I am worried by the weather right now. It is reminiscent of a beautiful June at home. June. In February. It does beg the question: So if this is like June, what is May going to be like? I fear there might be a return to the dripping days of August. I need to get out of Delhi I think.
So new things in my life since I have been in Delhi:
1. I now know the girl from AIM cafe's name: Yuang. It only took five months to ask.
2. I am taking three very interesting courses this semester: Gender in Literature, Romantic poetry and India After Independence. More on these later. Everything in the department seems really organised this time around though, so that is a nice improvement. I am not sitting exams this term as I really feel like the whole thing was such an unnecessary palaver last time. So it will be essays a go-go.
3. I like guava jam.
4. Continuing the fruity theme, I ate a new fruit. There is a fruit here called chiku (they have it in South America too, and it is called Sapodilla I think) that looks like a small dirty potato. I found it at breakfast and picked up and took it to Tanveer who seemed to think much more of the small potato-ish thing than it's appearance would suggest. You cut a chiku open, and inside there is flesh that is quite like an over-ripe pear in texture, soft but a little grainy. And it tastes like caramel. I think it is possibly my favourite fruit alongside pineapple. You don't eat the skin, you scoop it out, or if you are picking one up on the way home, eat it off the skin. And they are addictive. You can easily consume five of these wee things in about as many minutes. They are incredibly sweet and go well in porridge. I have a vague idea to make jam out of them to send home, but I really don't know how to do that. I had never seen them before in my life. that was strange for me, as in the UK we have access to so many international foods, and one so tasty as chiku, I thought I would at least have heard of it. Someone is missing out on making a killing. "Chiku! The fruit that looks like a potato but tastes like caramel!" I can just see it now.
5. I have taken up Urdu classes. We are trying to learn how to write it. It is a beautiful script, called Nastaliq. I am rather bad at it though, as it does all look worryingly like the same squiggle, just in different positions round the page. Still, if I can at least write my name, I will be happy. Thankfully Urdu the spoken language is just a Persian version of Hindi, so I have not too much issue there.
6. I cut my hair, I take vitamins, and yet it still falls out. Actually, that isn't that new is it?
7. Trip to Chandigarh: Went up to Chandigarh with Lauren to stay with dad's friend Navjeet and his wife Meenu and Navjeet's parents. His parents are lovely, though they are both fairly bonkers in their own ways. His dad was quite imperious and obviously incredibly proud of his city and university. He showed us round everything and was anxious that we didn't have to even think in case it was an effort for us. He had decorated the flat they lived in himself, and it was full of plastic and real flower arrangements, strange mood lighting, decoratively arranged soft toys and paintings. There was a cupboard that turned into a mirrored bar and a blue tooth controlled music system. In the room we were sleeping in, we had a lamp made of hermit crab shells all sticking outwards, a green light above the bed, a monkey hanging from the toilet ceiling and a dress-up magic wand pinned to the wall, leather square cushions and a tiger print quilt. It was an eclectic mix of old cat lady and 70s pimp. His mother was constantly asking us why we didn't eat more, and talking about desert in a furtive and giggly way. We loved her, she was such a character. The made us feel so welcome in their home, despite never having met us. Chandigarh itself is a nice city, quite odd. It doesn't feel like India. It is clean, open and green. it feels American actually. Everything in it is built to a convenient and well-organised plan and everything is very new. The lake there is lovely to walk round, and you could take a pedalo out on to the water. I think I would go back for a relaxing weekend if ever I felt I needed to get out of India but couldn't actually get out of the country.
8. Other small things that come to mind: Small child being hung out of mercedes car door to shit in the street; being asked if I was Mulsim and married by a rickshaw driver; the tchai in my Urdu classes with huge amounts of ginger in it; zazie in the metro; the new urinal on my road everyone now pees on instead of in; new friend from California Shayna; seeing a rickshaw do a somersault and smash right next to me; two monks on a moped; Chinese New Year with Vietnamese nun chant and Ladaki dancing; Wouter and Lauriane's new flat and the tea we attempted; learning that putting bitter chocolate in tchai mix helps everything.
So. Here we are. Back in the present more or less.
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