On 17th we came to Paramita’s house. We agreed to have a lunch first, afterwards leaving time t finalize the script and bring it to Bashing for a tryout.
Although being an upper middle class family woman, she cooks outside (gas is too expensive!), on the most peculiar degenerate of what is known as the European barbeque. Recipe as follows: a few stones placed in a circle, fume collector, finalizing into a tall pipe with a roof on top. Her house maid puts a thick metal bowl on the stones and cook trout with masala, dal and ladyfingers. Paramita is Bengali, so fish commonly ends up on a table in her house, just as well as mutton and chicken.
A pressure cooker is exhaling hot vapor – less than 15 minutes and rice is ready. I remember, my grandmother , with a species name of Homo Sovieticus, was explaining me, Homo Post-Sovieticus, the dangers and cons of “rusky made pressure cooker”. It exploded often enough in her, her neighbors and their friends of friends’ kitchens, to create a popular mistrust in it all around the country J
There I was, now a man, facing that smoldering steel volcano. And God bless the pressure cookers around the world for a g/food reason – stuff inside tastes delicious. Paramita served us first, and then she ate a humongous plate. Her daughter, 6, came back from Cambridge school a few minutes later and we watched her previous school videos. Children of all age and undoubtedly rich parents were dancing and shaking their “budies” together with Akon and Beyonce. “Vanity fair”, a foreigner might say, but rich schools’ shows were always pompous and dry in content.
Later on we presented our script to the kids in Kalheli. They didn’t know how to read English! Haha, we will adopt a dinosaur of education – memorizing J Money for the trip is organized, Paramita will work on clothes, make up - we’ll make it. So far so good.
On 18th we finally got expelled from Bashing..by its own board! These guys who fund the orphanage appeared on several occasions previously and were curious how British were we, and what on earth brought us there to teach English, Geo and initiative games. This time they told us politely “Do not come here again”. We cried we called Ankit. Wegave them the last lesson on Geographic orientation and waters. I sang them Lithuanian basketball anthem “Ant kalno murai, joja Lietuviai..” and Anine spun them with “Uncle Jakob”. That is it. We aren’t allowed to meet them again, and what hurts the most – absence of any reasonable arguments against our teaching.
We were rippedof in our traditional eating place again. I fully understand that the bargaining foreigners look stupid, but to see others paying 30Rs and then being asked 60Rs reminds me of…racism . Splendid and pure as milk – people who’sskin is “gora” (white) are being mistreated quite badly. Evidently I’m struggling with some self expression, let it be.
Listen, today we wokeup at 0530 and went to the morning prayer and yoga followed. A real yoga guru is visiting Kullu for 7 days, so we couldn’t miss the chance. Previously I had Yoga with my Mom, but today’s experience was beyond comparison. For 100 minutes we breathedand flexed. Afterwards I felt relaxed by the dopamine. I promise to go to yoga each morning from now on.
Later on, we met Das. Das’s cook is a gifted artist. When reading Gunesekera’s “Reef” I pondered how could the food deserve so much attention. Now I have tasted and loved it. Das promised to buy us a flight to Sai Baba’s city. We’d spend 1 week in South India and witness Sai Baba’s miracles first hand J
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