Bringing the leg meat.

There are five main reasons you cannot run outside in India.

1.  It's hot like whoa.
2.  The presence of sidewalks on most roads is inconsistent at best.
3.  The presence of a slew of farm/zoo animals, including, but not limited to, cows, goats, donkeys, boar, and monkeys on most roads is guaranteed.
4.  Indian mosquitoes transmit about as many diseases as Vegas hookers. 
5.  Indians stare like they are getting paid not to blink.

I have to run, because if I don't, I get chubby and I can't sleep, but I have been relegated to the treadmill in the gym in our apartment complex, where the manager plays Indian hip hop music on a volume that can be equated with tornado warning systems in Kansas. 

 The monsoon season here is finally in full swing, which means the weather is much more temperate than when we arrived.  In India, temperate means a heat index of 100 and 70% humidity, but I'll take what I can get.

So today I did it.  I ran outside.  I was confined to the one mile loop around our apartment complex, to avoid Reasons #2 and #3, and I sprayed enough Deep Woods Off on my clothes to kill a baby from about 2 yards away, but I was outside.  And running.  I loved it.

It was impossible to avoid Reason #5.  The cooler weather drew lots of people outside, and they all stared as I jogged past.  My green running shorts didn't help, but I can't run in pants.  It's too much.

And here's the thing about Indian culture: Women can show their mid sections whether they have the abs of a lesbian gym owner or the stomach of a 40 year old mother of four, but show those thighs and calves and you're a whore.  Oh, and Indians don't run unless they are being chased.

So there I was, in all my glory, flaunting my leg meat, blasting Rihanna's "Only Girl (In the World)."  And I felt like the only girl in the world.  Jaws dropped.  Heads turned.  Mothers shielded the faces of their children.

I didn't care.  Well, I did a little, but I pretended not to.

But the worst part happened after I ran.

The lobby, hallways, and elevators in our apartment building aren't air-conditioned, so after a 30 minute run in Hades, I was pretty hot.  My shirt was soaked through and my face was dripping wet.

Let me preface my forthcoming confession with a note: I have never seen my neighbors inside my apartment building, except for in the lobby.  In the entire time I've lived here, the elevator goes straight from the lobby to the 7th floor without stopping, and I've never seen anyone in the hallway outside my apartment.

So the confession: Once I got inside the elevator, I took my shirt off.  Standing around in a sports bra is an India is a huge no-no, but it was sooooo hot.  Now, my cared-for-by-carbs midsection is nothing to look at, and it was bad enough that I was bringing the leg meat, but now my shoulders were on display. In India, shoulders are the epitome of sexiness.

On the fourth floor, the elevator stopped.

I froze.  In slow motion, the doors opened to reveal four Indian men.  As the doors slowly slid back, they looked at me in ever growing horror/delight.  It was like the elevator was a magical peep show portal they didn't even have to pay to open. I don't think they even looked at my legs.  For a moment, my shoulders were the center of the universe.

I've never felt so trashy.

I had to make this end, so, ever so coolly, I stepped forward, said "Hey guys," like an idiotic American, and pressed the "door close" button.

Real cool, Katrina.  Real cool.


* I must credit Tina Fey with the phrases "leg meat" and "abs of a lesbian gym owner." She's too funny.  Read Bossypants!

Wedding!

Sorry we haven't posted in so long!  Between pretty serious bouts with homesickness and real sickness, I haven't been up to writing.  And although neither of us are feeling that much better, I figured if I didn't write soon, I might never write again.

Due to my low grade fever (and Bob's belief that pictures are way better than words), I decided to post some of our favorite photos from the wedding with captions.  Enjoy friends!

check out my salwar kameez!  i didn't have time to get a sari.  i also doubt i'll ever learn to tie one.

ajay, the groom (and bob's friend from work). per tradition, he arrived on a white horse surrounded by about 10 drummers and a bunch of crazy dancing people.  when we arrived, we got pulled into their crazy dance circle, where bob got trapped.  i escaped.

the reception hall.  it was HUGE.  there must have been close to 500 people present.  interesting indian wedding fact:  the ceremony and reception take place at the same time.  up in the front, near the dance floor, there was a stage where the ceremony was taking place.  and NO ONE was paying attention.  the music was blasting, people were dancing and singing, and everyone else was eating.

there was food EVERYWHERE.  it was all vegetarian, and there was a buffet of nearly 50 options that covered almost the entire wall space of the room.  there were also cocktail waiters who circulated the room, and forced tiny appetizers and toothpicks upon unsuspecting guests.  the fried pineapple, on the left, was UNBELIEVABLE.  i think it was pretty much all i ate.  note:  whenever a guest accepted food from one waiter, the rest of the waiters swarmed.  i guess they got rewards for serving the most food or something. i didn't mind :)

the bride, who was absolutely BEAUTIFUL.  our perception was that indian weddings focus on the groom, as opposed to the bride.  surbhi, who also works with bob, didn't arrive until about two hours after the ceremony started.

the saunf spread.  these are something like after dinner mints (because we all know indian food puts your breath on kill) that come in a myriad of flavors.  my favorite is the fennel.  the first time i asked an indian what they were, he said, "it is a mouth freshener and good for digestion."  indians think everything is good for digestion.  and i guess they would know. 

The Art of the Bobble

Don't do it up and down.

Do it side to side.

This is the Indian head bobble.  Also known as a "wobble," "head shake," or "head wiggle," in general "it is often performed by the listener in agreement with what is being said by the speaker, such that the speaker perceives there is 'no problem' with the message being conveyed."  (Thank you Wikipedia.)

It can be used to express a variety of sentiments, as another blogger explains: "Though the gesture is most often translated to mean “yes,”...the wobble is layered with nuance.... The motion ranges in meaning from “Right away, sir!” to “I feel your pain, but honestly can’t be bothered to help you.” The shades of meaning generally depend on the number of wobbles. For instance, five or six wobbles in either direction indicates servile humility... while a detached half-wobble to the left, eyes partly closed...suggests near total indifference."

It is harder than it looks.  Before I got here, I thought it was a lot more like doing what a bobble head doll does.  Do that here and people will look at you like you are a psychopath.  They will also look at you like you are crazy if you nod your head up and down to mean "yes."

I mastered it on accident.  I was leaving the gym, and my earbuds were falling out of my ears, but both my hands were full.  In an effort to keep them from falling all the way out, and slowly moved my right ear up, pulling at the cord of my earbuds.  At the same moment, I realized that the security guard at the door was asking me a question.  I have no idea what he asked, but I had inadvertently responded with the head bobble.  And he loved it.

Using this gesture in India will get you very far.  People seem to understand that you aren't as green as you look, and they respect you a little bit more.  Also, it is rare to see Indians smile at people, but they do almost invariably when a foreigner uses the wobble.

It is also addictive.  It is just so much more sophisticated than the eager nod of America.  It's cool, you know?