Reality Movie

Often we find ourselves in engrossed in escapism through a movie that takes us to unknown countries and through unknown experiences.  And then we move to India and realize that what we had only previously seen in movies is a reality for millions of people every day.  Should some eyeball rolling feel appropriate right now, I assure you I will stay as shallow as a pee-warmed kiddie pool. 

I was lucky enough to recently garner an invitation to the village marriage of my friend Jarnail's cousin.  While the marriage was lovely and simple enough, getting there played out differently.  First, it required me to miss my train while standing on the platform that said train supposedly arrived on.  I think dumkopf is the right word for this moment.  Honestly, to this date, I still do not know if the train actually arrived.  A trip to the train station agent produced no sympathy and some scant directions on how to obtain a ticket for the next train - TWELVE HOURS LATER.  A phone call to my friend Jarnail had the larger ROI and provided me with sufficient info to proceed to the Bypass where I could catch a bus to Nawashar where I would meet him and continue on the trip to his village.  


Feeling satisfied about the charges quoted by the auto driver, I went on my merry, carbon monoxide-filled way to the Bypass.  When I arrived at the Bypass, however, I was a bit surprised to find the auto driver demanding more than the Rs. 20 I gave him.  I thought it strange that he had quoted me the odd prices of Rs 18, but I let it go.  My ear for picking up the India accent still needs work because he was trying to charge me Rs 80.  80!!!  The trip should have cost no more than Rs 10, but I had not felt like arguing over 8 rupees.  But this man was trying to charge me Rs 80.  By this time, a significant crowd was encircling my auto, fear was creeping up my already sweaty neck and I was willing the situation to de-escalate enough so that I could escape.  It did, but only after an angry passer-by decided the auto driver needed a firm, lesson-learning slap to the face with the butt of his hand.  The presence of the police officer made no difference.  


Once I finally fell onto the bus (These busses barely stop for riders, so it's hurry the hell up or get out the way) the ride to the village was heart-stopping.  I was seated about 3 inches away from the front window (2 inches if you measured from the end of my nose) with a front row seat to the near-misses and collisions with overloaded trucks and busses and a clear view of the driver whose eyes I swear were drooping shut every time I dared a peak.  I've posted a few videos to try to capture the essence of the Punjabi music mixed with the musical horns of Punjabi busses.  

On the bus

Gus

jeri riga

Google Translate tells me jeri riga is how you say jerry rig in Hindi.  I'll have to conduct a highly unscientific survey and see if anyone understands me when I use jeri riga.  Since the flame on my overly-praised stove is much too high, even at the lowest level (I had this same problem in Spain; Is a trend outside the U.S.?), I had to make some adjustments.  If you look closely, you can see two upturned bowls supporting the burner cover, which is supporting my pan of rice.  The rice still boiled over!

Guava goodness

At the Kesan Mela (farmers' fair) held in mid-September here at PAU I met Parmveer - a young guy hawking guava juice in smart little bottles from an orchard just a few kilometers away.  Lucky for me, Parmveer was parked in Canada for several years, allowing me to avoid an awkward conversation in which I point and speak barely comprehendible Hindi mixed with English. A few weeks after inviting myself to the orchard, I was seated in the back of Parmveer's car, listening to his grandfather review his extensive CV.  Long before it was common, Parmveer's grandfather traveled to the U.S. on just Rs 2500 to earn his PhD in Oregon.  Following a flight to Southeast Asia and a twenty-one day boat ride to California, the grandfather arrived in the U.S. with barely Rs 400 in his pocket.  Many years and accomplishments later he moved back to India to teach at PAU (at that time it went by another name) and cultivate a small amount of land he had bought.


The grandfather - grandson duo is just getting started with their latest enterprise, and are currently producing small batches of juice using university equipment from CIPHET (Central Institute of Post-Harvest Engineering and Technology).  CIPHET began, according to their website, in 1989 to research post-harvest engineering technologies.  Below  you will see some of the fruits of CIPHET's labor.

Pretty straight-forward what goes on here

This machine can dry fruit

This seems to have been named after a pro-wrestler

concentrator

Parmveer

Don't know what is going on here

the Grandpa

So the story with this place is that they manufacture clothes for Wal-Mart. I thought it was an abandoned building but apparently they want you to think that so they can continue to escape the authorities and sneak electricity freely off the grid

First dinner!

The culinary magic I had planned to make might not be as easy as I anticipated.  Imported ingredients are fairly expensive (a bag of Tostitos tortilla chips was going for $8! You'd think I was shopping in Russia.) and, while you can find most things in Delhi, they are in shorter supply up here in Punjab.  Regardless, my first homemade meal in my apartment was delicious. 

First day with a working stove!

It can be frustrating to have a stove but lack the gas cylinder necessary to make the thing light up.  My stove was stuffed away for at least two weeks until last week when the inaugural lighting took place.

Twenty kilometers from the Pakistan border - last one, promise

Some pictures from my friend's farm

Built for cremation of grandfather

Bamboo used to help prop up fruit trees

Given lack of public transportation options in Ludhiana, thinking about getting one of these for my personal use.

Buffalo dung used in cook stoves

Twenty kilometers from the Pakistan border*

After visiting the government depot, we made a stop at a privately run retail shop to do some comparison shopping.  Here is what your rupees will buy you in the retail markets:


wheat - Rs 12/kg
flour - Rs 15/kg
pulses - Rs 55/kg (A few months ago, however, pulses were going for Rs 90/kg)
kerosene - Rs 20/L


The shop owners purchase provisions from three different sources: directly from the markets; through commission agents; or from the farmer.  Business directly with farmers comprises a small amount of the owner's procurement practices.  This is in large part due to the fact that when he buys from the farmers, the owner has to buy his entire purchase at one time and store it in his shop (Lack of storage seems to be a consistent theme in India.  I need to figure out why no one is trying to make money on storage units for commodities.).  If the farmer's crop fails, the owner charges interest on the advance given to the farmer when the contract is drawn up at the beginning of the season.   


*I am writing this in the dark as the electricity has gone out.  Welcome to the 21st century.  It's remarkable that the internet, which has been in India for less than a decade, is more reliable than electricity.