A Date with Dosa

South India is brutally hot. It is December, and we are wilted in the mid day scorch. Even the locals do nothing at this time of day- not in the North Indian sense of doing little for the whole day- but they intentionally do nothing at all. The great three millennia old temple Sri Meenakshi Amman is closed from noon until four pm because, frankly, nothing is going to happen during those hours anyway. The middle of the day brings the age-old ritual of finding shade and parking there until the temperature is bearable again. All this means that the working day is compressed into short hours of intense activity in the morning and evening. And dining is no exception.

Tom and I approach Shree Annapoorna, a restaurant that serves up all sorts of South Indian food at a rapid pace. One of the specialties is a dish called a dosa, which is a large flat crepe filled with spicy curried vegetables. The restaurant is simply buzzing with activity. Even in India, where crowds are the rule and everything and everyone is competing for breathing space, I am taken aback by the busyness of it all. Like the mass of pilgrims at the ancient shrine we visited earlier in the day, there was a torrent of Indians and westerners circulating through the two cramped dining rooms like a whirlpool. We gawk, not knowing what to do. For a moment, we hesitate and consider leaving for some place less hectic. But Shree Annapoorna has the best Masala Dosas by several orders of magnitude. The Dosa’s burrito-style rice paper is crisp and soft; the filling inside isn’t just cheap potato, as every other restaurant serves, but brimming with onion, carrot, even cashews. While in Madurai, I have eaten every meal at this restaurant and we are set to leave early the next morning.

I am not going to miss my last meal in Madurai.

A man, who I must assume is an employee, drags us to a table which is still occupied. Two Indian men have not yet finished their meals - they look up at me as they scoop the last of their food into their mouth and motion for me to take the table. In the flawlessly choreographed scene that followed, the two men rose from their seats, Tom and I slipped in as their dishes were cleared and another man appeared to squeegee clean the black granite table. If anyone had been off cue, the scene would have ended in a disaster.

Seated, we are given a brief respite while our waiter attends dozens of other clients in the sifting saree sea. Two South Indians are eating at the same table opposite us. They finish eating soon after we sit. They leave wordlessly, squeezing through the crowd with their check and payment in hand, headed for the cash register. Out come the plate clearers and squeegeemen again, and the surface is returned to virginal purity as two new diners sit in front of us.

I focus on my food in the midst of this madness and I don’t talk with the new guests opposite me. They order, eat, pay and leave.

I begin to feel like I am in a bizarre speed-dating-meets-south-India comedy show as our third set of diners join the table.

Tom and I have already ordered our second and final round of Masala Dosas. The food arrives just as this pair of guys from New Delhi join us and speak in Hindi for their order. The Southern Indians of Tamil Nadu have a proud history, but have historically been pushed around by successive waves of advancing conquers coming from the North. They do not, as a rule, care for Hindi.

One diner requests what I am having, which he incorrectly identifies as an Aloo (potato) Dosa. The waiter replies with what’s probably the only Hindi phrase he knows. “No. Finished.”

Before the befuddled diner can react or question, the waiter storms off to the kitchen without offering an alternative.

“Do you pay for this food, or is it free?” my new tablemate asks me.

Puzzled, I slowly tell him, “Well we pay of course.”

“Then why like this? We are paying customers - how is that it is not possible?,” he almost desperately implores to me.

I am amazed. I thought that I was the only one to question this sort of ‘not possible’ door-slam of a no. To see an Indian struggling with this is truly a turn for me. I don’t know what to say to him besides “Ke garne?” (“What to do?”), which is what Indians usually tell me when I ask such questions.

Somehow in the chaos, he manages to place an order.

A few minutes later, a server slaps down a banana leaf-covered plate, then shoots into the masses. Our new date’s food bears no similarity to what he ordered. Like a good Indian, he resigns himself to his destiny and digs in. He must hurry. There is already competition for his seat.

As the Dosas on our plates dwindle, a large bearded man and his wife hover above us. We know our welcome has worn thin.

We settle our bill and join the conga-line of dining evacuees as the bearded man and his wife, the next speed dating contestants, are hustled into our seats.

Holidays. Have some happy ones, ok?

Above: Will at the southernmost point of India

I am here with Tom and Paula on the southern tip of India, where the Bay of Bengal, The Arabian Sea, and the Indian Ocean meet in that theoretical sense that large bodies of water do! To me, it’s all the Pacific, but whatever. I guess it sounds more romantic if you imagine three goliaths of immense waters meeting, so we can go with that.

This town, Kaniyakumari, is incredibly popular with domestic Indian tourists as there is a big Hindu temple here. There is a loud festive market, reminiscent of an American flea market, that sells things like fluorescent dolphin keychains, mirrors in the shape of an ‘om’ made from seashells and, strangely, winter coats. I guess I understand the tacky shell items as souvenirs, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why people are buying these heavy coats. It is hot here- we are only about 5 degrees north of the equator, so it isn’t like anyone is at risk of frostbite. It goes to show, just when you think you have India figured out, you see a guy in 90 degree weather wearing a winter coat and shorts and you sort of have to scratch your head for a minute.

Back home in Colorado, I hear that it is cold, and hope it’s a white Christmas. I am about the ‘whitest’ thing around here, so people frequently ask to have photos of me taken with them. Today after one of these little photosessions, I asked for ten rupees as a joke (many holy men in India ask for a small donation like this for a photo). The hapless South Indian vacationer started reaching for his wallet, but then I smiled and told him I was not being serious. I am not sure if Indians understand my humor.

I have been traveling for going on four months now, and I have a lot left. I miss everyone back home, especially now during the holidays.

From the bottom of India and my heart, Merry Christmas (or other holiday) and happy new year!

Hot, Flat and Friedman

Above: Tom takes careful notes on Friedman's new book, "Flat, Hot and Crowded"

I have just finished reading Thomas Friedman’s new book, "Hot, Flat and Crowded.”. In the book, Friedman basically argues that we are all doomed unless we make a serious movement into clean technologies due to global warming and increasing luxury demanded by an immense middle class in India and China (among others).

I agree with Friedman’s analysis and recommended actions steps, but my basic concern is this: Our leadership, like most humans, is short sighted and forgetful. On a macro level, my fear is that people will not invest in the clean tech that will make a difference until the situation has become painful for them. Meanwhile, our economy is being weakened by the inflationary effects of an increasingly erratic fossil fuel market, so I predict that society will see clean technologies as ‘too expensive,’ due to the high cost of fossil fuels and poor state of the economy tied to those dwindling fossil fuels!

Although I am not buying gasoline right now, I hear that the price has come down, probably due to a decrease in demand as a result of our depressed economy. The question I have is this: Can the incoming Obama administration can still make the case that something must be done and this is just a temporary easing of prices related solely to a slack economy, and not a return to the ‘good old days’ of endless cheap fossil fuels?

India: You are here, but why?

Why am I here? Is usually a sort of soul searching, meaning of life kind of question. A question reserved for people on acid trips, having had a near-death experience, or an encounter with god- all of which can be described as religious experiences. But no, I am writing from India, and here, the question is of much more a practical nature: Why am I here? Or in my case, “why did I come back here?”

It all started in 2006. I had laid the seeds for a new solar energy company called Sunflower Solar in the fall and winter of 2005. But by the spring of 2006, the market had not quite yet come due to a delay in subsidies for solar energy in Colorado, but they were promised soon. So, without too much careful consideration, I explained to my long term girlfriend that I needed to leave for a few months (let me tell you how excited she was about that) and met my brother, recently out of the Peace Corps, in Thailand.

After a month of enjoying ourselves in Southeast Asia, we made the decision to go to India for reasons that are now lost on me. All I can say is that I lived through the experience, and despite the numerous frustrations associated with being in India, it was a great learning experience in which I even found some joy.

However, learning experiences usually involve things that are not altogether fun, and can rarely be described as a vacation, so I can hardly explain my insistence on returning once again to the subcontinent.

It is still hard to be here. Though last time I was here, I believe I had mastered the serene acceptance of the unending hassles of India, I clearly had not put those into long term use because I have allowed it, once again, to scam me, annoy me, and generally get under my skin.

But India is a learning experience and it does make you tougher. It lays bare people’s motivations and makes things, through the chaos, more transparent. The beggars who simply say “money money money money,” while holding out their hands lack a certain refinement- but they get the point across. And the point, I am finding, is that most people who interact with you want something from you. And that is usually money. Sometimes people just want to practice their English or alleviate boredom, but usually it is just this: you have money, and they want it. As a result, many interactions I have here on a daily basis resemble someone at an ATM, with me being the ATM. Mind you, in true Indian style, I have made my ATM extremely difficult to operate and I refuse most bankcard pleas for cash. In India, seekers of divinity commonly use a mantra, which they repeat day in and day out. Mine is this: “I know you want my money, but I am not giving it to you, so please go away.” I would prefer it were “Om Mani Padme Hum” (I am one with the universe) but for now, it’s all about the money.

Staying in the ashram boom town of Puttarpathy, I had briefly lost my voice due to sickness, so I decided to just stop talking altogether. Now, 3 days into my experiment, I have told no to exactly zero people, though many have asked. Their requests, which used to hold sway over my western sensibilities governing politeness, are now declined through the power of my intention and my actions rather than the words of someone being held-up at guiltpoint.

I also realized I don’t hate the people who beg or try to otherwise get into my pocket. In fact, I am pretty much indifferent toward them, and my adjustment goes a long way in explaining why most Indians seem to have no particular attachment to what is going on around them- they simply stopped (or never learned to) caring about what anyone else around them wanted. Through this experiential lens, I find it totally understandable that Indians would be so obstinate, uncaring and unhelpful. If they weren’t, they would simply be drowned with requests, pleas and distractions anytime they left their house.