Re-Assimilation

Airline food never held such significance.  The vegetarian thali with aloo paratha or the grilled chicken breast with a side of roasted potatoes and steamed broccoli? A head bobble would have affirmed my food preference with Miss Indigo, but only confused Frau Lufthansa.  The robust Aryan flight attendant smiled patiently at me… just another reassimilating traveler on the way home. 

I savored the saran-wrapped microwavable dish.  Each spork enabled bite tasted disturbingly deeeelish. Yet, I already missed a few details from India.  The soothing taste of ginger mulled in masala chai. The explosive colors on small temples lining dirt roads. The dogged determination of a country with so much promise. The infinite generosity of Indian friends, particularly Shvet Jain, Bouchan Roa, Sid Joshi, Akshay Oleti and Viren Shetty. Overcoming challenges big and small with Sasha, Nikki and Katie.

Western life feels preciously light and effortless. Waiting in line without having to physically block out the person behind me like an offensive lineman. Showering without sealing my lips and eyes tight like a ziplock bag.  Knowing that the maid, who cleans my hotel room, earns a living wage. Previously mundane details remind me to be grateful for simple privileges and peace of mind.

Over the last 28 days, I did not write as much as I had hoped. Pausing at the end of the day and thinking about small differences in Indian life greatly enriched my experience.  Your encouragement and feedback with my first blogging foray kept me motivated along the way.  Thank you, so much for participating. 

I’m closing my 28 days with one last request. Please pick up where I left off.  India’s richness and complexity leaves many topics outstanding.  I want to offer up this blog as a means for others to share experiences and not have to commit to a full blog of their own, which can seem intimidating or arduous.  If my experience serves as an example, your friends and family love sharing the journey with you. I know I will. 

Let them eat cake!

Fudgey chocolate mud pie. Spiced carrot nut cake. White forest butter cream torte.  Local bakeries line the streets of Bangalore.  Glass cases seductively display perfect confections to tempt the passing crowd.  Sugary air billowing onto the sidewalk offer a heavenly pause from the roads' less appetizing smells.

Indian cakes are fit for the Queen.  Perfectly coiffed frosting puffs dusted with shaved bittersweet chocolate and cheery placed just-so. Such a decadent decoration would normally demand an equally high maintenance form of service. A delicate china set with silver cutlery would suffice. Shouldn't the plating reflect the desserts' British influence?

Not so. Local cake consumption is a casual affair.  Indian cakes are regularly eaten at the display counter, off of a small white paper plates with one's hands.  At our local SPAR (ie. our Safeway stand-in), Sasha and I repeatedly witnessed elegantly dressed men and women breaking off pieces of fresh cake and stuffing them into their mouths while on the go.  We found ourselves unintentionally gaping at the etiquette horreur.

But why should we be so appalled by hand eaten cake? Every day we witness Indian's incredible manual dexterity when consuming naan, daal, and curry.

Looking back on the incident, I was startled because the cake looked so Western, so proper, that it demanded European manners.  What would a Japanese traveler think if she saw someone cutting a piece of nagiri sushi with a fork and knife?  The perceived offense would be like eating naan with one's left hand. It just is not done.

With this new perspective, I am compelled to eat South Indian food with my hands.  If I believe cake demands a fork and should be eaten sitting down, then my local friends must also believe okra requires five fingers and a thumb. Years of Western table manners left me unprepared for Indian eating. Americans need cutlery like a child needs training wheels. Yet, that excuse cannot stand.  I've thrown off the shackles of Tiffany's Table Manners and will embrace local etiquette, starting with the childlike wonderment of finger food.