Back to India

My olfactory sense immediately bright to mind forgotten memories of India while riding from the airport to the Banaswadi district of Bangalore in the pre-dawn hours; it had been over a year since the odors of burning wood and charcoal had filled the air in my nostrils. Moving into our guest house, unpacking, and going to sleep on a hard Indian mattress couldn’t help but bring back memories of December 2008. What? No current from 8-9:00am? At least predictability is a blessing. And a home-made dinner of rice, dal, water beans and onions, and meatier chicken than I ever had in Jodhpur almost brought tears to my eyes. (“Almost,” I say, because our Indian hostess toned down the spices out of a misplaced concern for Western palates.) And topped off with fresh sliced mangoes--what could be better? How about watching Argentina vs. Germany in the quarter-finals over bowls of chili with Indian and American friends? Heavenly? I shouldn’t go that far (to do so would be, as my Dutch Reformed friends say, spotten) but very good nonetheless