Rags to Riches to Rags

My friend Julia's grandparents, a rather adventurous duo known as Bill and Mimi, arrived a few days ago in Hyderabad. True to the nature of poor college students, a group of us used the opportunity to invite ourselves out to dinner with them. We dined at a fine restaurant called Indi Joe's where wine is abundant and the menu includes everything except Indian food. Eight of the nine-person party decided to satisfy their cravings for Western food by ordering pizza or pasta, but the "tex-mex" section of the menu was the page that caught my eye. "Chimichanga" seemed too risky of an order for my friends, but I really couldn't resist the idea. What arrived was more "Mexican-ish" than anything... Really, I can only describe it as what Mexican food would be if cooked by Indian chefs. It did taste good though.

After dinner we wanted to introduce Bill and Mimi to the gastronomic delight of a dessert known as gulab jamun. This common Indian dessert is essentially a donut-hole soaked in sugary rose-water. My friends describe it as "the last bite of pancake." Based on the way we crave it, it might also have an addictive substance in the ingredients. We hoped we might be able to find it in the restaurant at the grandparents' hotel, the Taj Krishna. The hotel is one of the fanciest I've ever stepped foot in. If anyone wants to come visit me and stay there I'd really, REALLY be happy. Consider it.

We entered the hotel, delirious from the luxury of it all and sat in the lobby cafe area. A waiter arrived to take our order and we asked for delicious gulab only to find out that they don't serve it in the hotel. We were distressed, but apparently we didn't realize how things work in luxury hotels. Soon we found out how the other half lives. The waiter simply said "I'll take care of it," disappeared for a while then arrived back with the best gulab jamun ever.

Gleefully, we left the hotel and five of us piled into a single rickshaw back to campus. This cozy seating arrangement quickly ended any of the fantasies of finery that the Taj Krishna may have sparked in us. As we rode along chatting and laughing, suddenly my friend Abby screamed. We all spun around to see what she was pointing at and saw a motorcycle with three guys on it flying over the horizon with her purse flailing behind them. Somehow, in the heavy traffic they had spotted us, zipped past, reached over and pulled her purse right out of her hands. The rickshaw tried to chase after the motorcycle, but rickshaws with five passengers evidently don't accelerate very quickly. It was a sobering moment since there was nothing we could have done to predict or prevent it and there was nothing we could really do afterwards. Abby called her mother to cancel her credit cards right away and luckily didn't have anything irreplaceable in the purse, but of course everything had sentimental value. We're all just being a little more conscious of what we carry with us when we go out now.

Now that I've shared this story I'm sure my parents will have many sleepless nights. Don't worry. Here is a video of what the average, theft-free rickshaw ride is like. CLICK HERE Perfectly safe, right?

It's Getting Hot in Here

Either you all failed at leaving comments on the last post or no one reads this blog. Either way is mildly damaging to my self esteem, but I won't hold it against you.

I don't have any big adventures to report on so I thought I would take the opportunity to talk about a lot of little things.

The weather has gone from hot to HOT in the last few days. For most of January I would wake up before sunrise to go to yoga and it would be legitimately fleece-jacket-cold outside, then between noon and three it would be unbearably hot, but then pleasant again by the evening. Yesterday was pretty unbearable all day long. This morning when I woke up for yoga it was only a little chilly outside and I understood this to be a huge warning sign and I haven't ventured outside all day (I don't have any classes on Friday, so that's an option). But I hear you're all freezing in the USA so I guess I shouldn't complain.

Electricity comes and goes...daily...hourly...you just never know when you can count on power.

I never knew so many things could be wrong with a single bicycle. They gave us all bikes to get around campus and, due to my own laziness and disorganization, on the day of bike distribution I was one of the last people to receive one. While some people's bikes still have pieces of cardboard from the original packaging clinging to the shiny, aerodynamic frames, mine is rusty, squeaky, and only somewhat functional. It is periwinkle blue and in sparkly green letters it reads "HERO," which couldn't be a more ironic title. The zebra striped seat is stylish, and fits my personal taste, but slowly tips backwards as I ride it and has usually reached a vertical position by the time I dismount. As my peers happily whiz past me I count ever ride as penance for my sins.

Classes are going well, but it's hard to bring myself to want to focus when A) the professor's accent is sometimes unintelligible B) there are adventures to be had outside the classroom C) residual yoga-fatigue begins to take it's toll. All of my classes are taught in English but in varying levels of fluency. Across the board, my name has proven to be a challenge for any Indian professor to pronounce. In my Hindi class I discovered that Indian languages don't have any equivalent to the "ah" sound, the "th" sound, the short "e" sound, or the short "i" sound, so the name "Katherine" is completely unpronounceable for everyone here. It usually comes out sounding like "Kaaa-tuh-rrreen" but my favorite variation so far was the very robotic and futuristic sounding "Ka-tron." Though Hindi is missing all of the necessary sounds to speak my first name, there are literally four different ways to pronounce the letter "D," so there are plenty of options for Davis.

Language has proven to be quite a barrier in the two dance classes that I am taking. In my Khatak dance class the teacher seems like a nice enough man, but without the necessary vocabulary to sugar-coat each criticism, he comes off as very blunt. "That's wrong" is his only instructional phrase and I have to keep myself from getting defensive. I've also had to keep myself from getting too "Irish" in these dance classes. Both Khatak and Kuchipudi involve a lot of stomping of the feet. This immediately puts my brain into Irish dance mode and renders my arms immovable and my feet extra fluttery. Needless to say, I am not yet a great Indian dancer.

I'm beginning to sweat profusely so I may go lie down near a fan. Later today we're being taken on some kind of field trip to learn about some kind of Green-energy company...maybe we'll learn some coping skills for power-outages.

One Month Down

I have now been in India for more than a month. It's kind of flown by, which is interesting since I was under the impression that time moved much more slowly here. It's also quite strange to think I'm a quarter of the way done with my semester.

One month is, I believe, when it's ok to admit all of the things that I miss and crave from home and here they are:
1. Tofu, apples, soy milk, dark chocolate
2. My car
3. Toilet seat covers
4. Toilets
5. Law and Order SVU
6. Dance Classes
And it goes without saying that I miss my friends and family...awwwww...

Pictures and the Thousands of Words that They're Worth.

**Squeamish readers skip to Paragraph 3**
I had prided myself on my ability to digest spicy Indian food for several weeks now while my peers groaned and complained of heart burn and indigestion. Unfortunately, midway through my Thursday morning class, my bowels of steel were put up to the challenge. I sprang from my desk to expel the demon from my body, and thus began my very adventurous weekend.

The bumpy and twisty cab ride to the train station brought forth several more volcanic eruptions, and by the time we arrived to the station, all forms of matter had flown before me (and most of the city of Hyderabad) in bright displays of projectile vomit. Though I considered throwing my miserable, retching self in front of the train, I was trying my hardest not to complain or ruin the trip for my seven disgusted travel companions. Apparently I didn't completely conceal my anguish though. They later recounted the episode describing me as "deathly," "zombie-ish," or "like a swamp-creature."

The train ride from Hyderabad to Aurungabad takes about 11 hours over night but my condition actually made the journey easier. I crawled into my sleeper bunk, passed out, and rose from the dead a day later in my destination completely cured having passed my disease onto one of my unfortunate friends.

Aurungabad is a smallish city a few hours East of Mumbai. It doesn't have all that much to offer on its own, but it serves as the main stopping point for tourists to Ellora and Ajanta, two near-by sites. We stayed in the Hotel Shree Maya, which someone's guidebook accurately described as "cleanish." It certainly had plenty of character. We had two little rooms split between 8 girls which was cozy, but a lot of fun. We all unanimously agreed that we made a great, drama-free travel group. The whole trip was not very luxurious, but train tickets, lodging, meals, etc, etc, etc for three days cost less that $40 each, so no one is complaining.

We hired a Bollywood-music-loving cab driver for the first two days to chauffer us out to Ellora and Ajanta. In my Asian Art History course last year I learned all about Ellora and it was actually one of the monuments that made me really interested in coming to India. It is a Hindu/Jain temple started in the 4th century AD that is carved out of a mountain. That is to say, rocks weren't piled up to build it, rather, they were carved away. The result is really astounding, but I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

There were also lots of monkeys around, so Nicole can stop complaining about my lack of monkey pictures.

The driver found us a kitschy local restaurant for lunch, then suggested that he take us to this fort that no one had heard of that turned out to be really cool as well...If I can figure out what it was called or anything about it I'll let you know.

We collapsed in bed from exhaustion then met our driver early the next morning for the long drive out to Ajanta. It takes a few hours through some really gorgeous countryside to get there. Like Ellora, Ajanta is a series of man-made cave-temples, but this time they're Buddhist, and where Ellora is known for it's sculptures, Ajanta is known for the painted walls. Ajanta also requires much more hiking than Ellora. The paintings are only in dim fragments after several hundred years, but each cave is still unique and haunting. Again, there's little I can say that can't be said better through pictures. We ended Ajanta Day with dinner at a questionable restaurant then once again, collapsed from exhaustion in the cleanish hotel.

Day three was much less physically demanding, but no less memorable than days one and two. We began with a breif adventure to Aurungabad's "Mini Taj-Mahal" which is exactly what the title makes it sound like. It was pretty, but inauthentic, and we were hot and tired, so we left to get lunch and someone had the idea that we should all go to a "Ladies' beauty parlor" to get mehendi. There was supposed to be one such parlor near our hotel so we followed some tiny signs down a little alley and up to a little door. The salon was really just the back room of a family home and upon our arrival a few Hinid-speaking women, a man, and a little girl ushered us in, sat us all in the family room, force-fed us tea and snacks and turned the TV on to VH1. One-by-one we had henna patterns slowly and intricately painted onto our hands and feet. As minutes became hours we all grew concerned that we might be over-staying our welcome, but the longer we stayed the more hospitable the family became, even at one point bringing out the bootlegged Bollywood DVDs to entertain us. The little girl also ran away and returned with all of the family photo albums for us to look at. At one moment I observed that hanging around, snacking, getting girly henna, and watching silly movies was quite like being at a slumber party in the home of people we'd never met and couldn't communicate with. It was very fun, but mildly awkward, as you can see by the expressions on our faces in the photo. The journey home included less vomit than the first trip, and other than our taxi hitting a motorcycle (everyone was fine) on the ride back to campus I'd say everything went pretty smoothly. There's more to say and no time to say it. I'm back, I'm safe, it was a wonderful first excursion into India.

I'm So Sari

My mom sent me an email saying it was too bad that I wasn't going to be home to see the presidential inauguration on TV. Little did she know I would be watching it at a black tie inaugural ball hosted by the Ex-Patriots Abroad group of Hyderabad. Since the inauguration was held in the morning in the US, here in India we could watch it in the evening while sipping cocktails and eating a fancy catered dinner (all of which cost less than 20 dollars. I love Rupees). A few weeks ago a group of students from my program were eating out when they were approached by a woman who runs the Ex-Pats club who invited us all to come to the event. The majority of us (about 20 people) decided to go since it was not only an exciting, historic event, but it was a good opportunity to get all dressed up.

"Dressed up" in India means fancy saris, and sari shopping was quite an experience. Two of my friends here are staying in a homestay and this weekend I got to tag along with them to the sari store. Their host-mom came with us, which seemed like a good choice...if you ever need to go sari shopping I would recommend bringing an opinionated Indian woman with you. The store had shelves and shelves of sparkly, shiny, silky saris and all of us American girls were completely overwhelmed and befuddled. We had every color and pattern to choose from and when faced with the decision of simple vs. gaudy I picked gold with rhinestones. I suppose I'm not really one for subtlety.

Sari tying is perhaps even more complicated than sari shopping. The study-abroad program has connected us all with Indian "peer-tutors" and a whole army of them arrived last night to help dress us up. Who would have thought that five yards of fabric could turn into a lovely dress just with a few safety pins? Tying the saris was a pretty involved process but apparently it doesn't stop with the dress; in the world of Indian clothing any part of your body which can be adorned should be. The Indian girls helping us with the saris couldn't understand why none of us owned more jewelry. Luckily, I had picked up some pretty sparkly shoes the other day that met the minimum glitz requirement for footwear.


The ball was held in a swanky bar and I was surprised to see so many people there. They were serving an interesting variety of beverages including the "Obamagranate pomegranate martini." The tasty food consisted of American favorites like mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. Everyone gathered to watch the inauguration on a big projection screen, and that was immediately followed by a very strange celebratory dance party. The Indian DJ selected a very eclectic mix of American music to play, dragging hip-hop favorites of the late 1990s screaming from the vaults along with techno-remixes of Pink Floyd. Nothing says patriotism like booze, pie, TV, and dancing.









Just a note...Tomorrow I'm leaving with a group of friends for our first out-of-Hyderabad adventure. We'll be staying in Aurungabad and traveling to some cool caves and temples and such. We will return on Monday so I won't blog for a few days, but when I get back I'll probably have a lot of cool things to say.

Getting Schooled

Oh Mondays...

It's so strange to have to go to classes instead of just playing around...
I suppose you are all wondering what classes I'm taking...
I suppose I'll tell you...
I had trouble forming a schedule because they really only give you a very vague idea of when classes are going to be, where they are being held, and who is teaching them...all of the classes that I tried to go to for the last week or so ended up being non-existent or scheduled to be held at a different time than I thought they were. I made it to one class and sat through the lecture for 2 hours before the professor informed me that she really didn't want any American students in the class...But with a little bit of patience and stick-to-itiveness I got a schedule. It is as follows:
Basic Hindi-- I'm excited to be able to read things soon!
Kuchipudi Dance-- It's still not clear if this class exists or not.
Indian National Movement (1900-1947)--History, Gandhi, politics...should be interesting.
Ecological Anthropology-- I don't really know what either of those words mean or what this class is about, but I needed a fourth class and I kind of wanted it to be something completely different from all my other classes...so there you go...

I'm also taking an extracurricular Khatak Dance class and I'm still doing the 6am Yoga boot camp certificate course (I'm badly in need of a nap). Other than the fatigue the yoga is going well, today I touched the soles of my feet to the top of my head.

This weekend was really busy.
On Saturday our program took us out to a rural school called the M. Venkatarangaiya Foundation. The organization works to abolish child labor one child at a time. The kids there are either orphans or they have some pretty grim life stories. We spent the day there, the kids sang a song for us, then we heard a few of their stories, then we ate lunch with them and played games all afternoon. Our digital cameras were extremely popular. I took mine out to take one single picture and it was immediately pulled from my hands by the two girls on the right. They quickly figured out how to use it and filled up my memory card with really artistic images like the one on the left. When it was time to leave I had to pry it from their fingers in order to get it back. A lot of the girls in my program who have longer hair got bombarded by little girls wanting to give them braids, and not one of us left without getting a bindi painted on our forehead. And they were relentless with the frisbees. Everyone (little kids and us big kids) had a good time despite the language barrier. "Fun" seems to be a pretty universal concept. I couldn't tell whether or not the school had running water or electricity and the classrooms were very sparse, but if nothing else the school is a friendly and fun environment. Compared to the lifestyles some of these kids had before, that's a huge improvement. Even though it was a fun day it came along with a lot of harsh realities about the world. How does one write lightly about these things? If you have any ideas let me know.

Let's Go Fly a Kite

Yesterday was yet another national holiday, so once again we had no classes (I still don't officially know what all my classes are so I'm not going to tell you about them yet. Be patient.) The occasion is known as Pongal, and if I understand correctly, it is a celebration of the beginning of the rice harvest season. Families celebrate by flying kites and making colorful designs on the ground in front of their houses (like the picture on the left). After eating a really delicious holiday feast that the cafeteria prepared for us, three friends and I ventured out to visit Golconda Fort.

The fort was in use from the 14th to the 16th century. I won't bore you with all the details, but if you want to know more you can read about it HERE. We had visited Golconda briefly during orientation, but we didn't get to do much exploring so we were eager to go back. Yesterday turned out to be a great day to go too because the view from the top was really spectacular with all of the kites flying all over the city. Unfortunately, the kites don't show up very well in pictures, so use your imagination.

There were a lot of visitors at the fort yesterday because of the holiday but my three friends and I were literally the only white people around. We didn't really think much of it, but the locals certainly did. Within five minutes of entering the fort a little boy and his mother approached us and asked if the boy could have his picture with us. "How odd! How cute!" we thought. A few minutes later a little girl stood by us while her father took pictures on his cell phone. Then again, as we began climbing to the top of the fort a whole family asked us to pose with them. The first five times or so it all seemed very silly and fun, but it all lost its appeal pretty quickly. Little children were cute enough, but we were less interested in posing with groups of teenage boys. Even as people walked by us we saw them slyly whipping out their cameras or cell phones. The whole experience was a little baffling. "Ah yes," they'll say as they pull out the treasured photo album, "Here is the day we visited the fort and saw those sweaty Americans!" They'll fondly remember the day that they text-messaged their friends saying, "OMG white grlz at Glcnda"


The climb to the top was long and tiring in the 80 degree heat, but really worth it. Climbing on dangerous rocks is also much more fun without those tedious American-style hand rails or danger signs cluttering your path. The view was beautiful, exploring the caves and corridors was fun, we got treated like celebrities, and the rickshaw driver didn't even try to rip us off on the drive back--best Pongal I've ever had!

Heads Up

It's time I discuss the Indian head bobble. I believe it was my second day in India that someone mentioned the "head bobble" to me and I was not sure what they were talking about. Within an hour I knew. The side-to-side head-tip is everywhere, an unavoidable form of non-verbal communication designed to fit any conversation. Psychologists have proven that facial expressions transcend culture--a smile or frown carries the same meaning everywhere in the world. Gestures, however, are socially learned behaviors specific to individual demographics. Though a nod of the head means "yes" in most Western countries, in the Eastern hemisphere, in India for example, a nod carries no meaning. Indians have neither a nod for yes nor a shake for no, they have only a lateral tipping of the head that means (from what I can gather) "I understand" or "yeah, sure." English is fairly widely spoken in India, but in haggling with rickshaw drivers, asking locals for directions, or any interaction that we Americans have had thus far with non-English speakers, we have been left with only our gestures to express ourselves. Often this scene becomes a confused face-off between Westerners shaking and nodding and Indians bobbling while neither party knows what to make of the other. In classes I have been nodding away when professors speak to me, only to realize later that I never really answered their question, I only shook my head forward and back in what only appears to them as a meaningless, compulsive tic. You don't realize how deeply rooted you are in your habits until they no longer work for you. Desperate to communicate "yes," I have found myself nodding furiously and when that fails I automatically resort to "uh huh," which also means nothing. Almost every time I have tried to express agreement, my natural habits leave me looking like a nodding, grunting fool before I ever remember that in English we actually have a real word for "yes."

Big Post About Little Adventures

INTERNET IN THE DORMS!!! You may now all skype with me if you wish. My user name is Pink_hubcaps…of course.

You all flatter me far too much with your comments. I know you can’t be that interested in reading about my laundry…lucky for you the last few days have been slightly more amusing.

We are all becoming a little more adventurous in terms of exploring the city. One needs only a steady sense of inner peace and the task of maneuvering the crowded, noisy streets becomes much easier. A group of us ventured out on the bus the other day because it’s the finest transportation that 8 cents can buy. The buses are also a dazzling display of the human capacity for huddling. The experience of riding Hyderabad’s public transportation could be likened to a big, shaky group-hug with dozens of sweaty strangers. Our destination was the Birla Mandir temple, an intricate marble hill-top shrine to many different Hindu deities. It’s a really beautiful location once you find it. The hill overlooks the whole city, and the temple itself is really gorgeous. Unfortunately, you aren’t allowed to bring cameras up to the temple, and it’s pretty hard to get decent pictures from outside. I suppose that makes sense, but it is truly cruel.

From the temple we decided to intentionally get lost, wandering through some quiet urban neighborhoods then right back into noisy crowds. Tired, and needing a break from the crowded streets, we popped into a bakery called Dadu’s. I had never really tried many Indian sweets or desserts before coming here, but I have been pleasantly surprised by every delicious dessert that they serve us at the dorm. Most sweets come in ball form and really exemplify the Indian passion for sugar. We’ve had sugary peanut balls, sugary coconut balls, and my personal favorite “chocolate barfi sweets.” Having had such positive dessert experiences in the dorm, we were all excited to stock up on more tasty things in the bakery, but without any guidance we ended up randomly selecting a pretty strange assortment. One sweet that I tried could really only be described as a “salty dirt ball.” Dadu’s also had an interesting assortment of drinks, so my friend Julia and I both ordered something described on the menu as “salted lime juice.” We imagined it would taste something like a margarita, but we were disgusted to find out it tasted more like tears…or the ocean…

Worn out by our gastronomic adventure, we tried to find our way back to the bus, which we eventually found when we could see through the crowds. Hyderabad is really not known for tourism, so the sight of white people is truly shocking for most locals. I’m slowly becoming accustomed to the pointing, and the occasional stranger trying to snap a picture of you, and the stares of disbelief that say “what is that ghostly figure?!” When we entered the bus the driver along with everyone around us was fascinated. “What country are you peoples coming from?” they wanted to know. A common request has been for American coins. I can’t yet tell if every Indian we’ve met has just been an avid coin collector, or if they’re just aware of the favorable exchange rate. Brenda’s friendliness immediately attracted the attention of a teenage girl who spoke a little English and wanted to know her email address and her phone number and everything about her. Later, an elderly woman took a strong liking to Brenda and me, but didn’t seem to catch on that neither of us speak Telugu. She told us, what I can only assume was her life story and a lot of grandmotherly wisdom while Brenda and I smiled and nodded.

The next day a group of 12 of us ventured to see a really fabulous Bollywood movie in a really enormous movie theater. (Rab ne Bana di Jodi--add it to your Netflix queue immediately.) If you've ever tried to organize 12 college students, you can imagine how disorganized this event was. If you have ever tried to organize anything in India then...well...you get the idea. The epic 4-hour singing and dancing extravaganza was quite an event, but the real highlight of the evening came right before the movie started when we went to the Domino's pizza next to the theater for dinner. We were all sitting around munching pizza when suddenly the whole ceiling shook, a huge ceiling tile crashed to the floor and out of the gaping hole swung a monkey's long tail. The creature frantically scurried back into the hole and through the roof never to be seen again. Everyone looked around for a minute, someone cleaned up the broken tile from the floor, and everything returned to normal.

Today was "Khojo Hyderabad," the final event of our study abroad orientation and I'm going to need a long time to recover from this strenuous day. It was essentially a scavenger hunt where we were divided into small groups and forced to race around the city going to assigned cultural sites. All of the sites they sent us to were really interesting, but the competitive pressure of the event didn't really allow us time to enjoy or explore any of the places we went. Excuse my lack of eloquence, but I really can't remember any details...we went to this weaving place that's run by this eccentric 80 year old woman and saw ladies working on looms. It was really interesting. Some day when I'm not in a city-wide race I'll go back there and provide you with actual information. Then we went to some museum that looked pretty interesting as I ran from room to room but we weren't allowed to take pictures. At the speed we were going, the pictures would have been a blur anyway. Then we went to some nice park...My team didn't win the race, so whatever.

And to conclude this very scattered post, here's a picture my friend took of me because my "dupatta" matched the flowers.

Cleanliness is next to godliness

Still no internet at the dorm..."Any minute now" has turned to "any day now" and that has turned to "maybe we'll get internet some day..."

I’ve been wanting to take some time to discuss the Indian Rupee, truly the finest currency in the world. I’ve mentioned money and prices a few times before, but not in great detail. Every time I buy something in India I have a small celebration in my head. It’s the same smug rush of excitement that comes along with discovering a typo in a well-respected publication or with finishing a crossword puzzle. After living like a pauper in Ireland last summer, living like a queen in India feels like I’ve really accomplished something. The exchange rate is about 50 Rupees to a dollar, or if you prefer, 2 cents to 1 Rupee. And even when things cost a small fraction of the price you would pay in the USA or Europe, you can still haggle to pay less. 400 Rupees for that hand-embroidered artisan shirt?! Preposterous! I’ll have it for no more than 250! I realized after one such shopping experience that coming to India may very well be the first financially responsible decision I have ever made.

I have, in fact, started classes and I would tell you what they are, but my schedule is still not finalized and I also don’t feel like it. In any case, yesterday was a Muslim holiday and no classes are being held. At first, my peers and I saw this as an opportunity to explore the city and have a day of fun, but soon we found out that it’s best not to try to go anywhere since the streets would be filled with penitent Muslim men inflicting pain upon themselves.

I took the opportunity, instead to sleep in and do mundane things like laundry. I should have guessed that even the mundane becomes an adventure in India. The laundry machines themselves were a puzzle and a mystery, but proved no match for my wit and dexterity. I got them started with no problem but was outsmarted soon enough. Expecting the cycle to take half an hour or so, I waited and waited with no results. As minutes turned into hours my patience wore thin. Finally there looked to be just a few minutes left in the cycle when suddenly, the power went out. I dashed to the machines and thought perhaps I could just pull the wet clothes out since they were almost done being washed, but I opened the door and a wave of soapy water poured out. A bad idea, evidently.

Time went on and boredom worsened so I thought I might pass the time by bathing (a practice that I have been shamefully neglecting for days on end). The first obstacle to this task was the dozen or so construction workers standing around in the bathroom yelling in Telugu. The second obstacle was the fact that my towel was a wet captive of the dormant washing machine.

I returned to reading and wasting time in my room with Brenda when in wandered two Indian children. Brenda and I sat on our beds and the pre-teen boy and girl stood smiling at us in our doorway. The girl knew a few words of English such as “Hi” and “What is your name” and “pretty!” but she quickly exhausted all of these phrases and was left with nothing to say. Brenda and I laughed nervously and the four of us shared a silent, awkward few minutes before the girl said “Bye!” and the two disappeared.

Yesterday night I went with some other girls to a very fancy Chinese restaurant because everyone except for me seems to be really tired of Indian food. I'm a little surprised that I haven't gotten more tired of it, but instead I get really excited for every meal..."Indian food again?! Perfect!!" Maybe I'll eventually figure out what the foods are called or how to make it...

An Awkward Position

The University of Hyderabad offers a semester-long Yoga certification course; this was one of the things that initially attracted me to this study abroad program. One detail that the study abroad brochure fails to mention is that the course is offered at 6 AM six days a week. 6 AM is very early…even in India. Undeterred, I set out this morning with a few other brave students for our first Indian yoga class. The yoga center is as far away from the international dorm as it could possibly be so we were in for a treacherous journey before the class even began. Having no sense of direction of my own I was entirely in the hands of my peers who, as it turns out, have no sense of direction either. We biked the entirety of the campus taking every wrong turn and nearly gave up hope with the realization that familiar roads look quite different in the dark. But what's better than being tired, sweaty, and lost before the sun even comes up, eh? By 6:20 we had finally located the elusive building, but our American sense of politeness led us to the decision not to interrupt the class in session; we thought it would be best just to wait around for the 7 AM class. Evidently, the instructors felt otherwise. Out of the door burst a corpulent, elderly, Indian man who looked at us with disdain and yelled "Get in!" Fearing the circumstances of disobeying we wandered in a daze into the barn-like structure where several Indian students lay on the ground in painful positions. We assumed the positions ourselves as the instructors yelled out less than soothing instructions such as "RELAX!!" or "GET COMFORTABLE!!!" As we took on more difficult poses all of my previous yoga training was put to the test , not because I couldn’t reach the desired positions, but because I had never before attempted to swat swarms of mosquitoes away while trying to maintain a one-legged balance. India will be a fantastic place to learn yoga not only because the practice was invented here, but because it will really, truly be a challenge to my stamina, commitment, and sense of inner peace. At the end of the class the sun had come up outside and we hopped back on the bikes for the (uphill) ride back to the dorm. Invigorated by our morning jaunt we arrived to breakfast with hearty appetites and bleary eyes. And tomorrow we'll try it all again...