10-7, Mon-Sat

I awake at 8:15am on the hard double mattress which after 5 days in Bhuj is still on the floor. No clue when I'm going to get a bed frame. I work 10-7, so no time to ever go to the old city market. Ceiling fan going strong. Cringe at the thought of how many dead cockroaches are on the other side of my bedroom door. I apply krazy lines (a magical chalk which stops insects cold in their tracks) each night. I use poison tablets. And bug spray. This morning however is different. The door creaks open to my living room, then kitchen, then bathroom, and Voila! No cockroaches! Well, at least no big ones. My friendly morning ants are there, all two dozen of them, in the bathroom, carrying off their carion from the night before (baby cockroach). I give them a quick nod while peeing. Fill the pail in the shower bucket with water and throw it down the toilet. On to the kitchen. It's bare, but mine. Cereal, whole milk in a bag, stainless steel bowl, spoon. My one non-spicy meal of the day.

30 minutes of sun salutations in front of the window. Yesterday while I was doing them, a random cat jumped into my room from the open window, right next to me. Think he was more freaked out than I was. A local boy wheels a cart of dried cherries down the street every morning, at the same exact time, yelling out the same phrase every 5 seconds or so. I Get dressed. Turn off electronic mosquito killer device thingy. Pack my laptop in the backpack. Close door, lock up. And now for my morning stroll through the neighborhood. To do this successfully, you gotta know the rules:

1. There are as many cow and wild dog families as there are human families in Nootan Colony. You never really know who has the upper hand at any given time.
2. The dogs control one street, the cows the next. Know your territory well.
3. A dog or cow strays down the wrong alley and you'll know it from the battle cries heard throughout the neighborhood.
4. Get in close with the pack that owns your street. (the cows and I are tight)
5. Cow and dog poop can and will be at every corner or passageway. Know the local dog or cow pooping spots well. Be prepared for unexpected surprises on your doorstep.

On another note: It's a challenge to dodge the mad puddles of cow poop everywhere, but I've turned it into a game. Battleship to be exact.

Finally emerge onto the main dirt road to work. Motorbikes, and scooters drive past. Wave hi to the guy on the corner who runs the samosa stand, Suprabhat! Kemcho? Majama. My favorite samosa stand for sure, if only he knew how happy he makes me. Well at least until I get sick. Cross over the main paved road in the area, Hospital Road, named so because it houses a bunch of pharmacies (called chemist shops here). Continue along the dirt road past a few more cow families that know me well by now. Rickshaws roll by, bumping along, and I finally reach the entrance to my NGO. Pass by the dozen or so kids playing cricket on the dirt field and walk into the office. My desk is right in the middle of the room, Kemcho to the giggly accounting assistant girls on my left, Suprabhat to the two admin assistants, and then in comes my Kaka. Allow me to explain:

1. Any male over 60 years old shall be known as "kaka" (uncle).
2. You shall always address a kaka as kaka.
3. There is no limit to how many kakas can be in one place at one time.
4. Kakas shall address each other as kaka.
5. Kakas are important. You want kaka on your good side.

Kaka and I are close. Although he's probably 40-50 years older than me, we are best friends. He controls the vehicles at my NGO and drives me around a lot in the beginning. To get a bed, gas stove, fridge. He teaches me Gujarati, though says I shouldn't speak like him. Everyone in the office says he is pagal, gando (crazy), and tells me not to listen to him. But Kaka and I are close. Kaka invited me to his village to have lunch and you better believe I am excited to go.

I am sitting at my desk, the center of the room. I peer out the door and see 2 skinny kittens walk by, followed by a mangey looking dog. The cook in the kitchen brings me chai right at 10:30; she will bring it again at 3:10 right after lunch. My 8-9 hour day in the office is the best Gujarati lesson I could ever have. All day I am taught new words and phrases. Within 4 days I am making broken sentences. This is happening pretty quickly, I am excited to see where I will be in a few months. Here are a few of my favorite, and definitely some of the most useful, phrases:

Wando ney (no problem)
Hu gando chu (I am crazy)
Thame gando cho (you are crazy)
Kaka gando che (Kaka is crazy)
Mane chai joye che (I want chai)

At lunchtime, a tiffin arrives for me! A tiffin is the Indian version of a lunchbox. It's a stack of 4 stainless steel containers that have different food in each part. Mine comes with baat (rice), roti (flatbread), sak (cooked veggies), daal (lentil soup thing), and chaas (buttermilk) in a bottle. The spiciness is not so bad anymore. Nose running is the only symptom I get these days. The tiffin costs 30 rupees ($0.60) to have delivered each day for lunch. It's worth it.

The day ends with English lessons. I teach a few select staff members from 600-630. It's the least I can do for all the Gujarati they teach me throughout the day. By 700 its dark and it's time to go. I start the 15-minute trek home on the dirt road, past the cows eating out of the trash dumpster, unable to spot the poop with no light, give a head bob to the samosa guy, dodge the rickshaws while crossing Hospital Road, pass my favorite ice cream shop, arrive back at Nootan Colony, and greeted by Jumbo Slice (the neighborhood cow-- yes that is the name selection that won out). What's left to do? A game of night badminton then frisbee with some of my coworkers. A nighttime snack at the dabili cart. Walk to the local cricket stadium and watch a night match. Back home to my place. Switch back on electronic mosquito killer thingy. Hard mattress on the floor. Wonder when I'm gonna get a bed frame.

And so my new daily routine begins. 6 days a week. Pictures to come soon.