Pimpri Market

When my Mom was visiting, she took everything in with wide open eyes.  I was in awe of her ability, at age 76, to come here and view everything in awe.  She saw the beauty and the color where I have often struggled to see past the dirt and the poverty.  Balu also saw her openminded awe and loved taking her out to show her around.  On her second to last day here, he took us to the market where he shops for his food for his family.  

Can you pick her out of the crowd?

I've often been told I needed to experience Mandai Market and Shivaji market, but we live on the other side of town and it is an excursion to get over there.  It doesn't seem like it should be, because it's about 14 kilometers away.  But in Pune, that's at least 45 minutes and often an hour and a half.  So it's fine for a visit, but not for regular shopping.  But Pimpri Market is about 15 minutes from our house and it is the real deal.  I don't speak any Marathi, so Balu comes with me, but my novice Hindi helps a bit and they're always amazed I speak any-though I'm finding most vendors speak only Marathi.

I instantly fell in love with Pimpri Market, and Mom declared it the best thing she'd seen in India.  It is huge.  It's under and around a huge overpass.  There are hundreds of stalls selling fresh vegetables and fruit, dried fish, chilis, spices and herbs.  Everything is so beautiful and fresh, or freshly dried and fragrant.  Have you ever smelled a guava?  When they are ripe, they overpower everything with their sweet, floral scent.  Mix this with cilantro (coriander), masala, incense and smoke, body odor and fish, smoke and diesel, flowers, and hot oil and fried food from the street food vendors and you have the scents of India.  Waft a bit of sewage and rotting garbage through it all and it's a complete experience (luckily those last scents waft through but don't often stay for long).

Grace and I adore figs and they are so sweet and fresh and flavorful here.  The green fruit next to the figs are guava.

Look at the varitey-eggplant (these tiny colored ones have a bit of a bite like horseradish), green mango, beans, bitter gourd, okra (bindi or lady fingers), tomatoes and some zucchini like vegetable that is used in sambar (my favorite Indian breakfast). 

These are 1 to 3 feet long and called drumsticks.  They are also used in sambar.

More varities of dried fish than I could identiy

It's strawberry season here.  Outside the Dorabjees in camp they charge 400 rupees a kilo.  Here, about 100.  That's aout $1.50, and they're so sweet.  Notice the long thumb nail on the man?  Most men here have that.  I asked Balu why and he said he does it because he likes the way it looks.  His long nail was his pinky.

I, sadly, did not bring my good camera that day.  And my iPhone just could not capture the size of the market.  In the picture below, if you look closely, you can see that the stalls run down about as far as you can see.  It's like that in every direction.  It seems impossible that there could be a market for this much produce.  After all, it's in the 80s to 90s every day and things spoil really, really quickly.  But then you take your mind outside into the traffic (or even stop staring at the produce and realize how crowded it is right where you're standing) and the hustle and bustle of teeming humanity, and remember that there are millions of people to feed right here in Pune.  Many millions.  

Look at this bounty!  And the pride each vendor takes in his or her display.  Everything is artfully arranged and maintained and rearraged as people sort through the piles.  Many people call out to you as you pass, advertising what they have and that it's the best today, the freshest, the best price.  I can't understand a lot of what they are calling, and yet I can.  It's like you absorb the understanding through your skin, and inhale it like smoke.  The vendors and shoppers are also diverse with Muslim stands right next to Hindi stands, all sharing the same chai from the same wallah, peacefully and happily coexisting and even supporting each other.  I'm sure there are many other religions mixed in, but you can assume Hindi and identify Muslims and Sikhs from their headwear.  Pimpr market, like so much of India, exemplifies religious choice as bountiful and acceptable as the produce.

Next Monday I'll try to get better pictures of the scales.  They are wonderful old scales that they counter with old iron weights.

The stalls have aisles on each side where smaller displays are set up, and then there are alleys and by-ways selling spices and decorations, jewelry and colored powders.  The backside aisles seem to contain more ginger, turmeric (the root), garlic, onions and potatoes-things that don't make you draw your breath in awe at the colors, but which make your food taste like the bounty looks-rich, diverse, full of flavor.  I'm quite sure you could get everything you need to live right in and around this market.

As always in India, I'm nearly struck dumb by the electricity and the wiring.  It's amazing and confounding to see.  I've watched men work with the wires and seen them just cut the plug part off the wire, strip the wires, then plug the raw, exposed wires directly into the outlet.  The wires connect this way and that, like a non-geometric spider's web.  If someone wants power and doesn't have it, they may well just strip a bit of someone else's wire away and attach their wire directly to it.  Problem solved.  But who's electricity bill covers it?

Drinking his chai.

I always ask before I photograph people (unless I'm cruising past in the car).  I think it is the respectful thing to do.  And I honor it when they say no, or when I cannot be sure they said yes.  But it's hard to get the candid shot.  This young man had just receieved his tea from the chai wallah and was settling in to drink it.  His pose is exactly the same as it had been before he saw me, but the direct and cheeky expression in his eyes has certainly changed.  As it's a look I often see as I'm stared at wherever I go, I am glad I missed the candid shot and captured a bit of my reality instead.  Look into his eyes.  He's looking directly at me, staring.  There is a bit of wonder and a lot of amusement in his look, and a bit of a challenge too.  

This little boy was working with his family, selling the "popcorn."

When you decide you want to buy something, they'll often hand you a big, battered aluminum bowl.  You choose what you want and hand it back to be weighed.  Some vendors want to choose for you, but I often find these are the ones who will sneak in a rotting berry or battered cucumber.  Others insist you taste their apples, mangoes, strawberries and oranges before you buy.  Either way it's far better than buying the plastic wrapped produce at the expat stores where you can't get close to any of it.  Plus, it's about 20% of the price here at the open market than outside at the stores.

The side aisles in the market are largely dried things, especially spices and fish.  I think the fist stalls are fascinating.  They have the tiny dried fish in addition to large steaks cured and dried in salt that you just pan cook,  It's an ancient way to preserve meat without refrigeration, but it's quite new to me.

Look at the large steaks to his right.  There is white fish and red fish.  I don't know the variety, but he handed me some to hold and examine and I was sorely tempted to buy some, but not courageous enough to try it.

Look at the variety.  The pink is shrimp.  He even has eggs.  I do wonder what you use the dogfish (shark) for.

  The market is surrounded by narrow, densely populated alleyways that are packed with small shops selling clothes, shoes, ornaments, fabric, electronics, sewing machines(often man powered) and more.  It's overwhelming to the senses with the hustle and bustle and hawkers and children and ever present dogs combined with the languid walk of the men and the quiet repose of the women waiting on customers.  Again, the contrasts of India: where everything is teeming and fast and loud, and everything is languid and unhurried, seemingly all at the same time.

Very few electric sewing machines, which makes sense because even if you do have electric power where you live, you lose it often.

See the flames next to the woman in purple?  She is toating chana (or chickpeas) to sell as a snack.  The greenery surrounding her is the plants she is plucking the peas freshly from.  A chickpea straight from the plant is so different and wonderful from what we are used to in the west, dried or canned.  They're green and tender and full of flavor and nutrition.  We have a field of them near our bungalow and the local children munch them as a snack all season.  

A Picture is Worth 1000 Words (or 50 rupees)

There is a large slum within a mile of my home.  I am fascinated by it.  It's right by my bank (actually right next door).  Whenever I drive by, I see very small children playing happily in the dirt, with the dogs roaming and the teenagers gathered in groups, women cooking or washing, and men lounging.  There are cows or bulls or camels.  One day I asked my driver to stop so I could get out and take some pictures.  I was quickly approached by two men wanting to know what I was doing.  I asked if I could photograph the cows.  He seemed to agree and tried to draw me into the slum.  So I walked over the rocks and rubble, making Sushil very nervous.  A toothless man then approached me to ask what I was doing.  He gave me permission to photograph some bulls, but the atmosphere was growing tense.  I took my photos, showed them to the toothless man, then went back to the car.  I asked Sushil to pull forward another 30 metres because I spotted the above bull and wanted a picture.  This time I did not get out of the car.  I saw the men approaching quickly again, so snapped my pictures.  At that point, they rushed the car window, the tough one explaining that it was his bull and I needed to give him money for food.  I decided it wasn't worth a fight, especially if I wanted to ever come back, So handed him 50 rupees for the animal's "feed."  I know it won't feed the bull, or even the children.  But I think 50 rupees got me a very nice photograph that I have enlarged and hung in my home.

I can't decide which one I like best, the edited photo above or the raw one below.  What do you think?

I'm Back, Ready to Go, Ready to Grow

I haven't blogged in nearly two months.  I think it was a combination of India overwhelming me, multiple bouts of illness in our house, including a very bad Dengue scare, and the holidays in England where my laptop was stolen.  Without my laptop, I've not written much, because I'm stuck with my old Dell that makes the cursor jump all over the place mid-typing, often off the document entirely.

On December 20th, we left for Mumbai to fly to London for the holidays with family.  Our driver, Sushil, drove us to the airport and the kids were very sad to leave him.  He's become like a big cousin to them.

 We flew on a very long flight with very tired kids, followed by a very long wait at the rental car place after a mess at the airport ground transportation area, followed by a very long drive to our rental house in the Cotswolds.  

But we arrived to be greeted by the kids' Nana and Granddad Chris, Uncle John and Aunt Sarah with cousins Amelia, Max and Lewis, Unky Mike and Aunt Jenny!  The Christmas season finally had begun.

The house we rented was great.  It was an old farmhouse on 5 acres with 2 indoor swimming pools, a playhouse, trampolines (with silly rules) and beautiful Christmas lights lit every night.  There were plenty of rooms, with Nana and Granddad staying in a little cottage a 2 minute walk away on the property.  Grace and Amelia (barely 6 weeks younger) shared a room, George and Alex shared one, Aunt Sarah and Uncle John had the twin boys in with them, Chris and I had a room and Unky Mike and Aunt Jenny each had little single rooms.  It worked out so well.  We spent the next few days swimming in the mornings, exploring in the evenings, seeing a Panto together, and visiting a beautiful cathedral nearby.  It was a lot of people in one house, a lot of chaos, a lot of noise, and a lot of love.

The kids did show how well they've acclimated to the Indian climate, because we could hardly get them outside in an English winter without complaints of freezing to death.  I loved the cold!  And it was really wonderful to wear my boots again.

Santa came and brought some fun gifts, and the family gave our kids WAY too much,  I realized that the kids really loved opening the first 3 gifts.  They were excited and wanted to play with each thing.  But after the 3rd, it turned into a frenzy of "what next?" "What's for me?" "Are there more for me?" and it was no longer fun.  Lesson learned.  Gifts are much more appreciated when there are fewer of them.  I hope someone will remind me of this next year before Christmas.  Chris and I also realized that we have been spoiling the kids with things to help make up for the chaos and confusion and extra difficulties our move to India brings to their lives.  They get far more sweets, toys and even soda than they were ever allowed before.  This too we are now trying to cut down on.

Alex's new R2D2 robot

Grace's baby Ella-a life sized, weighted baby

Chris' Trumpster suit(as tacky as they come)

George playing with his Lego Mindstorms EV3-he built 3 different robots in the first 2 days

One highlight of our Cotswolds Christmas was visiting Santa and a real Fairy Princess at the Bird and Deer Park.  The kids fed the reindeer, enjoyed the Christmas lights, and got to see Santa and tell him what they wanted.  And we got some great photos, of our kids with Santa, of our kids and Amelia with Santa, and of all of us together with Santa.

One afternoon we toured Tewkesbury Abbey.  It was just below freezing outside and we'd gone for a wander.  The Abbey was such a welcoming place (though not warm).  We enjoyed walking around and looking at the architecture and tombs and sculptures.  It is a beautiful place with a strong sense of history.  One of the big War of the Roses battles was fought right on the back lawn, and hundreds died there.  The sensation of that history is very strong.  A parish priest was there, and as it was quite empty, she walked around with us when she sensed it was welcome, and answered interesting and complicated questions from my non-religious children.  She was so warm and open, and showed us things we would not have seen otherwise.  She pointed out a fossil in the stone floor and the masons' marks on the pillars.  George did a scavenger hunt searching for letters to unscramble by finding stars hidden throughout the Abbey.  Alexander had a lot of very direct questions about a man bleeding and why was he killed and what is God anyway?  I was very pleased and impressed by the priest's responses.  She exuded such warmth that when we left and thanked her and told her her warmth was so profound I felt I loved her.  While it may have been an odd thing to say, she seemed truly touched.

On December 27th, we left the Cotswolds and headed to Hitchin to stay with Grammy Karen and Granddad Ray.  We spent the rest of our holiday with them.  Our second day there, they threw a party so we were able to see more Aunts and Uncles, cousins and friends.  Uncle Jonny and Aunt Becca were there, plus any others.  We had some time to explore Hitchin, get my hair colored, get the boys haircuts at the Turkish Barbershop we like, have a meal out and just spend quality time with Grammy and Granddad and the kids' Great Grandma Joyce, "GiGi."  The trip was wonderful and exhausting, and on January 4th we headed back to India.

We flew into Mumbai and checked into the Marriott at Juhu beach when we arrived in the middle of the night.  I started to feel extremely bad on the flight and by the time we arrived at the hotel I felt truly ill.  I spiked a fever during the night, in addition to vomiting and diarrhea.  Such a nice welcome home!  I could not get up in the morning, I was so weak, so Chris took the kids down to breakfast and got everything packed up.  I was able to get up around 1 pm for a very late checkout, then spent the next 4 hours absolutely miserable as we drove across the mountains for 4 hours from Mumbai to Pune.  I rode in the front seat and barely opened my eyes.  I was focusing entirely on not vomiting, or worse, and when we got home I went straight to bed and didn't emerge for 48 hours when my fever finally broke.

Talk about a welcome back to India.  Here we go again-ready, set, go!