The butcher, the stone workers, the boy on the bike, and other people I met as I ambled about beneath the gaze of Mahishasura and his cobra
Sujitha and I took a little trip and wound up at a temple where our foreheads were marked with red and orange tumeric and a crow rose over us. Inbetween, tears were shed and important things happened, but I will save my account of our journey for another time. I am so far behind on my blogging here in India that I will never catch up. As always, the blogs I most want to post are the same ones that would demand the kind of time from me that I can't give them right now.
So, instead, I will just introduce you to a few people I happened upon as I took a walk the other day. Not a single one of them spoke much English and I can't give you any of their names, but here they are, beginning with these Muslim stone workers, who were cutting and hauling big slabs of stone to be used in one of the many construction projects booming around here.
They also cut markers for Muslim graves.
I really love the brightly-painted trucks they use around here. Last time, when Melanie traveled with me, I told her I wanted to bring one home.
Why? She asked.
So I could park it in the yard. I said.
Why would you want to do that? She asked.
So people could admire it as they passed by. I answered.
That's so Wasilla! She observed.
And yet, I have never seen such a truck in Wasilla.
Sidewalk shop keepers.
I hear that there are a few big US-style stores here, and that Wal-Mart has leveled its sights on this area, but basically big, huge, box stores of the kind that dominate the US are not here, nor do you find big supermarkets. What you find is small shop upon small shop, all within an easy walk no matter where you are, offering every kind of good and service that you can think of, stretching on and on and on, seemingly forever.
I don't know why anyone would want a Wal-Mart here.
And here is a fellow who I believe works in a butcher shop. He was unable to tell me, but there was one close by. Given the remnants of meat and blood on the knife, it must be so. I didn't ask him if I could take his picture, but through gestures and the word, "photo!" he made it clear that he was asking me to take his picture.
That happens a lot around here. Afterward, I showed him the picture on my LCD. He was very pleased. That's how it usually goes. I wish I had some kind of tiny printer that I could easily carry around that I could use to whip out some decent prints.
Mahishasura, a demon, who stands near a bus stop.
The butcher. He is Muslim. My family here is all Hindu and they do not eat meat. I have not had a bite of meat to eat since I arrived - not even an egg. But it is so hot and my family members all know how to cook and prepare such delicious food that I have not missed meat.
Not even a little bit.
This will change when I get home, but here I don't miss it.
Ganesh wants to come up and roam about Alaska with me. I want him to, too. Out where I go, and in the climate I work in, no one is going to be able to last for long on a vegetarian diet. We will figure that one out when we get to it.
He was pretty proud of these little cars.
He pedalled his bike beside me for probably close to a mile. We spoke to each other the whole time, but, except for some very basic things, neither of us really knew what the other was saying.
I was hot and thirsty when I returned. I needed something to drink. So Murthy produced a coconut. I drank its water.