How I found peace at an Indian McDonalds

A California Nightmare: McSpicy Paneer Burger

You'd think in the city of light (Banaras) you'd find peace everywhere. Actually, this is a gross misunderstanding.

A couple weeks ago, I was in Delhi at a conference where someone was talking about Banaras (Varanasi) as THE place to go to find peace and harmony. I said, "Uh... have you ever been there?"

He replied, "No, actually."

"I wouldn't say that Varanasi is THE place to find peace exactly... unless, of course, you mean a different kind of a peace--the kind of peace that no one really is looking for."

I returned to chaotic Varanasi after this Delhi trip, away from the air conditioned conference and buffet catering, understanding that Varanasi offers a different kind of peace. A peace that you cannot see, hear, taste, smell or touch. Actually, most of the time I can't even feel it.

That is until yesterday. At McDonalds.

OK, yesterday was somewhat typical of a Banarasi (Varanasi-like) day in the sense that you can't get simple things accomplished without multiple snafus of various magnitudes.

In the morning, I got roped into a video interview with the vice principle of Asha Deep School for a documentary being made. The journalist (documentarian?) and I got to talking about how difficult it is to get anything done in this hot, humid weather.

It's hard to imagine that just a week earlier that it rained, making the air so cool that I had to wrap myself in the shawl I got for the Allahabad trip to the Sangam, which feels like such a long time ago. Where has that weather gone? It's fallen and died in a deep, dry hole somewhere with Persephone, eating pomegranate seeds.

So as I was saying... a typical Banarasi day. The journalist put us in front of the camera and just as she started to ask questions... CLICK. The camera automatically turned off. She said, "This has never happened before." Then it was like dominoes: The fully charged battery indicated as empty, the totally empty memory card indicated as full, we needed to change the batteries in the microphone, a mangy puppy kept trying to sneak in, a squeaky door, a beat up truck with a super loud motor. All while we were sweating; since we couldn't turn on the fan during the recording.

Make Shift Shoot: Photo from an earlier interview

Even so, we were able to pull off a relatively short interview, locking in topics like caste discrimination; the lowering of the poverty line; drugs and the tourist industry; the big, fat annual day show; and education. We watched the time since we knew we should try our best to beat the noontime sun. From noon to four in the afternoon, the sun can kill you. Bake you. Fry you. Get under your skin and eat you.

So after the interview, I put on what I think of as my Banarasi astronaut suit: First, I plug up my ear canal snug with my iPod  earphones--sealed shut from dust and noise pollution. Then, I wrap my face and head with a "gamchaa"; kind of a scarf for Banarasi men. Think of it as a male-veil or a scarf for studs. Finally, I put on my sunglasses bought across the street from Manas Temple for 90 rupees ($1.75)--probably NOT UV protected. Oh, well. Then, I roll down my sleeves, get on my noble steed (i.e. a borrowed bicycle), and ride into the blazing sun, heat, noise and swirls of dust. I call it an astronaut suit, but I'm the one that looks like an alien.

Look, it's no joke. Earlier in the week, I went to my friend's house for a funeral reception at his home (the 13th day after the actual funeral ceremony). On the way home, the roads were in the middle of construction. The amount of dust in the air was UNBELIEVABLE. Even though I had my male-veil to protect me, I was coughing non-stop for three days afterward. THREE DAYS, just from dust.

Irony Kills: This is the poster I designed.

Ironically a few days later, there I was helping that same friend design a science poster on none other than "Particulate Matter and Its Impact on Human Health." I looked at him with bitter irony as I pointed out on his poster my own symptoms from inhaling tablespoons of dust on the way back from visiting his home. He listened unfazed, since he was having to take the same route multiple times. That's when you realize it's stupid to feel sorry for yourself.

So, peace at McDonalds. Is that what this post is about? Yes... almost there. Keep reading.

Yesterday. Hot, sweaty, malfunctions. Oh yeah, the journalist mentioned that she had done hundreds of shoots, but this was the first time she experienced so many malfunctions. She had talked with others and they had said they experienced the same--surprising malfunctions while shooting in India. "It's the heat," she claimed.

So have I established the fact that it's hot, dusty and chaotic around here? It is. And I had planned to say more, but let's fast forward a bit and get to the end.

... so that is why I think my friend proposed that we go see a movie. After, of course, one or two chaotic moments getting to the theater in the evening, we finally got to the air conditioned shopping mall and sat in our seats for the film. During the film, there were things that would put Americans into a frenzy; like people talking loudly on cell phones (which, for Americans, is justification for homicide) and a guy going up and down the aisle asking for orders from the snack bar DURING THE MOVIE and not in a whispery voice. However, I ignored those things--focused on enjoying the movie, the overpriced popcorn and time with my friends.

Somehow afterwards we ended up at McDonalds. (YES, FINALLY AT MCDONALDS!)

I pointed out to my friend how there are probably only three things on the Banarasi McDonalds menu that are the same with the US menu: The soft drinks, the french fries and the Filet-O-Fish. The rest of the menu reads like a McDonalds lover's California nightmare: McVeggie Burger, McSpicy Paneer (cottage cheese) Wrap, McAloo Tikki Burger. I ordered a spicy paneer burger myself--a huge slab of fried cottage cheese with special sauce, of course.

The restaurant (I know McDonalds calls itself that, but really... is it a "restaurant"?)... As I was saying... The "restaurant" wasn't to max capacity, but it was still pretty crowded with kids and mostly young guys who had no clue how to form something called "a line" or how to order in a way that makes sense, however the manager taking the orders showed extreme tact and patience.

I can't exactly remember what my friend said, but something like, "This place is driving me crazy." Lately, "[Fill in the blank] driving me crazy" has been a bit of a mantra for my friend. "These kids are driving me crazy." "These mosquitoes are driving me crazy." "This typist is driving me crazy." "Banaras is driving me crazy."

This is the kind of the peace we want.
That's why it is marketable.
That's why I delete this message
every single stinkin' week!

Then he mentioned that his mother noticed this and how she said (something like), "You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you are looking for peace from things outside of you. You need to have internal peace."

You know how you've heard something like 50 million times and it's like you know it but you don't actually know it? Yeah, that's when I slapped the table and said, "Your mom is totally right!"

We talked about how we have everything (food, shelter, friends), yet we are still not at peace. Later, my friend pointed out a little girl quietly twirling in a swivel stool. I joked with him, "THAT is inner peace!" In the chaos of McDonalds, the girl found something that she could enjoy, and it didn't matter what others were doing or thinking.

In fact at times, it is sad to see people grabbing at external sources of peace and happiness, as if they are enough to satisfy us. This includes myself, I guess.

So in the middle of chaotic Banaras--in her dust, heat and mayhem, we're stripped of external sources of happiness. We are Persephone wondering when will and how can I and why is it so freaking hot?

And we have to look for the kind of peace that we didn't want to find.

The kind that says, "Nothing is enough until nothing is enough."


Related post: The holy uncaring cow of peace

Tips on Life in General (Class): Living below your means

India basically has five classes for trains: A1, A2, A3, Sleeper and General. Only occasionally have I used General class. And one of those times was two days ago.

My friend and I being General.

Years ago, most of my train trips were in Sleeper class; no air conditioning (AC), but at least you can lay down, most of the time. More recently, I have been using A3 (3-tier AC) class; comforts of AC and laying down... in a narrow space.

General class is like the train rides on the movie "Gandhi." You get a ticket but there are no reserved seats, so you may not get a chance even to sit--let alone lay--down. One time in General, I sat in the luggage rack, about the size of an airplane's overhead bin. I was so tired, and it was the only place to recline.

This time I was with some friends, experts on General class. Here's what I learned:

1. If you are at least two people, have one go on the usually long ticket line, while the other checks the train to see how crowded it is. If there are seats, then call on mobiles to give the go ahead for tickets.
2. Generally, General class train cars are on either end of the train. So if one is full, the other may not be.
3. In General class bench seats take 4 people, but you can easily fit five; six if you look mean enough.
4. For a safer, more comfortable ride, don't take General. Buy a different class ticket way, way in advance.

General class is not for the faint of heart, so why do I take it? In fact, why do I many times end up taking the route that is difficult and way below my means?

I was asking myself this while scrunched in General class, and then hours later at midnight, meandering around Allahabad, looking for a place to eat, finding a hole in the wall restaurant--more like a hole, within a hole, within--yet another--hole.

Other than the questionable food and water, the thing that struck me were the workers at the restaurant. One in particular washed dishes under the steps in a space so cramped that he crouched to a squat. He wasn't exactly a dwarf, just a very small man, so he fit into the spot easily--out of the way and out of sight, mostly. But I noticed him.

A man.

And the thought that came to mind was, "I don't think anyone should work that way... ever." I know it's a job, a source of income, but it is not a way to live.

I think that's why for so long I've tried to live life in General class as much as I could handle. I want to see and experience what is going on there, among the majority; the "general." Life under the stairs.

But why would I feel compelled to experience such a thing?

Is it out of guilt? Out of some masochistic pleasure from the pain? Out of a thirst for adventure, something new, something "other"?

I think if I'm honest with myself, what I find in the place that attracts me most are people--untitled and unpretentious. Sure some are rude and even conniving. I've met many like that. But life in General means that many artificial barriers are missing, you rub shoulders, and everyone is in the raw.

Maybe it was a sense of guilt or adventure that drew me there, but now I have friends there who don't hesitate to get me a General class ticket and who will eat with me in the hole in a hole in a hole.

That's the thing. I've been around the world, and people always ask me which place is the best. I realize now that it's not so much about "where" but "who." Because the best place for me is where there are friends.

And for me, that's how life is... in General.

Cooking Day: Ramen Indian Style and India's Roti

I realized that today was the first day in India that I have paid for my own meal. I've been here for almost a week and I've hardly spent 1,000 rupees ($20 USD). That pays tribute to Indian hospitality.

Yesterday, though, was a day of cooking.

I was so tired from all the running around and travelling since I landed in Delhi that I was becoming a bit sick. My friend invited me to his room and said he'd make me some "chowmein." Chowmein for him was Maggie noodles (ramen), but this was ramen like I've never seen made before. It was totally Indian style.

The most Indian ramen ever.

I watched my friend make these noodles and in the end I told him, "You have not followed one step that is on the packet!"

Here's how to make ramen Indian style.

1. Buy a packet of Maggie noodles.
2. Put a dollop of mustard seed oil in a heated pot.
3. Add chopped onions.
4. Mix the Maggie powder with a half spoon of garam masala and salt with a little water and add to the onions.
5. Add chopped tomatoes and stir, letting the mixture fry up.
6. Crush the noodles into small pieces.
7. Add a cup of water to the pot and let boil.
8. Add noodles to boiling mixture, add chopped dhaniya (cilantro) and simmer for 5 minutes.
9. The noodles should not be soupy, so it is chowmein-like.
10. Enjoy as an afternoon snack. Good when you feel a cold coming on.

It was Indo-licious.

Later that night, my friend challenged me to help him make roti (bread). I tried at first, but then he shooed me away, saying that my delicate, white hands wouldn't be able to handle the heat of fire. This only made me try harder. My goal was just not to burn the freakin' roti.

Roti making

Tips for baking North Indian roti:

1. Use a knife to check if the roti is ready to turn.
2. Turn the roti before the heated side is fully cooked.*
3. Turn again when the roti looks like it's blistering.
4. Then, push the roti onto the fire and let it blow up like a balloon.
5. Lightly use the knife to toss the puffed roti into the container.

* You need to have one side slightly less cooked so that it puffs up correctly.

In the end, a simple and roti-licious meal.

Like all my other posts, I end on a sentimental note. 

As you can see this simple meal represents the hospitality I have received since coming back to India. I note this not as someone new to India or amazed by the sacrifices "people" will make.

I just feel lucky to have found friends like these, who will share until their last bit of acchar (pickle), making life all the more lush.