Kerala – Page 2 – An American in Kerala

Feeling At Home At The Raviz

When I tell people I have lived in India since 2012, I get one of two reactions – the first type: “Oh wow! That’s such a once in a lifetime experience!” and the other – “Yiiiiiiikes. Better you than me!” Yes, yes, it is better that it’s me because I get to go fun places like this:

14542519_10100167040467084_4811483625435784384_o — The resort.

26804691_10100386509599184_4098492539380046948_n

14566476_10100167038091844_584413944407786107_o — Reception

In October 2016, before Evelyn and I left for our long visit to Pennsylvania, I convinced Zac that we should take a short family getaway. Just the three of us, minimal distractions.

We didn’t want to go far because traveling by car here is not easy. So after searching within a 100 km radius (side note – five years in, I am still not used to the metric system), we settled on Ashtamudi Lake in Kollam. More importantly, I had found an excellent deal with The Raviz, a five-star resort on the lake itself. We went, got a free room upgrade, and took an awesome morning houseboat ride. Also, I used the amazing jacuzzi tub in our bathroom. I mean, look at this place –

14615591_10100167037557914_3649668580780148467_o

14468542_10100167037498034_6171214926985705198_o — The view from our room.

Fast forward to August 2017, I noticed the Raviz, on their Facebook page, offering a new membership card. Since we loved our initial stay so much, I sent the page to my husband, suggesting we join.

We decided on the black membership. It gave us vouchers that included free massages, a complimentary night stay, and a free upgrade to a suite.

The vouchers aren’t the only perks – showing up with the card itself is worth something. A member gets a flat 20 percent off rooms and up to 50 percent off food and 15 percent off adult beverages.

For Evelyn’s fourth birthday and our sixth wedding anniversary, we decided to use our Priviliz membership and booked a room for two nights at the Ashtamudi resort.

As before, they rolled out the red carpet with welcome drinks and tikka. We had previously called to use two of our vouchers – a free 1 kg birthday cake and a free bottle of wine – and they had it all set up for us.

We also used our voucher to upgrade to their Royal Suite. Hands down, the most gorgeous and spacious room I have ever stayed in.

The large windows overlook the lake. I’ve been watching the houseboats float by, rippling the lake water, with coconut trees looming in the background.

Our suite has a huge sitting room, a dining area, a big bedroom, and one and a half bathrooms.

26756702_10100386509294794_8575491677840474112_n — Our bedroom

26841321_10100386509194994_3272088970095230976_n — The dining area and sitting area

26910091_10100386508970444_5865551473672192000_n — The master bath

26904460_10100386509484414_4113512681154750826_n — View of the rest of the resort from our balcony

26734427_10100386509519344_337618042997424200_n — View of the lake from our balcony

14566422_10100167038106814_5546147199133277115_o — Ready for our morning houseboat ride!

14567414_10100167039334354_8906430874016815697_o — More views from the houseboat ride.

14567561_10100167039678664_2040300808549182243_o — More views from the houseboat ride.

And the staff here at the resort are accommodating and caring, and they made us feel welcomed both times we’ve visited. They gave us the upgrade to the suite with no questions asked or stalling.

The servers and managers in Keraleeyam, the resort’s main restaurant, occupied and cared for Evelyn while Zac and I shoveled in the yummy Kerala-style, North Indian, and international cuisine. For Evelyn’s birthday, they brought out the cake with enough pomp to please a four year old and gave her a small gift.

Zac and I decided to get some Ayurvedic treatments done during our stay. We both chose the Tanusree treatment, which lasts about two hours. It involves a traditional Ayurvedic head massage, body massage, green gram scrub, red sandalwood body pack, and steam. Because it involves so much, the brochure said the spa required 12 hours notice. But when we asked about that, they assured it was no problem, and got me in for the first treatment right away.

IMG_20180119_115532 — My spa room….with a spectacular view that I forgot to take a photo of.

And, man oh man, my experience was fantastic. If you’ve never had an Ayurvedic experience before, they can be awkward. You’re vulnerable in many ways. Your therapist sometimes speaks only basic English, so you’re both too shy to for conversation. Well – that awkwardness was shattered this time around. My therapist made me belly-laugh and handed out compliments left and right, with my favorite being the following:

Therapist – “Madam is how old?”
Me – “I’m 33.”
Therapist – *gasps like I’ve offended her* “MADAM. I thought you were 26!”

I was like, can I call you up any time I need some flattery, please? But I came out of that room feeling like I had all my muscles and nerves unwound from tight coils. My skin felt baby soft (thanks to the green gram and sandalwood). Raviz’s Favourite Kerala Spa is highly, highly recommended.

IMG_20180119_174049 — View of the resort from our pedal boat

IMG_20180119_173724 — A houseboat in the distance on the lake

The Raviz treats all their guests well. They give freebies to everyone. You get a 30-minute houseboat ride across the lake, free evening tea and snacks, and a free cultural program before dinner. Both times we were there, a Bharatanatyam dancer performed in the reception area. So worth every cent we pay. I’m already looking forward to our visit next time!

14542315_10100167040546924_9042354680536067997_o

Mehndi, Mehndi!!

422217_607087879584_1611614569_n — What started it all.

I watched the young woman with her steady hand drawn lines on my inner wrist, moving towards my palm. The dark brown paste chilled my skin, and its earthy scent wafted into my nose.

My fingers wanted to twitch, but her thin hand held my hand in place so she could complete her art. Art for the skin – that’s what mehndi is. I’d never seen anything so intricate.

The flowers and paisleys she left behind dried and crusted. When I scraped the remnants off, the design had dyed my skin a burnt orange, which darkened to a deep auburn.

In the days that followed, I caught myself bringing my hand to my nose to capture the remaining scent of the henna paste. I admired the artist’s handiwork – spirals, dots, lines, and loops all making a trail to my fingertips.

I was in love, and I wanted to learn it. That was five years ago.

Like many, I suffer from impostor syndrome, so my doubt held me in check. Was it cultural appropriation for me, a white woman, to learn mehndi? Would I even be good at it?

In India, it’s an art that’s passed through families, where people learn on their own. The street mehndi artists (the best) taught themselves all the techniques. The proper shading, the right pressure to place on the cone for dispensing, and the creativity to create large designs that cover entire arms, hands, and feet.

There was no way I’d learn it, I decided. I snuffed out my desire and moved on with my life.

I moved on until last September, when my husband, daughter, and I were milling around our local grocery store. There, crammed on the bottom shelf of the beauty section, were henna cones.

I kept glancing at them but left empty-handed, still not confident that I could learn it. Instead, I went home and searched how to do it online – is it easy or difficult? Which kind should I use? Which designs are good for beginners?

And I asked the opinions of others if I should even bother with trying (they were all encouraging).

So, the next time we were at our grocery store, I slapped three cones in front of my confused husband and said, “I want to learn.” I braced myself for his laughter because I had zero confidence in my ability. Instead, he said, “Okay,” and paid for our groceries.

My first attempt at mehndi was terrible. I cut the cone down too far, so the paste came out too thick, and I couldn’t draw much with it.

I learned that mehndi isn’t too forgiving – you cannot afford to make many mistakes with it. Still, I felt a thrill run through me that I was actually doing it, and even my husband complimented my shoddy design.

My second attempt improved a bit. I drew a peacock, which has since become my favorite, but I still had no idea how to create a motif that flowed together.

I began scrawling on paper with the paste when I ran out of room on my hands and feet. It soothed me. Squeeze the cone and watch the paste twirl into flowers, peacocks, tikkas, and geometric shapes. The more I did it, the steadier my hand became, and the easier it was to flow shapes one into another.

14409914_10100160737792694_6393383317865594523_o — Baby mehndi!

14568191_10100165597753294_2548914229940432121_n — My first tikka design.

14915183_10100176739914314_3678420025893639935_n — I love to do these kinds!

14882320_10100175352285134_6672077399914304653_o — Tikka on the side of my wrist.

14956371_10100177894700114_1412266896920392784_n — A small motif for my mom (with my daughter’s name)!

One of my more recent, and super quick, designs.

Seven months and fifty henna cones later, I now draw on hands, feet, and shoulders with ease. I create permanent designs on unfinished wood, including letters, bangles, necklace pendants, bird houses, and photo cubes.

I’ve even started using acrylic paints to make designs on journals and Mason jars.

If I’m already this good after seven months of practice, I cannot wait to see where I am seven more months from now.

15995118_10100208657326564_8544057455089411986_o — My first jewelry box that has since been claimed by my three year old for storing small toys.

17017213_10100230111098034_439702342954445514_o — Practicing on scrap wood!

17155904_10100235373557024_3926281226315590146_n — Journal design with acrylic paint.

What It’s Like for Me

I’ve been trying extremely hard not to write an entry like this because I was never sure how people would take it. Heck, I’m not even sure how I’m really taking it. I’m so torn about writing it. Living in India is very conflicting. Some days my heart is so full of being grateful and appreciative for having this opportunity, living in such an ancient culture, seeing the historic monuments and buildings, spoiling myself with massages and such because we can afford it here, living in luxury with our three rooftop swimming pools at our apartment buildings. Other days, I find myself daydreaming about driving my own car down one of Sullivan County’s empty roads. No car horns, no temple music, just blissful silence. Or I get wistful and dreamy about the spacious and roomy parking lots at Walmart ( you will never understand how lucky you are) after a day of frustrated shopping where we can’t find a single parking space at our overly crowded grocery store. Or I wish that I don’t have to second guess what I’m wearing when we go into public, never knowing if it’s fully appropriate for the conservative culture here. Or I wish that I could heat style my hair without it protesting into a ball of frizz or that my make up wouldn’t melt off my face. These may seem like small things, for sure, but when you’re living them everyday, the pangs can get really strong. Most days I’m fine, but some days, I swing from one extreme to the other with me wanting to stomp my feet like a child and scream, “I don’t want to adapt. ANY. MORE.”

I’ve been having waves of homesickness since Christmas Eve, and it’s been getting worse and the waves have been getting a little longer since it’s coming up on a year when I went to the US. In fact, yesterday, I was listening to “California Girls” by the Beach Boys, and I was so stupidly overcome with emotion that I had to sit down at the kitchen table with my head in my hands. So, even though I feel like I’m complaining a bit with this, it just poured out of me and felt sooo therapeutic. I think that even though India overall has been kind to me, it will never accept me as Brittany, wholly American and unchanged. I’ve had to tone down my sense of humor (sarcasm, pretty much), what I wear, how I approach people, how I address people, who I make eye contact with, who I smile at, who I say hello to (which is no one unless I know them). I’ve even had comments on my hair because it’s shorter than what is considered traditional here. The “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all” mindset doesn’t exist so much here. Good in some ways, and not so good in others.

I’ve been keeping tabs on this thing called the Kerala Blog Express, sponsored by Kerala Tourism, where they bring a group of foreign bloggers to see the best Kerala has to offer. And that’s just it – they’re only seeing the best. As I was reading the latest blog, cheekily titled 12 Reasons to Never Visit Kerala, I felt a huge disconnect between what the blogger had written and my own experience. It’ll be my fourth year here this October, so I’m starting to believe that my feelings and opinions about living here may actually have some clout. I have about 6 to 7 pages handwritten on this topic already, and I’m not even done yet, so I’ve decided to split up all of it in to shorter, easier entries. I’ll probably post once a week until I get it all typed.

First of all, this blogger talks about how hot and humid it is here and how you’re always covered with sweat (all true). But then he talks about how he slathered on SPF 50 when going out on the beaches and hiking, and I just…..I had to stop reading. I can’t even remember the last time I willingly went into the midday sun unless I’ve been 1) under a very large umbrella, 2) in an air conditioned car, or 3) hiding in the shade of a very tall, very broad building. Anyone who lives here knows that being outside between the hours of 10 and 6 is a huuuuge mistake. That’s why many of our beach photos are of sunsets – it’s not for romance. It’s because it’s too stinkin’ hot to go any other time of day. But we have made the mistake of going to the beach in the daytime. More than once, because we kept thinking it would improve each time we went. It didn’t. 10 am – traipsing through hot sand, hot sun, and….ugh….hot air. The beaches are all gorgeous, no doubt, but I think the sunbathers are nuts. No offense. I mean, good grief, it’s so hot outside, why did we think it would be fun? Then, in the car, on the way home, the A/C is cranked to the max, and we look at each other like, “Why did we just do that?” We’re exhausted from the sun, we’ll have to take yet another shower when we get home, and then the rest of the day is shot because we have to rest up since we have real lives to live here. So, yes, the tally – tourist in Kerala: appreciates the heat and sweat and sun and doesn’t miss out on any fulfilling activities because of this; and expat in Kerala: dives into the nearest building like some kind of vampire, counting the hours until I can go outside again. You can’t age me, Kerala sun! NO. WAY.

1519526_768615756424_1940329064_o — Never again.

The next thing on this guy’s list that struck me as odd – he writes that Indians have permanent smiles on their faces. To be honest, I have no idea what he’s talking about. With the exception of my husband, who smiles for approximately 85% of his day (not counting his sleepy time), Indians aren’t smilers. In my experience, the average Indian has a very serious, even borderline unfriendly appearance. I won’t even discuss the blatant stares I still get once in a while from people….or maybe I will, who knows where this paragraph will lead me? But appearances aside, Indians are some of the happiest, friendliest people on the planet. Don’t ask me why they’re so happy – they have lots of reasons not to be, so I’m still trying to flesh all that out.

And this friendliness and happiness leads to such unbelievable hospitality. People are so happy and so proud to have you as a guest in their home. And this, this is when Indians smile. I will never forget, on my first trip to India, we visited the Dhobi Ghat slum in Mumbai, and a young man invited our small crew to see his tiny, well kept home – I mean, it was tiny and most of his belongings were covered with the laundry that he was washing for the Mumbai residents. He just stood there with a broad smile on his face, gesturing for us to enter his home, and I’m sure he would have served us tea if we hadn’t been in such a hurry. This poor man would have given us something that he most likely struggled to earn, and he would have done it with a good, genuine heart. I can’t even fathom it – it leaves me speechless.

425322_607090045244_2070546250_n — That man is in the orange shirt.

Well, now that I’ve waxed poetic about the friendliness and hospitality of Indians, I’m going to tell you that it hasn’t been easy at all for me to make friends here. In fact, I didn’t make any friends at all until we moved to this new apartment complex in October 2015. That’s three, count ’em three, years of having no real, live friends to talk to besides my husband. But I remember the days at our old house when I would cry because I was so lonely for just one other female friend. Just one other mom friend, who could at least pretend to understand how destabilizing it can be to be a stay at home mom in a foreign country. Someone who could sympathize with me on the days when I’m feeling a bit homesick and like I’ve lost a sense of my identity – that I have no idea what I’m good at anymore. Someone who could understand why I protest keeping a maid and a cook because, while it’s extremely difficult to maintain a home here with all the dust and dirt, I didn’t like that my self-sufficiency was completely shredded. It’s taken me a long time to find those people.

And it’s not that there weren’t any women around me. I’ve had female neighbors the entire time I’ve lived here. But they were local Kerala women, at least one generation separated from me, and, I felt, an entire world away in values and interests. I vividly remember (because I felt so mortified) sitting in one woman’s home, she had made me tea, and after the initial “what are you preparing for lunch” conversation (topic of choice here), there was nothing but silence because we had no idea how to continue. And as for me, being a bit socially awkward, my brain kicked in to overdrive panic mode – What do I say? What do I say?? WHAT DO I SAY??? And that made it all much worse.

It has gotten easier. I’ve learned by the example of my husband, in those situations, it’s best to ask about family members – as many details as you can about as many members as you can think of. People love to talk about their families. This tactic has very much saved me from any more awkwardness. The tally – Tourist in Kerala: is greeted by smiling hotel representatives and tour guides and then thinks everyone here is constantly smiling and in a good mood; Expat in Kerala: sees and experiences the real deal (which I think, despite my complaining, is the better deal).

I hope I haven’t turned anyone off from visiting India. I promise you – it changes your life in the most unexpected ways. I sound like a broken record because I know I’ve written this before. Like I said, my emotions are always in a constant battle – it’s a duality, much like India itself. The extreme good and extreme bad, extreme wealth and extreme poverty learn to co-exist with each other somehow. People say that you either love India or you hate it when you visit for the first time, and I can assuredly say that it’s possible to love and hate this place in the same breath. This is my experience and mine alone. I’ll be posting the next entry sometime next week. Stay tuned!

One day at a time, usually with lots of caffeine.

A Passage Back to India

I almost didn’t come back to India on July 8, 2015. The car ride to JFK International is excruciating on its own, but then to have a toddler who can’t stand to be in a car seat for more than 20 minutes and unbelievable emotional turmoil inside my stomach, I almost postponed the journey – by two weeks or three weeks or a month or two months. I didn’t know. We stopped at Long John Silvers (of all places) to eat, and I managed to gag down some fish and a hush puppie or two, but then I puked it all back up when we were 30 minutes from the airport. Stuck in traffic, of course. I was a hot mess. And I was worried that the nausea wouldn’t go away. Could I handle a 20 hour plane journey with a 1.5 year old and constant nausea? Nope. And so I decided to call Zac and tell him I wasn’t going to leave that day. I stood outside a smelly Dunkin Donuts gas station and called my husband, who said he would completely support whatever decision I made.

And so, when we reached JFK, I left my bags in the car and marched through the doors, fully intent on convincing Kuwait airways to postpone my flight without charging me an arm and a leg. But as I looked at the queues and the suitcases and huddled families, I realized I wasn’t alone, and my nausea all but disappeared. I turned to my dad, who had come with me, and asked him what to do. Here’s the thing about my dad – he hates leaving his house for any length of time. Hates it. His idea of a vacation is to stay home, run every morning, and take naps. And mow the lawn. So I thought for sure he would be supporting the postponement idea. But he didn’t. He said, “Brittany, once you get on that flight, you’ll be fine. You can do this. If you postpone it by two weeks, a month, it doesn’t matter. You’ll have to go through all of this again, all the goodbyes, the long drive, everything.” I knew he was right, and I rushed out, got my bags, and checked in to my flight. Said the hardest goodbyes to my parents, who were both sobbing while I tried to be the strong one (didn’t work). And then I left, praying with each step, “Please, God; please, God; please, God.” Please, God, what? Please, God, don’t let me barf on the plane? Please, God, don’t let Evelyn scream for the whole plane ride? Please, God, don’t let me get stuck at Kuwait International Airport? Please, God, don’t let the plane fall in the ocean? Whatever it was, He knew my heart and answered those prayers. And a short 11 hour plane journey later, I was in Kuwait, and another short 9 hours later, I was hugging my husband inside Trivandrum International Airport.

And now I’ve been back for over a month and a half, and I’ve had time to reflect on exactly why I went berserk….inside myself. And I think most of it was guilt. Guilt of taking Evelyn away from my parents and extended family. Guilt of taking Evelyn away from a place where she had SO MUCH space to roam freely. Guilt of not having an answer on when I would be back to the United States again. And, most of all, guilt for not being that sad about leaving. Oh, sure, I was sad. I love my family dearly. I would and do miss them. And I would miss lots of other things – the television shows, the food, the easy peasy traffic, the fact that there just aren’t that many people in Sullivan County, Pennsylvania. The freedom to pick up and go wherever I want at anytime. But, much more than the sadness, I was anxious. Anxious to get the goodbyes done and over, anxious to get the plane ride over, anxious to see and touch Zac again. To see him smile. Hear him laugh. To get our life back together.

Therein lies the crux of the matter, I suppose. I didn’t feel that I felt sad enough about leaving. But if I allowed myself to feel split in half like I had the first time I left for India, then I don’t think I could have ever come back. I guess you could call it a survival mechanism. Or perhaps I’ve realized that it’s not the end of the world when you move abroad. There are airplanes, Skype, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and a myriad of other ways to keep in touch. It adds depth to my experience because I am forced to share the details of my everyday life here. I am forced to constantly examine how I feel about giving up the ease of my previous life and finding ways to add peacefulness and simplicity to this life in India. And I keep in better touch with my family now than I ever did when I was in the United States. I am forced to make time to chat with my parents so they can watch their granddaughter giggle. I am forced to take the extra 5 seconds and send Snapchats of my life to my brother, cousins, and aunts. You know, I was trying to find a good quote or two about to slam in here about being an expatriate, but so many of them are about wanderlust and being addicted to travel, and I don’t really think that’s me (except for going to see the Taj Mahal. My darling husband, if you’re reading this, make it happen). I am just a small town girl who happened to meet and fall in love and marry a foreigner, and then I had to move abroad. I am simply an American mom who lives in a non-American house. There is no wanderlust here. I didn’t move abroad because I wanted to be immersed in another culture or because I wanted to see the world. Those are just added perks. Anyway, I only found two quotes that I felt comfortable sharing. One by David Sedaris:

“LIFE MIGHT BE DIFFICULT FOR A WHILE, BUT I WOULD TOUGH IT OUT BECAUSE LIVING IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS THAT EVERYONE SHOULD TRY AT LEAST ONCE. MY UNDERSTANDING WAS THAT IT COMPLETED A PERSON, SANDING DOWN THE ROUGH PROVINCIAL EDGES AND TRANSFORMING YOU INTO A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD. WHAT I FOUND APPEALING IN LIFE ABROAD WAS THE INEVITABLE SENSE OF HELPLESSNESS IT WOULD INSPIRE. EQUALLY EXCITING WOULD BE THE WORK INVOLVED IN OVERCOMING THAT HELPLESSNESS. THERE WOULD BE A GOAL INVOLVED, AND I LIKED HAVING GOALS.”

And one by Miriam Adeney:

“YOU WILL NEVER BE COMPLETELY AT HOME AGAIN, BECAUSE PART OF YOUR HEART ALWAYS WILL BE ELSEWHERE. THAT IS THE PRICE YOU PAY FOR THE RICHNESS OF LOVING AND KNOWING PEOPLE IN MORE THAN ONE PLACE.”

An absolute “yes” to both of these. Richness, overcoming helplessness, transformation, toughing it out. All of this has been my life so far. I would add humility to the list as well. Because nothing teaches you how very little you know about life and the world quite like living in another culture, especially a non-Western culture. Nothing teaches you better how to appreciate what you have and not be wasteful quite like seeing another human being who has absolutely nothing and nowhere to go. Nothing teaches you how to love your spouse more deeply quite like seeing headlines of young couples murdered because they fell in love and married. Nothing teaches you to hug your daughter more tightly better than knowing you’re living in country where they are still fighting to save the girl child. These, along with all the beauty of India, are part of the realities.

And, now, back to my reality. It’s been a pretty busy month and a half. The apartment was essentially a hazmat area when I arrived, and that was after Zac had hired a maid and she cleaned up a lot. So I immediately, jet lag and all, threw myself into cleaning and throwing away junk. I’ve also been packing because we’ve decided to move to a place where Evelyn and I will both have much more freedom to roam about. I have started making more Indian food – Kerala red fish curry, chicken biryani, aloo tikki, dosa, idlis, chutneys, various vegetable curries, rotis. It’s all gotten me in to a good routine, even a better one than before. I was a little worried that maybe I would be homesick or sad once I got back to India, but I haven’t been. There are things that make me rage every now and then – power cuts; the heat; our maid; the heat; cultural differences; the heat; the issue of NO ONE following traffic laws my goodness; the heat, dear Lord, THE HEAT. I sweat through every single piece of clothing I have. So, yes, there are moments and hours and even days of frustrations, but if I don’t dwell, it gets better. If I dwell, it gets worse. Anyway, I can assuredly say that I haven’t been been sad or depressed. How could I be? Our little family has been reunited. My physical home may be the United States of America, but my real home is wherever Zac and Evelyn are. I love them both so dearly. Plus, we live like 5 minutes from the beach. For real, how could I be sad? I get to watch Evelyn chase baby goats when we go for evening walks. I get to listen to Evelyn try to string together words and then hear Zac laugh at whatever she is trying to say. A few days ago, I ate the traditional Onam meal that is served on a banana leaf. I ate a meal on a banana leaf, people. How cool is that? Even if we’re just sitting at home, eating dinner and watching “Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade,” I am super aware of how much joy is in my life. I remember Zac telling me one time that he didn’t know what he did right in his life for God to be so gracious and give him such wonderful gifts (Evelyn and me). Well, I don’t know what I’ve done right either. But I am so grateful.

I am hoping to start blogging more now, but with a toddler who likes to make demands as soon as she sees mommy get comfortable, I’m not sure if it’s going to be possible. Hopefully, you guys will stick with on this chapter of our journey.

Our Baby’s First Birthday

Evelyn Grace, born January 18, 2014, at 1:12 pm.

You’re my honey bunch

Sugar plum

I read this great quote on motherhood the other day. I can’t remember the exact wording of it, but the woman said motherhood is like discovering a new room that you’ve never seen before in your own house. Really, that is just so spot on. I am the same person I always was, I still laugh at the same kind of jokes, I still like the same foods, I still like to go see new places. But before Evelyn came along, there were lots of things about myself that I never thought I needed to change. Now that she’s here, my self-examination has increased TO THE MAX, and I am trying so hard to become the best person I can be…for her. The kindest, the least selfish, the most joyful, the most forgiving, the strongest, the healthiest. I fail at many (all right, all of them) of these a lot of the time, but that’s okay. I’m improving each day. My darling husband likes to tell me that at least I know there are things about myself I can improve, most people never even get that far. It’s hard, and I think it’s been the hardest thing about being a parent, constantly wanting to improve yourself to be the best example to your child.

Pummy yummy yumpkin

You’re my sweetie pie

And, as for my husband, he and I both had our unspoken worries about our married life before Little Bean debuted. I don’t think either of us voiced our concerns until much later, when it was clear our marriage was stronger than ever. Sure things are different now. It’s hard for us to have normal conversations that we used to have all the time, our dinners out have decreased, our “us” time is just….less. And sometimes I miss the pre-baby marriage, the eating meals together, watching movies together uninterrupted, taking a weekend trip just to get away. I know those will all come back in due time. But you see the song lyrics I am posting on here, yes? Well, it’s Evelyn’s new favorite song that she has listened to approximately 3,572 times this week. And on one of the evenings, Zac sat with her and tried desperately to learn the lyrics as quickly as he could so he could sing it to her later on, and when the line “I want you to know/I’ll always be right here” he sang it and wrapped his arms around her, and oh my gosh, my throat tightened and my eyes filled up and nothing, NOTHING that made me fall in love with him in the first place compared to the intense rush of love I felt towards him at that moment. And it’s these moments that I hold on to and think of whenever the feeling of “Well, when have Zac and I had our last legitimate conversation?” gets me.

You’re my cuppy cake

Gum drop

Another thing I have caught myself remembering over the last year has been my own childhood. In fact, Zac and I have argued who had the better childhood. It was me, clearly. 😉 But I don’t have a single bad memory, not even when both of my parents had lost their jobs, they never let on that we were struggling for money. Never. Whenever I got sick of my parents, it was off to an exciting night at Gram and Gramp’s house or off to bother my cousin, Daniel, and my aunt, Deb, (who I still bother….a lot) for the day. My dad always took the time out of his week to take Daniel and me to a playground, or for a bike ride, or would just play a ball game with us. My mom always decorating for holidays and taking the time to build an atmosphere so special that I still get a warmth in my heart when I think of those days. The excitement building up in the days preceding a trip to Knoebel’s Amusement Park or just a day at Rickett’s Glen. Decorating sugar cookies at Christmas time. Blowing out candles on a birthday cake after hearing a waaay off-key “Happy Birthday” tune. I want Evelyn to have memories like I do; to be able to confidently think, “I had the best childhood. NO ONE had a better one than me.”

Snookums snookums

You’re the apple of my eye

And I’m really trying to give Evelyn the best childhood I can. So far, I have done things exactly the way I have wanted (labor and delivery excluded). I have breastfed for an entire year, something that, at times, I just didn’t think was going to be possible. I had no one knowledgeable about breastfeeding close to me, so I had to forge that path on my own. It was painful, confusing, tiring (especially in the first few weeks), and you would not believe how many variations of “Is your milk enough for her?” I heard. But I didn’t quit. My baby’s barely been sick in this first year of her life. Is that because of my milk? I’d like to think so, but I’m not totally sure. Something else I’ve done that people cautioned me against – I held my baby. Like, all the time. Because I wanted to, because she wanted me to, to stop her crying, etc. And ohhhh….there’s SO MUCH that people want to say about that! People are in such a rush for babies to become “independent” or so they “don’t trouble” the parents. I heard all the reasons – “She’ll get too used to your body heat,” “She’ll never learn to crawl/walk/be independent,” “Let her cry for a while, it’s okay.” Yeah, I never listened to any of that, and now she’s well on her way to walking, crawls around like Spiderman scales a building, and is so ridiculously independent sometimes that I even feel a little left out while she’s entertaining herself.

And I love you so

And I want you to know

The only time she’s not ridiculously independent is when she knows her daddy is nearby. Oh, is she a daddy’s girl. She always has been, ever since she was a tiny newborn. And she was so tiny. I remember, maybe when she was a month old, my husband asking me, with concern in his voice, how could we keep such a small thing alive? Now, here she is, a year old. A little girl whose wild hair won’t stay combed down, a little girl who says “Caw caw” whenever she sees an animal, a little girl who looks like she could burst from joy just from seeing me every morning she wakes, a little girl who gets excited, waves and blows kisses to her daddy when she sees him coming home from work, a little girl who prefers to crawl in dirt and play with dried leaves than any other toy she has, a little girl who has better rhythm than both her father and mother, a little girl who will try any new food at least once, a little girl who covers her eyes when you ask “Where’s Evelyn? Where’d she go?,” a little girl who hates the confinement of an airplane, a little girl who, when she’s standing at our gate on our front porch, looks like she wants to conquer the world…or at least the stairs.

That I’ll always be right here

And I love to sing sweet songs for you

And she’s conquered a lot in her short time here so far. We took her on a boat ride when she was less than two weeks old (Let’s not discuss the safety issues. It’s India, after all, just go with it.). She went to a US Embassy in Chennai to gain her US citizenship when she was three months old. She dipped her feet in the Arabian Sea when she was five months old. She’s bathed and touched an Asian elephant. She’s ridden a camel and has seen the Golden Temple. She went along for the ride, but not one of these things did she give two hoots about. All she wanted was her Daddy to hold her and play “choo choo” train or for her Mommy to nurse her to sleep.

Because you are sooo dear

For the past few days, I’ve been reminded of some song lyrics – I think it’s a song by The Killers – that I used to think of a lot when she was first born: “But don’t you let them tame you/You’re far too pure and bold.” I’m pretty sure the song it comes from has nothing whatsoever to do with raising a child, but I love these lines for Evelyn. I want her to not be affected by what our cultures, both Indian and American, expect for females. I want her to create her own path, to be bold and unafraid, in family, in love, in forgiveness, in confrontation, in pursuing her dreams. And even if she is afraid, which is totally okay, I want her to have the courage to do it afraid. So I encourage her to explore as much as possible, to see that the big world out there isn’t so scary, and it’s fine if she gets bumps or scratches or gets dirty along the way. Those things are temporary, but what she can discover about herself while exploring can last a lifetime. She’s our strong little girl, who I am so, so proud of already. I wish that I could truly express the joy and happiness that I have in my heart, but I can’t seem to do it to my satisfaction. So, I’ll end with this – Happy Birthday to our sweet Little Bean. God has blessed us so much by letting us be your parents.

Christmas 2013!

It’s December 29, 2013, here in Kerala, which means in three days, it will be 2014. And in 2014, I will be, God-willing, giving birth to a screaming, crying, pooping, sleeping, eating non-stop baby girl. I don’t know how it is for most women in my situation (LOL), but the fact that I will be a Mom in less than three weeks is way more exciting and terrifying than packing up and moving to India ever was. So, yeah, if you think these baby blog posts are ever going to stop now, you may as well just stop following my blog.

Since we have spent much of my husband’s hard-earned money on baby things, we had little money left over to do any big pre-baby vacations/trips/who-even-cares. Not that I really felt like it anyway because I feel like I’m carrying a small pony around inside me. But we did decide to do something “fun” on Christmas Day – we went to Varkala Beach and then had a five-course dinner at our favorite Trivandrum restaurant, Villa Maya.

,I am here to set the story straight about this beach trip lest you think it was something glamorous. Now, don’t get me wrong, Varkala Beach is beautiful. Probably the most beautiful beach in Kerala, if not the rest of India. It’s 98 percent clean (which is a huge deal; many beaches have loads of garbage), the water was gorgeous, and it’s absolutely not commercialized, meaning you don’t have to worry about people coming up and harassing you to take a speed boat ride (Zac and I have done this on Kovalam Beach, and it’s terrifying and dangerous and don’t do it). So, yes, Varkala is beautiful, and if you’re coming to Kerala for any reason, make a brief stop here. However, if you’re 8.5 months pregnant, don’t go thinking you can traipse through hot sand and climb up a cliff in the middle of a hot, sunny, tropical day, with no issues. Because there will be issues.

This beach is about an hour away from our house, so we left a little before 10 am and reached there around 11. After Zac courageously figured out the parking situation and I braved the “Pay & Use” bathroom, we were all set to explore.

One of the things we absolutely wanted to do was eat at Little Tibet, a tiny beach restaurant that was located somewhere on Papanasam Cliff. We asked a nice police officer where it was located, and he motioned for us to keep walking down the beach. Little did I know that he meant walk through two beaches and climb oodles of stairs.

This place looked like a backpacker's paradise. — This place looked like a backpacker’s paradise.

I was all nervous about taking a photo of these guys, and then I noticed a foreign couple standing directly in front of them, taking their photos.

At some point, we arrived at the northern end of the beach and holy foreigners! It was pasty skin as far as thee eye could see. Bikinis and speedos everywhere! Part of me felt relieved to see so many people who look just like me and another part was a little repulsed by all the display of skin. Personally, I was even a little uncomfortable removing my thin cardigan while we were there because I’m not used to showing off that much arm in public anymore. What’s happened to me??? Another thing I noticed about all the white people – they looked like they hadn’t showered in days. This was the first time I have realized how awful white people look when they come to India. No wonder we get stared at. I was so floored by my revelation that at one point I asked Zac if I looked like these people. And my dear, sweet husband stared at me in all my sweaty, pregnant splendor and said, “Well, you do a little right now.” Lesson learned.

To get to Little Tibet, we had to climb a bunch of stairs up a cliff.

Climbing those stairs was not my best idea. It was a really bad idea. Really, really bad. By the time we reached the top of the first set, my abdomen had tightened, I was short of breath, my knees were shot, my back was hurting. However, I am very stubborn, and I wasn’t going to let stairs get the best of me. So, we kept climbing despite Zac’s and Guram’s, his friend, protests. When we reached the top of the cliff, I was in such agony that I seriously felt like the dumbest person in the universe. But, hey, we had found Little Tibet! And we walked inside the entrance only to realize we had to go up one more flight of stairs.

The restaurant itself was okay. We had breakfast, which we didn’t think was anything too special. The juice I had was amazing, and the view from the top of the cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea was spectacular. Again, this place was all white people. Zac was the only Indian there.

Zac was also the only person that this cat slept on. Coincidence?

I don't want to exaggerate, but I'm pretty sure this lemon mint juice saved my life that day. — I don’t want to exaggerate, but I’m pretty sure this lemon mint juice saved my life that day.

After breakfast, we climbed back down the stairs, which was only slightly less painful for me. And then we made our way back to the car, stopping only so Zac could take some Baywatch photos of me in the water.

The water was so nice; I wanted so badly to just lie down in it.

And that was our trip to Varkala Beach. Next time, we decided to come either super early in the morning or in the evening because we hate the noontime sun. Lesson learned.

Christmas evening, we had booked a table at Villa Maya for their special Christmas dinner. Not just any table, but one of these:

I feel so fancy eating at this place. — We feel so fancy eating at this place.

Eating at Villa Maya is a totally different experience than what I am used to. I’ll start with the history – it’s an old palace that had been built for the maharaja’s wives. It had been empty for years before someone came along and thought it would be a great place to restore and turn into a restaurant. Sorry, a “fabled kitchen” (it’s their slogan). They have kept much of the history in tact, and on our first time there, we were given a tour of the place, explaining the historical significance of rooms and artifacts.

This pic is from our first time there. I was trying out maharaja-style dining, where you recline on the bed and the table is brought to you.

The little statues that are on the table were kept from the original palace.

In all of the little pools of water at Villa Maya, you can find tiny fish and frogs just hanging out.

The dining experience at Villa Maya is unbelievable as well. For the Christmas dinner, they had a five course meal planned. That wasn’t even counting the starter they bring out at the beginning which is usually some type of tiny hors d’oeuvre paired with an Ayurvedic drink, which I swear is designed to make you hungrier. For my Christmas dinner, I had the most Western style meal I could get – pumpkin bisque, roasted turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, and Christmas pudding. We also ate a bunch of appetizers (they were unlimited); I think some prawns, chicken tikka, and some fried mozzarella were included in there somewhere. The chefs and servers here seem to know how to give you just enough food and space it out just enough so that you can remain hungry for the whole meal. I’m getting hungry now just thinking about the food there!

I think I forgot to mention that they flambéed the Christmas pudding in front of us.

It was paired with ice cream. So incredibly good.

And that was our Christmas Day 2013. We also squeezed in a nap because 1.) We’re an old married couple now, and we like naps, and 2.) We know in a few weeks, naps and sleeping will be scarce. Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and will have a wonderful New Year!

A Time for Giving Thanks

I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with this post, so bear with me. I suppose you could consider it my Thanksgiving post. I encountered a woman last week who was begging for money. This is my first time since moving to Kerala (back in October 2012) that I have had someone approach me for money. As I was closing our front gate after letting Zac out with the car, I saw this woman out of the corner of my eye, staring at me. Being stared at is nothing new for me, so I kept about my business of shutting the gate. Then, I heard her saying something to me, so I finally looked at her, noticing she had her hand extended. I did what I’ve been told to do – I shook my head, avoided eye contact, and hurried to get in the car. The reason I’m telling this story is because while this woman was asking for money, I had an awful internal reaction to her. I got angry. I assumed she was asking me for money simply because I was white. Zac thought the same thing until we looked behind us and saw her approaching another woman to ask for money. I felt awful, and I don’t think I have even told Zac how awful I felt about it.

So, I’ve been grappling with this episode ever since – I have had to “re-check my privilege,” if you will. That woman, most likely, did need money, any money. And I wish I would have given her something. But at the time I had no purse on me, no pockets, and I was hot, tired, achy, swollen and sweaty. I got angry with her for an unjustifiable reason. So, I’ve been praying that God keeps my pride reigned in and my patience more enduring. Since then, I have been hyper-aware of things I am thankful for.

Zac and I are blessed enough to be living well in India. In fact, we are living in excess. We have a beautiful apartment, a maid/cook, a washing machine, a water purifier, a brand new car, no concerns on how we will afford our monthly expenses, two laptops, wireless internet, a new camera (for lots of sleeping baby photos), and a generator, which is thanks to our electrician landlord. Our maid is awesome. I was all huffy when Zac said he was going to hire a lady to help around the house because, well, pride? But now that I am getting further along in my pregnancy in a very hot and humid climate, I am incredibly grateful for the work she does. As for our washing machine, I could hug it every single time I do a load of laundry – I washed clothes by hand for seven months in Calicut. I was pretty bad at it. I ruined quite a few pieces of clothing. Having a water purifier means that neither Zac nor I have to boil our water before drinking it, which was something else we had to do in Calicut. And the generator means that I can still sprawl under the ceiling fan when the power inevitably goes off almost every single day. I am so thankful for that because the heat and humidity here are becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me the larger I get.

That was a list of material things, I know, but I would think it is pretty obvious that I am thankful for my husband. And he is for me. He is always saying to me, “Our story is the best.” And it is pretty unbelievable. He comes from a crowded city in India, and I come from a tiny borough in Pennsylvania, and God willing, we crossed paths, so to speak, in Binghamton, New York. And now we’ve been married almost two years. He is graciously kind and considerate, a good provider, and makes me strive to be a better human all the time. He’ll be an amazing father. I am pretty sure I have said that before on here, but it’s always worth saying again.

And now I come to Little Bean, who has the hiccups as I am typing this. I consider her a miracle, not just because she’s our baby, but because we weren’t sure if or when a pregnancy would ever happen. And, lo and behold, I had already been pregnant for two weeks or so when the doctor gave me some medicine to try to get pregnant eventually. Now, every kick and punch, every hiccup is so precious to me; it’s awe-inspiring. I am so thankful to be experiencing this. And I am thankful for the emotions that run through me about this pretty much all the time, every single day. I am both excited and terrified to be a parent. What if I don’t change her diaper often enough? How will I know when she’s hungry? What if she hates me? I ask Zac often if he is nervous about being a dad. The answer – nope. So, maybe these feelings are more of a mom thing. 🙂

I suppose that’s enough of baring my feelings to you all. I am thankful that there are enough people out there who seem to enjoy this blog. When I started it, I thought it would just be family and friends, but I can see from my number stats that it’s not. Thanks for reading this, everyone. And, if you’re in the US, have a great Thanksgiving!

Back in Kerala!

I’ve been back in Trivandrum for almost three weeks now. So far, I’ve readjusted to the humidity and heat and the fact that I will never be able to do anything with my hair here besides just letting it be a poofball. And it’s great to be able to relish South Indian food again. Thank goodness the repulsion didn’t last. Speaking of food, I don’t have to cook much anymore either. My husband hired a maid/cook for me so I can just live the life of (pregnant) Reilly. And it’s a good thing there was someone here to cook for the first several days especially because I was out of commission with jet lag. I blame that on Little Bean.

And I think Lil’ Bean has grown quite a bit. At least, I hope SHE has because my stomach has ballooned over the past couple weeks. So much so that Zac will sometimes look at my stomach in concern and say, “You still have a few months to go. Are you sure it’s not going to burst?” Personally, I think she had a growth spurt because I stopped eating bacon and macaroni & cheese and started eating fresh fish, veggies, and fruits again. Thanks, Indian food! My burgeoning belly has also caused me to start waddling a bit, especially at night when I’ve just given up for the day. I feel like I’m a little pathetic looking sometimes, but it’s all worth knowing she’s growing like a weed. And she kicks like a maniac now too. I am beginning to think she rarely sleeps, or hopefully, she sleeps when I do. When she is quiet during the day, our new favorite thing to do is lightly tap or talk into my stomach until she starts kicking in response. Love it!

Zac and I haven’t done much since I’ve been back. That’s partly because we don’t have car yet (next month!), I get tired too easily, and it’s just so convenient to stay home now that we have someone doing our cooking. However, there is a lot of stuff to do in Trivandrum, and I want to see and do as much as possible before Lil’ Bean comes around. I mean, I know I’ll still be able to do things once she’s here, but I have a hard enough time hauling my own self around India. I may just want to be under house arrest with her for a month or so. Who knows? Anyway, our new favorite place to go outside our house is Veli Lake and Tourist Village and Shankumugham Beach. It’s only fifteen minutes from our house. We discovered it thanks to one of Zac’s cousins, who we took there two weeks ago. It’s simply a picnic area that has lovely gardens, boating, a kiddie park, and a floating restaurant. We loved it so much we went back this week.

Maybe starting next month, we’ll venture outside more, but right now, we’re enjoying our new home and relaxing together. And don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted on any exciting stuff we do try!

One of the many coconut trees in our yard.

BABY COCONUTS! Aren't they cute? — BABY COCONUTS! Aren’t they cute?

Temple that is just up the street from us. It was awesomely decorated for the Dussehra festival, but we didn't get any photos of that. :( — Temple that is just up the street from us. It was awesomely decorated for the Dussehra festival, but we didn’t get any photos of that. 😦

Along almost every road in India, you will see these hand painted advertisements, political announcements, etc. It's always been one of my favorite things to see here even though it's common. This sign is in Malayalam. — Along almost every road in India, you will see these hand painted advertisements, political announcements, etc. It’s always been one of my favorite things to see here even though it’s common. This sign is in Malayalam, the language of Kerala.

I love this photo. This house is HUGE and really fancy, and this stray dog parked himself on the stoop and was going to town on cleaning himself. The many dualities of India. :) — I love this photo. This house is HUGE and really fancy, and this stray dog parked himself on the stoop and was going to town cleaning himself. The many dualities of India. 🙂

Lovely scenic view on one of our evening walks. It’s even prettier when the sun is setting.

Who let the land manatee pose for this photo? ;) — Who let the land manatee pose for this photo? 😉

More of the incredible views we see each evening.

They have tons of flowers in their gardens!

Posing on the floating bridge that leads to the beach.

View looking from the beach back to the lake. There is a passage of water that connects the Arabian Sea to Veli Lake.

Don't I look like I'm not sweating? — Don’t I look like I’m not sweating?

Zac's relatives that we took to the village. — Zac’s relatives that we took to the village.

Forest-themed restaurant where we went on a date

We clean up nice :) — We clean up nice 🙂

By the way, did I happen to mention we bought a new camera? We’ve been on photo overload for the past several days!

Thiruvananthapuram – Our New Home

I suppose it’s time to post an update? These last few weeks have been pretty much a whirlwind. We have been trying to get things in order for my trip (successfully!), trying to find a place to live (another success!), desperately finding a new doctor for me and Little Bean (done and done!), and squeezing in one or two fun things before I leave (also, success!). I figured I’ll post my highlights of the new city, for us, so far.

The IISER Trivandrum Guesthouse

Our room may not be fancy at this place, but it has air conditioning, hot water, free wi-fi, our room gets cleaned a couple times a week, and we get three square meals a day. And Shashi, the cook/caretaker, has somehow managed to rekindle my appreciation for Indian food. I don’t know how he did it because I was still hating it all when we moved down here. EVERYTHING he makes tastes good, even if it looks gross to me. God bless him, for real. It also helps that we get to veg out three times a day on this nice balcony.

And here’s our room:

We’re allowed to stay for a month, which has turned into the biggest blessing of all, because then we were able to focus a lot of time on finding a place to live, and that brings me to my next highlight.

Our New Home

Just look at this place.

We’ll be living on the top floor, which has three bedrooms, a huge living room, two bathrooms, a dining room, and a lovely kitchen. I don’t know how new the whole place is, but the owner (who lives on the bottom floor with his family) is just finishing up our place. It’s in such a good location too. This was maybe the second or third place we looked at, and I think Zac and I both knew when we saw it that we weren’t really going to consider any place else (unless it was exceptional).

Thiruvananthapuram Zoo

This was our fun outing. Zac’s cousin, Arun, did us a gracious favor by taking us to the zoo. The zoo is apparently one of the oldest in India, and it is housed in the same complex as the Napier Museum, which we didn’t get to go to, but the building itself was lovely. The zoo was much larger than I expected, and it housed a lot of animals. The highlight was a lioness chowing down on her dinner; the biggest disappointment was the king cobra – we could barely see it through the bars on its cage. Here are some of the best pics.

Seal of Kerala in the front, Napier museum in the back

A one-horned rhino with no horn. I'm just hoping it was a rescue. — A one-horned rhino with no horn. I’m just hoping it was a rescue.

Unfortunately, since our visit there, I have read in the newspaper that the baby hippo was accidentally stepped on and killed by its mother, and two of the leopard cubs died of a virus. So sad. 😦

The Indian Coffee House

So, the Indian Coffee House is a chain of, you guessed it, coffee houses that was started pre-independence. The earliest one was opened in 1936 in Bombay. We stopped at one yesterday (because preggo was hungry) in the late afternoon. Let me tell you, they had the best masala dosa I have ever had.

So, if you’re visiting India on a budget and need a clean, cheap place to eat, PICK HERE. There’s about 400 of them across India. You won’t be disappointed.

And the biggest highlight of our move so far…

Credence Hospital and My Second Ultrasound

I’m going to be honest – Credence Hospital was my second choice for a place to see an obstetrician and deliver the baby. We went to the Kerala Institute of Medical Sciences (KIMS) first because we had heard that was the best hospital in Kerala. Well, it was super, super crowded both times we went, which is saying something because MIMS was regularly crowded as well. We both decided the crowds were something neither of us wanted to deal with, so I got online to find a different hospital. I discovered Credence and the chief obstetrician Dr. Santhamma Mathew, who, by the way, just won some 2013 Times of India health icon award. Yeah, she’s a big deal.

The outside and inside of Credence isn’t as nice and sparkling new as KIMS, but the caring and compassion of everyone I have dealt with so far surpasses any concern about a few stains on the wall. Dr. Mathew is great – she’s easy to talk to, and when I saw her today (in a room next to the big delivery room), she had already assisted in five births this morning. FIVE. And I saw her around 10:30 am! FIVE. And she was just as cool as a cucumber. She went over my ultrasound and my chart and gave me the total okay to go to the US. Woo! One more thing, as I was waiting next to the delivery room to see the doctor, I heard a woman in the midst of labor. Yeah, that wasn’t scary at all….

I think my favorite thing so far about Credence was the radiologist who did my ultrasound today. He was so jolly and cheerful, and he showed me everything! Our baby’s little face (eyes, nose, and mouth!), the little heart and heartbeat (“Ohhhh, the heart is beating so nicely” were his exact words), little fingers and hands, little spinal column, little legs – he went over it all and explained it step by step, which was a far cry from my first ultrasound at MIMS, where I didn’t know what was going on at all. And while he was showing me the baby, the baby let out a hiccup, floated to the top of the screen and then slowly floated back down. I had promised myself to try not to be a dork this time, but a tear or two leaked out as I watching.

This is the last time I’ll update, most likely, until after I return from the US. Unless something super exciting happens there, but I really just plan on eating. 🙂

The Joy of Cleaning Fish

Disclaimer: If seeing fish guts and blood bother you, skip this post.

Remember how, in one of my earlier posts, I insisted that my life here was not all glitz and traveling? Well, I am going to prove this today.

Keralites love their fish, and I can totally understand why – IT’S ALL FRESH. And, considering we have fish stands right down the road from us, we eat fish a lot. Which, in turn, means I clean fish. A lot. And I like to think I have become quite an expert at it. I have de-faced and de-gutted both big and small fish. I feel the small fish, like sardines and kora, are the most difficult to clean because there are so many of them. Unfortunately, for me, the small fish are my favorites – they taste the best and are generally the healthiest. Especially sardines. They’re like WonderFish.

One great thing about the giant, empty house we live in is that there is a work area off of the kitchen. It’s almost open air, so I can clean the fish without the kitchen stinking up too bad. A downside – sometimes, if I take too long cleaning, ants will start to creep in the windows because they smell braaaiiins (like zombies. I really hate ants). Anyway, here’s my work area:

From top left: Sardines, salt (to put in water), pan of water, aluminum foil, scissors and knife.

I used to use newspaper when cleaning, but I found out that using aluminum foil holds the fish “yuck” much better, and that means I don’t have to clean as much when it’s over. So, this is my process: cut off fins, scrape off scales (if any), rip off the face, remove the gills, cut it open, remove the entrails, plunk it in the salt water. Repeat until done. Believe it or not, I find cleaning fish to be a great stress reliever, and it’s pretty good exercise for my arms.

It's a dirty job but somebody's gotta do it. Especially if that somebody's hubby loves to eat fish. — It’s a dirty job but somebody’s gotta do it. Especially if that somebody’s hubby loves to eat fish.

My least favorite part. It's the smelliest. — My least favorite part. It’s the smelliest.

Before dropping it in the saltwater. Lovely, no?

And that’s the process. It completely grossed me out the first 10 times I did it, but now I don’t think twice. The only time I still get the willies is when I find a foreign object lodged in a fish’s mouth. Freaks me out, especially when it’s another fish. This last time I cleaned, however, I found something a little more pleasant.

Little green sand dollar! Try to ignore the slime on my hands.

After the fish are cleaned, Zac takes over most of the time, makes a masala paste, and marinates the fish in the paste. Then, we fry it. We have that, along with moru or tomato curry, and beans mehrukkupuratti. Other times, I make fish curry or meen peera. If it’s a really big fish, like a black pomfret, Zac will slather it in spices, wrap it in aluminum foil, and grill it on our tabletop electric grill.

Whenever I clean sardines or cook with them, I remember how I used to get excited whenever Walgreens would have canned sardines on sale. You know the ones I’m talking about – the canned sardines with the peel back lid, loaded with salt. I even thought it was exotic when I noticed they packaged them in hot sauce and mustard, and now I’m making complex Indian dishes out of them. IN INDIA. Awesome, right? I know I think it’s pretty awesome. 🙂