Demonetization: The financial crisis you haven't heard of

Never thought I'd write a post with this title!


The financial crisis that most of you have never heard of is going on right now in this country of 1.3 billion people. It's a move to root out "black money": tax evaders and bribes. I won't comment on the politics or financial reasons behind this. But I will tell you what I see.

The night after my home country's election, my other-home country's Prime Minister announced that from tonight the two most-used bills will no longer be legal tender. 500s and 1000s (roughly $10 and $20) were to be no longer taken at any place of business.

And by the way, the ATMs and banks will be closed for the next two days.

And by the way, this is a cash-based economy.

And by the way, there are 1.3 billion people.

So, Friday comes. The banks open and they run out of cash. ATMs are not restocked with the new bills. People wait hours to simply exchange money or withdraw from their accounts. The newspaper reports on the daily deaths occurring in ATM lines.

The autos mostly sit empty. Fruit vendors disappear from the streets. Our building watchmen cannot buy their daily groceries because their cash is now useless.

Some, like us, have credit cards. And while it is inconvenient to find a place that takes a foreign card, we can still buy food. Many do not have this luxury...and how I forget it's a luxury! Over 40% of this country do not have bank accounts, let alone Visas or Mastercards.

The demonetization of these cash notes threw (is throwing!) our economy into a whirlwind. We are figuring it out. We are readjusting. This country is resilient if nothing else.

The uncertainty is constantly hitting us here. I know, I know...everyone was surprised by the election. And that Clemson lost a football game. (Ok, that was just me.) I'm not trying to say we have it worse, but I see people that do. I am face to face with them, buying tomatoes and onions for them with my credit card, wishing I had cash to support their business, standing in line with them for temporary security. 

What It Feels Like

If you have read my last four posts, you'll know I have taken on the small (yet challenging) project of relating what it is like here through our five senses. It was Lydia's idea. I'm sure she didn't know how cathartic this would be. Especially this one: the sense of touch. Forgive me, dear blog-reader, but I'm going to have to go a bit metaphorical here.

What does it feel like here, to live here? I fear I may not be skilled enough to detect it, explain it and make it interesting. Who could? Marilyn Robinson? In a way that would have you weeping and rejoicing over what seemed like just words. Ann Voskamp? Emphatically poetic and raw and without proper punctuation. The Pioneer Woman? With step-by-step pictures and self-deprecation and Rotel-void desperation.

I am none of these women. So, here in a completion of my daughter's challenge, I'll tell you how it feels here. How I feel. 

I feel like I am part of something (a people, a country, a community) but never really fitting in.

I feel proud to be where I'm from, patriotic even. I also feel ashamed of my country, the (usually right) stereotypes and things we take for granted.

I feel despair and I feel hope. For my friends, for this country and for myself.

I feel lonely and isolated.

I feel loved.

I feel frustrated and impatient. I feel entitled.

I feel busy and purposeful, but also caught in a cycle sometimes. Overwhelmed and sometimes under-whelmed.

I feel normal. Like a normal house-wife, an ordinary mom.

I feel everything is different and to explain the difference is exhausting and difficult.

I feel grace working in me and through me. I feel God's assurance and peace and power all right here.

A Taste of "Home"

Three senses down, two to go. Now I've got the job of a Food Network host: conveying taste through media.

So many people have had "curry" (at some ethnic food fair), "chai" (at Starbucks) and "naan" (reheated from a package at Publix). Some even LOVE this country's food. They've tried butter chicken....and uh, "some other saucy thing" with rice. I'm not looking down from my elitist foodie knowledge here. I'm trying to say what we taste of a culture may not be authentic or even the best sampling of what a place as diverse as this has to offer. And it's certainly not comprehensive.

Neither is this blog post...because neither is my knowledge, my palette or even my food-adventure-spirit. Mine is more of a don't-get-sick, it's-probably-too-spicy, but-i'll-try-a-bite-if-you-offer-it mentality. I know you can tell so much about a culture by its food; and maybe so much about a food by its culture. I'm still a very early student of both here. Yet, a girl's gotta eat. So, here are my elementary culinary findings.

The trinity seems to be onion, tomato and coriander (cilantro). Add in cardamom and cinnamon and ginger-garlic paste for the next level of flavor. Mustard seed joins most parties, though I don't think I notice. Of course curry leaf...not curry powder, mind you, but fresh green leaves. Mint is there for savory dishes, but not delicately...and giving chutney a green color. I love when coconut milk is used, and I won't say I mind generous portions of ghee and salt. So much is fried. Vegetables are cooked to an unrecognizable orange-ish gravy. Potatoes are usually yellowed with turmeric. Rice is always (ALWAYS!) better than any rice I have ever made, eaten or seen in any other non-Asian country. And, by the way, it's always there. So much rice. Coffee is instant and sweet (yuck!) and chai is nothing like that mix you get at Christmas....no vanilla, no cinnamon...spiced with ginger and cardamom.

This place is full of good food, complex with levels of flavor. There is something about fresh ingredients, local specialties and people that just know how to cook! Yes, a lot is spicy. Some has made me sick. And I don't venture out too much. But even this limited category added to my menu has probably made me a food snob (in this category!) forever. 

What it Smells Like Here

I bet you are wondering two things:
1. What does it really smell like here? and
2. How am I going to blog about that?

I'll start with an answer to the latter.

Ahem. I have no idea.

But here I am on my self-imposed journey conveying of this place and life here via the five senses. Joyfully on the journey. It is a rather freeing thing writing because I like to and not because I have to. I'm up for the challenge. If I succeed, we may never have another visitor here again. And even if I fail, I don't think that changes most of your plans.

So imagine the smell of nothing, like just ordinary odorless wind and the laundry-detergent you are so used to you can't really detect it.It's probably what you are smelling now.  Got it? Ok, now add to that smell-less-ness this:

 and a little of this...but closer to your nose.

See, I had pictures. But now, because I frankly do not want to go around my house snapping pictures of household things and then out in the streets again (I just exchanged my kurta and jeans for t-shirt and shorts...I'm staying in!), you'll have to imagine without visuals.

Ok, so we have the garbage...rotting in piles, eaten by cows. Add jasmine flowers women wear in their hair, glycerin soap, all the spices (cardamom, cinnamon, cumin, mustard seed). Plus the almost-fermented smell of dal and rice, the sweet smell of chai, the heavy lingering cooking oil. Mix with dust, diesel fumes and every so often cigarettes. Then, particular to my nose: crayons, baby shampoo, tide and coffee. One friend's house smells like her fabric softener, another's like wood from the table her husband built, another's always of floor cleaner and metal pots on the stove.

It's truly an assault on the senses. And they say your sense of smell is the strongest link to memory. I can look ahead to one day if and when we leave here....I'll have so many smells to remind me of this season's home. 

What it Looks Like

Forgive me, dear reader. I have not posted in some time. I went to Bali for a week. The kids got sick and sick again. Brian got worms. You know...life. Anyways, before we begin, here's Bali:

Take a moment....

Forgive me, again dear reader. I am not a photographer, neither artsy or skilled in this area. But to forge the way in my feeble series of the five senses, I must show you what it looks like here. Caveats: 1) the above disclaimer, 2) this is only my city, the everyday life and 3) most pictures shot on an iPhone...nothing like the advertisements.

I see cows and parrots. I see dirt and potholes and piles of trash. I see the most beautiful flowers and fruit. I see people...all the time.

 The streets are not the best...

But you can get away with just about anything on them.

I find the oddest things (these guys were next to where I bought my coffee pot).

Some genius made a coffee table book of people carrying strange things on motorcycles. I could have added a couple of volumes, but I forget to take pictures....or I'm driving carefully around the loaded bikes.

 But most of what I see looks like this. It's a pretty good view. 

What I see, more than these pictures can convey is the beauty of God's creation tainted with our destructive-rebelling against Him. I see color and dirt. I see creativity and joy, despair and filth.

If we could pray for eyes to see what God sees, not just the beauty in the brokenness...but the redemption to come, His kingdom breaking through, what a glorious sight that would be. Better than any billboard or Bali vacation. Oh, grace my eyes!

What it Sounds Like Here [or "blahBEEPpsshtOMahhhhhhh"]

How do you convey sound through a blog post?

No, stop. That was a rhetorical question. I'm sure there is some audio link fancy thing I could put here. But why? Why go through all that if you could have me, an expert hearer-of-things-here, explain it to you?

This whole thing was Lydia's idea. While in the States, we had a few opportunities to share "What it's like" here with school-age kids. Lydia, being an expert school-age-kid, suggested we use our five senses. It was a big hit! If you get kids making crazy noises (cow, pressure cooker!) and tasting spicy chickpeas you are sure to have a (semi) captive audience for at least 7 minutes.

You, dear reader, are not a school-age-kid (I think) and thus I will not keep you for 7 minutes. Here's, to the best of my typing ability, what it sounds like here. You could probably get this read in a minute. Three if you try out all the sounds as you go.

Think in layers.

People. Talking in different languages. One sounds like "blblblBLAHblblb" and another I'm learning so I pick up a few words "blah blah blah A HOUSE blah blah hai". And English...so much English and so different (still) to my ears.

Cars. BEEP! (The horn is a non-negotiable here). beep. beep. beeeeeeeep. A car alarm, "weeooweeoo". Trucks rumbling over potholes. The grinding go-cart motors of auto-rickshaws. A musical backing-up sound (some cars have this feature when you put them in reverse)....my washing machine has the same tune when the cycle is over. A constant hum of traffic.

Pressure Cookers. PSSSSSSHHHHHHT. (repeat) Always at 5:45 am followed by an incessant search for the right pot: clang, bang, clang. Scraping of metal plates.

Worship. Chanting...a low repetitive hum. The call to prayer...a lyrical loud-speaker song. Drums. Bollywood music...always a nasal-voiced woman singer.

"The wake-up bird".....oooooo-oooooo-eeee-e-e-e. He's actually an Asian Koel who lives in the mango tree 3 inches from our bedroom windows. Please google his mating call. You'll get why we gave him this nick-name. Parrots make a squeaky toy noise. Pigeons. CoooCooo.

So, that's the usual. It's a noisy city and our windows are always open. But it's really not that bad. You get used to it and pretty soon I am off to sleep with the sounds of here...for at least 7 minutes.

Small (open) Hands: Crafts to Masala Chana

You might have been a part of this.

Lydia and Molly's "store" was traveling, ever-growing, and relentlessly-marketed by girls hard to say no to.

They made crayons, bead necklaces, intricate (and sometimes not-so-intricate) drawings, pot holders and binder clips. Basically, anything you needed.

Lydia and Molly decided these crafts would be for sale. They came to me with several petitions. Here's their final accepted proposal:
 1. They could not set the prices. Patrons could pay what they want. ("But, if someone offers like a nickel on my pot holder, I might wait a little bit until they give at least a dollar. I mean, I worked really hard on this Mommy.")
 2. All the money was to go to "poor people in India."

I was OK with my children badgering friends, house guests and total strangers for money as long as they stuck to the original covenant. They wholeheartedly did. In the end, they raised over $80. And what plans they had for this money! Half went straight to our friend Neetu who does a school program for children in the slums. She bought notebooks for 100 children.

The other half was spent on food for beggars. We encounter beggars daily. We try to keep bags of rice or non-perishable snacks in the car and stroller to hand out. It's amazing what $40 can buy in a country with so many foods packaged in 10 rupee (15 cents) bags. Here they are ready to pack individual bags of oatmeal, chips, rice and chana (chick peas) into our car and stroller boxes. The girls love handing food out and saying "God bless you" to the poor.

What a joy to see their hard work become a blessing to our community. Oh, let me be so generous as these little hearts and open as these small hands!

Back in the Saddle Again (with a chicken-delivery app!)

Jet lag and stomach bug behind me, I feel like I can get back to normal. New normal, that is...with more apps, shorter nap time for my kids and much more dust than I remember from 6 months ago.

People often ask what my daily life is like. Well, today I had an extra-productive homemaker kind of day (again, calibrated to my new normal standards).

Today I: 
1) checked out a new crossfit gym. My weight in kgs always makes me happier than in pounds.
2) procured sausage, bacon and pork roast from the pork shop. Yes, they butcher it on a stump. Yes, we saw a "really cool beetle" (cockroach) outside the door. Yes, I had to walk behind my children single-file on a concrete plank spanning the 3-foot-deep gutter to get to the shop. But I take pride in the fact that they have refrigerators.
3) ordered (and was delivered!) chicken from a new app called "licious". No, I do not like the name. But the chicken came in a cooler! (and yes, this deserves exclamation).
4) washed a bushel's worth of fruit and veggies. Bleach + filtered water = no worms!
5) laundered 4 loads of clothes (although, my washing machine is tiny so it's like 1.5 loads in an American front-loader).
6) installed a new ceiling fan. Ok. I watched the electrician install it. But I cleaned the blades (oh. my. so much dust!) and responded to "Madam?" 13 times while home-schooling. "Yes, I see the fan is a little slower." "No, sweetie. Start from the dotted line and then make a loop." "So, the fan works now?" "Right. Good. No...wait a second. Your "b" is backwards."
7) hired a new house-helper. In this culture, you have a helper to mop, wash dishes and occasionally make chai for 20 people. It's incredibly...well, helpful. In broken English and Hindi, Saraswarthi and I embarked on a what could be a beautiful friendship!


Absent are the keeping-the-children-alive things, cooking wholesome meals and living to blog about it. But I am back to what normal life for me is here. See that (brought over in my suitcase) candle there? It's "home sweet home" scent. I'm feeling it, apps and all.

Jet Lag: Wake Me When It's Over

This is no joke.

For the fourth time, I have left my home-passport country and traveled the grueling 20-something hour flight to this foreign land. Brian always says the flight is going to be "bad or really bad." He's a realist.

This trip wasn't all that bad. Three kids slept an appropriate amount. Everyone's in-flight headphones worked. We had enough diapers, melatonin and snacks. Our lay-over in London put us at a gate next door to a comfy Starbucks! John picked us up for the airport, where we got ALL our bags and enjoyed weather cooler than Atlanta.

We got home Thursday morning, dusted off the forgotten toys, made everyone scrambled eggs and took a recovery 3-hour nap.

7 hours later...we woke up. Hey, no guilt in that. First day is survivor mode. Don't you know, "East is beast, west is best?" And we just traveled significantly east. We ate dinner (lunch?) and went to bed again at 8pm.

Let me not bore you with a detailed timeline of the continued-stubborn-wakefulness and irresistible slumber that plagued the five of us (seemingly at five completely different circadian rhythms) for the next week. Not that I could accurately recount it. But let me say it always involved someone "hung-y", someone singing to her stuffed animals, someone yelling "stop it!" and much ignorance of our doorbell.

On day 4, I went down with a welcome-back stomach bug. (I was wondering how I would lose my American comfort-food happy pounds.) I meekly sipped Gatorade and a battled the bug with a Z-pack. I awoke 24 hours later..... to Brian sleeping beside me and the house quiet. It was 3pm. Where are the kids? I hear a text on my phone and scroll past the many "How are you feeling now?"s to see "Tell Brian I can keep the kids longer. They are doing great!" from
Maggie. Well, (seriously!) praise the Lord! Because I don't think Brian could have actually awoke to get them unless he had a good 2-hour warning.

Spoiler alert: This post has no moral. I'm not doling out advice on jet lag recovery. Simply recounting the "beastliness" of it all. Today, day 8, we are doing almost normal. Ok, Brian took a nap and went to bed at 8:59 (almost made it to 9!). I'm doing great. At least that's what my 2-hour-ago espresso is telling me. 

On Hospitality: Candles, Cornbread and Ice-Buckets

During these 6 months, we have stayed at 17 different houses and 14 hotels. (I just counted on our google calendar.) We are at the mercy of the hospitable.


I'm not a Southerner, just a transplant learning to make cornbread in a cast-iron and the perfect sweet tea. I remember being struck by hospitality at a women's Bible study in the heart of Atlanta. There were candles in the bathroom, coordinating dish towels, freshly dressed salad and an ice bucket. And although I had never eaten quail before or heard of Barefoot Contessa, I felt comfortable. And since that first Bible study (12 years ago), I have learned the purpose of hospitality is just that: making guests feel comfortable, at home. I don't have an ice bucket (I point people to the freezer) but I'm perfecting my own salad dressing and cornbread. Over a decade later I just took a crash course in hospitality: 6 months of other-dependence.

People we had never met before gave us guest rooms. Jeff and Jen gave up their master bedroom while they slept in their kids' bunk beds. One family didn't have extra space, so they booked a hotel for us. Another family had a gift basket for our girls. Another planned an Easter egg hunt. My dad and step-mom set up princess tent-beds! We have enjoyed countless kid-friendly lunches and dinners, favorite cereals and strong coffee, and meals at restaurants where we were batted away from picking up the check. Grandparents make every overnight a party. Friends make us feel honored and at ease. Being hosted is being celebrated, cherished.

So when I go back to my city apartment and cram in our fellowship group of 20 for a meal, I won't simply be recharged. I'll be a better hostess, a better member of Christ's body. I've learned more than recipes and decorating ideas. As I said, I have been at others' mercy, the mercy of God extended through His people. Though I wouldn't readily admit it; my heart has been on the line.

If God wills, I'll make others feel at home because that's what He's asked and that's what I've felt, here in this middle-place, home.

On Uncertainty (and Stink Bugs)

We have two problems at the Stock Household: 1) a recent major disappointment coupled with personal uncertainty and 2) a stink bug infestation. Let me start with the latter.

Stink bugs, according to my limited research, seek refuge inside homes while the weather is colder. They come into window cracks and fireplaces, fly around into walls and lamp shades for a day or two and then flip over and die...usually in the areas of the house where I am most prone to step on them in bare feet. Lydia loves to catch these stink bugs in her new critter catcher. She "feeds" them grass and allows them a plastic snake to "play with", then releases them into the wild (or the siding next to the windows of our house).

Onto the other more complicated, less containable problem. Some sweet friends and co-workers are not being allowed back in. There is no reason. For them, no goodbye hugs. Not even the closure of packing up their own home. We grieve and worry. And we can't help but thinking about us.

Surely we know God is in control. Surely uncertainty is something we live with and maybe, in very mature moments, embrace. But I don't like this getting so real, so close. I don't like breaking news like this to my kids.

We told the girls on Monday that their friends (four kids...like cousins to them) will not be back "home" when we go back. They won't be coming back. We might not see them again...at least for a very long time.

At first, there was crying and questions. Quickly, there was anger. Lydia didn't want to be hugged or consoled. She was on the defense. There was a wall put up. It was small, a six-year-old wall; but I could see it.

She ran to her critter catcher, at that time home to a rescued stink bug. She hugged the cage. "I'm never letting you go."

Now, my daughter was clinging for control, for stability...and yes, it was a stink bug. Isn't that exactly (minus stink bug...plus other distraction/relationship/organized kitchen spice cupboard) what I do? My wall is much bigger with plenty of bricks. Yet I suppose a coping mechanism is never too silly as long as we can quickly see the futility of it.
There has been a lot of conversation about stink bugs and Jesus at our house this week.

Cages cannot hold Him. A tomb could not keep Him. But He will never let us go. 

Swans are "Bad Guys" (and other things we learned in Mississippi)

It seems like everyone knows geese will hiss at you or maybe even give you a little nip on the arm if you get too close. But I have never known a swan to wrestle a six-year-old.

Two swans had come to the edge of the lake. I thought, what a perfect opportunity to go up and see them. My three girls and our hostess Becky walked up to these beautiful birds. By the way, swans are HUGE. Just a side note. We were a generous 10 feet away when out lunged one of the swans! He grabbed Lydia's t-shirt and (I'm not kidding) would not let go. Lydia, of course, screams and falls to the ground while the relentless swan beats his wings. Whilst holding Isabella (also screaming) and securing Molly (also screaming) I begin to kick the swan. Yes, I kicked the swan...hard. But I swear that bird did not care. He's just holding and flapping and my poor little Lydia is understandably freaked out. Finally, (probably about 5 seconds into this ordeal) Becky...sweet, grandma of five, gentile Southern Becky...grabs the swan's neck and wrestles it to the ground (again, not kidding). She pries him loose, rolls to the grass and the swan swims away. 

Lydia has some serious bruising on her legs and wounded feelings about swans in general. This is the same girl who had a juice box stolen from her hand by a monkey. She continues to LOVE animals, but I'm a little anxious about the petting zoo. 

Other things we learned in Mississippi this past week:

1. A gift is called a "happy". We received a "happy" of BBQ sauce and gave a "happy" as a hostess gift. I like it. Made me happy.

2. Mississippi has a funny and catchy state song. Google it. 

3. Roads are bad. Food is good. I'm willing to drive to the restaurants. I think that shows my economy of the situation. 

4. Mississipians make fun of Louisiana. Like Georgians make fun of Alabama. But we all know we are all just Southerners. 

5. Famous pottery made from MS mud is coveted...but genuinely cool. The Georgia red clay market is wide open as far as I'm concerned. 

Redundant

"Are we there yet?"

The great American road trip, this week in Mississippi, isn't the most fun thing. We've been in America for a month and our kids are just plain bored with the wide open spaces: grass, suburbs, parking lots, the back of the mini van.

We do get to see friends, meet new people and see new places. That's fun. There are new sleep-over spots, cereal choices and playgrounds in new cities. But for all that "new", there is certainly a lot of redundancy. Back in the car. Back on the highway. And where are all the people, the cows, the cars? Where's the "what in the world are they carrying on that motorbike?" and "Did you see that?"?

I admit, compared to the chaos and crowded streets we are used to, America is boring. It's cruise-control-redundant.

And so here I am missing the things I never thought I would: the traffic, the crowds, the chaos. Am I crazy with nostalgia? Maybe. But maybe that's one of the things I have come to love about living in a city with millions, surprising variety and frustrating inconsistency. We never grow bored (and on the flip side, never completely comfortable) with the everyday.

With all this travel, the questions from the backseat get redundant. Even a trip to the grocery store is boredom inducing. I'd like to say I'm patiently comforting my children with every "How many more minutes? This seems like FOREVER!" that comes my way, but I am not. The best I usually do is, "I know kiddo. Try to be patient."

[Here's where I compare God with chaos and traffic]

During one of these trips, my mind wandered into wondering if this is how I go about my relationship with God....zooming past on cruise control, from point A to point B. When I living out my week I get bored. In between events or moments or experiences, I wonder, "Are we there yet?"

So I wonder, does God have to jazz it up a little? Throw in a couple of ridiculous typos to catch my attention? A cow. Five people on one motorcycle. Blue chickens (seriously saw this one time)?


The problem, however is not God. Nor was it Mississippi on our road trip or the fact that in America, you have to drive across vast parking lots just to buy a non-blue chicken. The problem is [every Reformed pastor's favorite zinger] me. Here I go, zooming past. Getting bored. Thinking this living and active and amazing God is redundant. I reinvent Him. I jazz Him up. But mostly I wait impatiently (not eagerly) and wastefully. And I do it over and over again, redundant as the Spirit of the Living God makes mercies new every morning. I don't live in Him the way He invites me to do...starring out the window, asking around "Did you see that?" and falling more and more in love with all that He is.

Lizards and Mermaids

Two homes. Two parties. 

Lydia turned 6 the week we crossed the ocean to visit America. Why not have two parties? She picked the themes. 

Party One: Lizards. We invited friends and neighbors (25 kids!) to our house decorated with green balloons, streamers and toy lizards. We had a story time ("Alexander and the Wind-Up Mouse"...don't worry, a magic lizard makes a crucial cameo). We picked up "bugs" with straws in our mouths and made a craft. 

 

Party Two: The grandparents planned like we had invited those 25 kids over for a mermaid party. In fact, it was simply our family. Lydia got to dress as a mermaid for sweet time with her aunts, uncles and grandparents. Grandma's sunroom turned into the ocean. 

Mermaid Princess. Lizard Lover. This little girl turned 6 in style. 

What's it like?

"So, what's it like there?"

The most general question. And I'm about to hear it thousands of times. I know the heart behind it. I love the genuine interest. But I really hate answering that question.

We are leaving this home and headed to that home in a week. Packing, cleaning, visiting, goodbye-ing and lots of day-dreaming. How will I answer? What is this place like? I have a tragic lack of pictures, but I want to give a few answers. Why not try?

What's it like here?

It's hot, most of the time. Sometimes, I say it's freezing...when it's more like 65 degrees. My body has gotten used to it.
It's dirty and polluted. Trash is everywhere. Water is something I'm in fear of (what's in it?!). I should dust everyday. I wash my feet before bed. I notice when I smell grass because every other smell (diesel, trash burning, sewage) is all kind of normal.
It's vibrant. Color is everywhere. Saris and dump trucks and slum houses and milk packets are bright, multi-colored. The tropical climate makes things grow. Coconut trees and passion fruit vines, bananas and mangoes. Women sweep the streets (with their stick brooms) daily to gather up flowers the trees have dropped. What if they didn't sweep up the petals? Would we be covered in flowers by now?
It's dark. Idols, calls to worship, corruption, detailed criminal accounts. Abuse, intolerance and disdain on faces...creeping into my heart (out of my heart?).
People are everywhere. I always here people talking or working. The noise of a car or a pressure cooker. There are no quiet moments. There is no searching for a fellow traveler. There is always someone there.
It's quirky, frustrating, funny, endearing, infuriating. A lot depends on the mood. The store will be out of something but they always promise it will be there tomorrow. It won't be. But maybe later. And when I buy it, the clerk will not have change. There is never change. So he'll give me 3 rupees worth of candy. The candy is not good. And even though it's 3 rupees, it can make me mad. Or it can make me smile (because my kids don't have refined candy palates).
I saw 4 young men riding on two motorcycles today side by side passing back an wall-mount phone. What was that about?
Oxen pull carts. So do men. A cart may contain carpets, pots, garlic (just piles of garlic!) or any number of things for sale. A man comes by twice daily to deliver chai to security guards, maids, and others. Another man comes to call for newspaper recycling.
The electricity goes out often. The meetings always start late. Snacks and cold drinks are easy to come by.
My kids take baths in buckets, say "garden" when they mean "yard", take off their shoes automatically when entering a house, rejoice over imported cereal and occasionally bobble their heads.

Is that enough? No, I suppose not. What's it like here? "It's like that only." It's like home. It's not. And maybe I shouldn't be in dread of that question. Easy answers are not that interesting.