Diary of a White Indian Housewife
I took this photo in Uttar Pradesh, where the advertisement for “Pimp Kill” pimple cream appeared prominently a number of times.
I’m guessing that the advertiser doesn’t know that a “Pimp” is actually an agent for prostitutes, who lives off their earnings.
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I was passing through Delhi Airport late Wednesday afternoon on my way to Uttarakhand (more about that later). As I was about to step out of the airport, a huge crowd started surging forward.
Knowing that my blog isn’t THAT popular, I wondered who could possibly be behind me. Shah Rukh Khan? The Big B?
Any guesses as to who is being mobbed by the crowd? [click to continue…]
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Tailor made kurti -- the desi touch.
It’s taken me years, but I’ve finally ventured another step closer to being Indian. I’ve had some clothes stitched by a tailor.
Now that I’ve done it, I wonder why I’ve wasted so much time and money buying ready-made clothes that don’t fit me! It’s the curse of my foreign heritage I guess. Back home, only the really rich can afford to get their clothes tailor-made. It’s kind of like having a maid! Plus, I considered it to be all too much hassle.
However, seeing some beautiful and inexpensive salwaar kameez dress fabric convinced me to take the plunge. Then, my sister in law gave me some more fabric to make simple kurtis (tops).
Since I didn’t know where the tailor was in this new neighbourhood, my friend’s mum took me there — to a small shop near Hiranandani Hospital.
I’m so glad she accompanied me, because as expected, I got horribly confused. So many designs to choose from! It wasn’t just a simple matter of having my measurements taken. I was presented with two books full of pictures of different cuts, necklines, backs, and lengths. And sleeves or no sleeves? Soon, everyone was as confused as I was. It was obviously going to take me a while to make any decisions, so my friend’s mother left me with the tailor and went to have her upper lip threaded.
Finally, I settled on two salwaar kameez designs with short sleeves, one with a V-neck and one with a square neck. One kurti with short sleeves and a V-neck, and one without sleeves and a diagonal neck.
The stitching cost came to 1,000 rupees (350 rupees for each salwaar kameez, with lining) and 150 for each kurti. I picked the clothes up three days later, and wow, they fitted me so well! Now, I have another new project to overhaul my wardrobe.
Here’s me wearing one of the simple kurtis and jeans — dressed up with a few desi accessories (bindi, nose ring, Bengali style gold earrings, and mangal sutra)! Unfortunately, I didn’t think about wearing my red glass bangles until later.
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As of today, 31 January 2010, the population of India is almost 1.2 billion people.
This daily tally can be found at the International Institute for Population Sciences, B.S. Devashi Marg, Govandi (near the north eastern suburb of Chembur, in Mumbai).
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While I was visiting home in Australia late last year, I decided that I’d take some seeds back to India with me to grow some of the rarer herbs and vegetables here. My mum has an abundant vegetable garden. So it can’t be all THAT difficult, I thought.
The reality has been somewhat different! I’ve had a 50% success rate so far. Out of the four punnets I planted, only two are producing anything. The first punnet (on the left) has remained barren. The second punnet did start to grow a couple of seedlings, but they’ve since died. The third punnet is flourishing. The fourth punnet has one seedling.
I wanted a surprise, so I failed to label any of the punnets. It’s obvious that flourishing one is the garlic chives though. That means the other one is either lettuce or a variety of basil. The seedling is quiet tall, so I assume it must be the basil.
I’m feeling a little deterred by the lack of success, so I think I’ll focus my attention on the rooftop garden! I’m also very glad to have discovered a Natures Basket store nearby that sells fresh herbs.
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Given the lack of space in Mumbai, one thing that surprises me about where we’re living is how little people utilise their rooftop terraces. Day after day, the rows of surrounding terraces remain neglected, empty, and devoid of cheer. I can’t believe the potential that is going to waste.
Not our terrace though. I’m thrilled to have so much outdoor space all to myself, and am determined to make the most of it. This has meant turning the terrace into an attractive place to be. And, since I still have the bizarre habits of a foreigner, I’ve wanted the satisfaction of doing it myself. No painter. No gardener. No servant.
My announcement that I was going to paint and decorate the terrace was met with varied responses. “What for?” “You’re going to do it alone?” “Good idea” (That was, of course, from my husband who is now used to my creative visions and strange self sufficient behaviour). [click to continue…]
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A kindly gentleman by the name of Mahendra contacted me recently and asked if he could write a post about me for his Marathi blog. I was surprised and honoured, and of course agreed.
If you can understand Marathi, do visit Mahendra’s very interesting blog. In only a short amount of time, the blog has become deservedly popular amongst its loyal followers.
Here is the link: http://kayvatelte.wordpress.com/
The post about me has been published, and you can see it there. The funny thing is, I have no idea what it says yet. I have to wait for my husband to read it to me, but he’s been so busy with work — coming home late in the night, and leaving again in the morning!
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The infamous “holy cow” in India. These fearless creatures freely meander along the streets and beaches of India, getting in the way and sometimes causing accidents.
Most foreigners are familiar with the concept of sacred cows in India. Indeed, spotting a cow on the road is like a right of passage for visitors to India. I still remember the excitement of seeing my first cow — at two in the morning on a dark Delhi street.
What many people don’t understand, however, is why cows are sacred in India. And why are they left to roam all over the place, and starve to death.
I’m very grateful to Ravi, one of the readers of this blog, for providing detailed answers to these questions. [click to continue…]
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The two things I love most about Sundays in Mumbai are brunches and sunset parties — both on the beach.
It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of the Sunday brunch at Vie Deck and Lounge, at Juhu. A little further along Juhu beach, Aurus hosts a weekly Sunday Sundown Session from 5 p.m. I had a blissful time there last Sunday.
Both Vie Deck & Lounge and Aurus open onto Juhu Beach. Aurus is a little more seductive in its appeal though, with a canopied bed by the ocean, chandeliers, and candles. DJs play the latest electronic dance music for the Sundown Session, which starts off relaxed and builds up into the night.
On the decks this time were were Dj Noaria from France, and our friend Ash (who’s part of Jalabee Cartel) from Delhi. Ash is also a very talented singer, writer, and tabla player.
Personally, I like arriving early when there’s very few people there. It’s so uplifting to just chill and watch the sunset, uplifted by the sea breeze and music. Topping off the sunset was also a beautiful “moonset”. A tiny sliver of moon slowly followed the sun down the horizon. [click to continue…]
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An Indian reader living abroad recently contacted me and suggested that I write a post about the mistakes Indians make, especially when trying to behave in a western manner. One particular story comes to mind — that of a young Indian guy from Kerala, who had never been out of his state before coming to Melbourne to study. It’s the tale of his shock, and mine, during his first week in Australia.
The story starts around three years ago, when I was managing a guesthouse in the tourist beach town of Varkala, Kerala. An Australian friend had been leasing the guesthouse for a number of years, but couldn’t make her mind up if she wanted to continue doing so. Her priorities had changed, so she asked me to run the guesthouse for the eight months of the tourist season.
Towards the end of the season, the owner approached me. His son was coming to study in Melbourne, he told me. Could his son ask me for help? I reluctantly agreed, if I was in Melbourne at the time. My reluctance came from the fact that the owner had not been particularly hospitable to me, and had constantly asked me for money for every possible thing. I was not in the mood to provide free orientation services to his son.
The time for the son’s move to Melbourne arrived, and it just so happened that I had recently returned to the city myself. The son repetitively contacted me, begging me to let him stay with me. I had a spare room, and was yet to start working. So, I agreed to rent the room to him for some much needed money.
The night that I picked him up from the airport was the beginning of one of the most challenging weeks of my life. Yes, his stay with me only lasted a week. It ended very abruptly one night, after it became clear that we could not adapt to each other. [click to continue…]
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