cold, windy, and rainy. With our current tropical locale, this was a shock to the system but not to the mind. The mind remembers. The room was fine but for the slow internet connection and the fact that the shower heads built for short people, which I can never figure.

Downtown Des Moines seems almost like a ghost town. There are people, but so few! It’s so roomy in this part of America. So easy to walk places: the rain, cold, and wind soon give way to sunshine & warmer temperatures. A small but not insignificant joy.

The wedding is a lovely. Happy couple, seeing lots of relatives. Good times all around. Thanks to good planning, everything runs on time. What a great idea! And the wedding, while lovely, was not an extravaganza, unlike some (most) Indian weddings. Good food, but not acres of it; a celebration for family and friends, but not one for every Tom, Dick, and Hari and their gals. Like a good many things, perhaps the expense of America limits everything, and in this case, for the better.

The only downside of the trip (besides loads of jet lag there and upon return here) was that something in the U.S. didn’t agree with my lower GI tract. I was down for a day with a problem the severity of which has never been matched in my India (or Nepal or Mexico) experience. Well, nothing is perfect, not even the good ol’ US of A.

The Case of the Love Commandos: A Vish Puri Mystery by Tarquin Hall

N. B. Cross-posted on Taking Readings

Readers of this blog will know that I’ve become quite a fan of Tarquin Hall’s Vish Puri books. They satisfy on a couple of levels. They are neat little mysteries. One blurb calls Puri “the Indian Hercule Poirot”, while others compare him to Alexander McCall Smith’s “The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency” series set in Botswana. Fun plotting (and sub-plotting), along with insights into Indian culture, make the books work. In fact, it’s this later point about the insight into Indian culture that makes the books so fun for me. Hall is an outsider who’s peaked behind the curtain or at least one who’s bothered to look. His comments on roadways and traffic, unique Indian phrases, Indian snacks, arranged marriages, exams—I could go on, but you get a catalogue of life here. For someone still trying to figure things out, observations that confirm my own thinking or that elucidate the strange are most welcome, especially when shared in such a fun format. 

This book in the series deals with arranged marriages, “love marriages” (not arranged), caste, and political corruption—issues that remain at the very heart of Indian society today. Vish Puri, long-time husband in an arranged marriage, isn’t convinced that the trend from arranged marriages to love marriages is necessarily a good one (nor am I entirely), but he nevertheless gets involved with an effort to the thwart an arranged marriage goes awry. Having gone down the rabbit hole, Puri finds himself dealing with the Dalits (once known as “Untouchables”), the lowest rung on the caste rung, which isn’t supposed to exist, but does persist still in varies guises. Throw in genetic testing and a large scientific research enterprise—well, you should have the picture by now. 

Vish Puri has once again not only cracked the case, but he’s cracked many a smile on my face. Informative, fun, and insightful, this book is a great read for understanding India while following the intrigues of the ace detective (and his mother!). 

India Journal: "It's the Noise, Noise, Noise!

WARNING: COMPLAINTS AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION

In my mind I hear the voice of Boris Karloff's Grinch confesses the cause of grinchy sentiment toward Christmas: "It's the noise, noise, noise!" I'm I hearing voices? Should I be seeking treatment? No, I don't think so. While I do repeat this silent mantra in my head (sounding remarkably like Karloff's Grinch), I'm merely giving play to my love of a good impersonation. Oh, but the noise--the noise is real!

If there is a noisier nation than India, I don't want to go there. Of course, after 15 months living in India, this isn't news to me. Still, some reminders are too much, like the rehearsal for the motorcycle rodeo.

We live close to the main performance venue in town. We can see it from both of our balconies. We've enjoyed events there, including a film festival, traditional dance, and a katakali performance. As seems the norm for any public performance in India, our neighbors set the sound system volume for the deaf in the audience (thinking that they'll appreciate the vibrations, I suppose). (India movie theaters do this as well, especially with the ads.) What sound system managers should realize is that most persons aren't deaf, but the numbers must be increasing with the use of their deafening sounds systems. I suspect that India may be suffering an epidemic of hearing loss compounded by thinking that everyone suffers from hearing loss.

At around 6:15 A.M. one Saturday morning I am shoved into consciousness by the sound of screaming, whining motors. "What the heck?" (Or words to that effect.) I look out my balcony window to see several young men practicing stunts on their motorbikes in the adjoining area. And when I say "screaming, whining motors", I mean it, like model airplanes on speed. I am too sleepy for outrage. I am aghast and peeved. After an hour it stops. Reason has prevailed, I think. But I deceive only myself. For in the course of the afternoon and evening, the young motorcyclists put on a performance, whining, screaming motors and all, followed by music. Loud music. Loud popular music (to wit, long on beats, short on interest). I am happy to report that it all ends by 10 p.m., when peace returns to our otherwise sedate neighborhood (the roars of the lions have long since become soothing to my ears). 

The home of Vroom-vroom! and Boom-boom!

And while I'm at it, during a walk recently during the mid-day, to the tune of the aleatoric music of honking horns, I came across several random sets of loudspeakers. One played music for no one. Another carried a speech. Although I don't understand Malayalam, it sounds all the world like a harangue to me, as do most speeches at political gatherings here, which encounters at random. The sets of loudspeakers, about 4' high by 3' wide (fashionably loud) were attended by no one. Down the street, I suffer another involuntary concert of what I took to be devotional music. 

Anyone, anyone?

I don't want to be all negative. I love the sound of the schoolchildren next door playing at recess; our ever vigilant, crowing rooster and his clucking hens; and the roars of the lions and the bizarre calls that emanate from the zoo. Indian classical and  traditional music can be as beautiful and enthralling as the best of music anywhere (although that I must say that I find the Bollywood tunes, like a lot of contemporary American pop music, bores me quickly).

So as I write this,  Mr. Rooster sounds soothing and puts out of mind the noxious blaring of the buses that navigate the far too narrow lane that the must traverse to deliver passengers to the zoo.

Thank goodness for iTunes.