The India Chronicles: the market experience. letter #3

Dear family plus,

I guess we don’t work on the weekends! So yesterday (Saturday) we went to a market called Charminar. I think this will be my new euphemistic expletive. Quashqueema may be replaced. It also fits the sentiment more: I love the land that Nauvoo was built on, Quashqueema, but I felt a little differently about Charminar. Go ahead, try it out: “Oh Charminar!” Getting there we took a bus. Earlier, I forgot to mention a fun fact about the buses: they don’t stop. You have to be on your spidey-game and jump at the right moment. Sometimes they’ll sort of slow down. It’s very considerate.

            Charminar is a public market. There are thousands of people. You can’t even see the street for the feet. Everyone is moving, trying to buy something, trying to sell something, trying to avoid getting hit by a car, or just trying not to be overwhelmed with sensory overload (me). Again with colorful India: scarves, dresses, henna, saris, and prayer rugs, shoes, bangles, earrings, wedding dresses, ribbons, food, fried pastry things, fresh fruit, everything is colorful. The people buying things are from all kinds of religions. The streets were full of everything from jeans and t-shirts to full-body burkahs and hijabs. There’s lots and lots of noise. If you can hear anything through the hundreds of horns honking over each other, you hear street vendors shouting “excuse me, Ma’am!” or “look look!” or “Miss? Maam? Come here.” Of course I always look.

This large thing behind me is Charminar

 I did manage to walk away with one outfit. (Which I was exceedingly joyful about because my clothes were starting to rot on my body.) A kertis which is like an oversized shirt, and a pair of the world’s most unflattering pants. You think I’m joking—but I’m not. They’re loose starting mid-hip, flare in a big swoosh until the mid-calf where they are suction-cup tight until the ankles. But they were much more comfortable to sleep in than my jeans.

We went to a small museum that used to be a palace. It was a gorgeous little palace with a lot of lovely history. The Hyderabad rulers were for the most part charitable and beloved. The people had a lot of respect for their royalty; even though it wasn’t large, it was intricately beautiful. There was this darling cute Indian woman and her family who followed me around the museum. They are so fascinated by us. We’re so different. There’s so much history associated with the white-faced people. Personally, I have done nothing to contribute to their adoration, but I want to compliment it for the next white people they meet. The two of us kept trying to talk to each other, but all we could do was smile a lot. I’m trying to learn some key phrases in telagu so I can communicate with the people at least a little bit. Things like: “you are so beautiful”, “your dress is lovely”, or “this is the only thing I can say in telagu, but I hope you have a wonderful day!”

That sort of thing.

Apparently Hyderabad is the world’s capital for spicy food. For those of you who know my eating preferences, you know this is a challenge for me. Imagine if you will, eating at Bombay House for lunch and dinner every day. Then make everything 2975% spicier. I’ve been trying the “taupe diet.” Someone told me if things are white or taupe they’re not spicy. This is a) false and b) the causation of potential naan overdose. (by the end of this I will have either lost 10 pounds from not eating a lot, or gained 100 from the naan.) Last night we got pizza—chicken and cheese.

I thought I was safe from spice.

I was not. 

The entire team was laughing at me. “That one’s not even a little bit spicy!”

I’m going to die.

I then I got a drink at the market that looked interesting: it was a purple round plant thing, I assumed plum, and lemon. Turns out it’s black pepper.

What is this place?

I have discovered a new game I like to play. It’s called the temperature game. You see, everywhere has fans, but is still hot. And one room has real air conditioning: our bedroom. Here’s the game: Get sweltering warm, then go into the bedroom. First relief, then a slow decent to freezing, eventually put on a sweater. Get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, sweat, take off sweater in jungle heat, come back to bedroom. Repeat.I’m getting to the master level, I think pretty soon here I’m going to beat the game.

Love you all!

--Averill

p.s. I was just kidding about the clothes rotting thing. I’ve been borrowing clothes from my kind team members, but I will be so happy when my bag gets here. Arrival impending indefinitely. If you want to pray for something, pray for that. I think I’ll feel much happier in my own pants, and with my own toothbrush.