Today I had an unexpected adventure. I was walking back up from buying rice in Sidhbari, intending to go back to the Knowledge Center to use the internet there, when Didi called to me from her car, just up the road, “Jenna! Come to the village feast with us!”
Before I go further, I should introduce Didi Contractor. She is an 80-year-old American woman who has been here in India for a long time. (Since before toilet paper came on rolls, she says.) She is an architect of mud houses and is Anya's landlady. Despite being eighty, she is still an active woman and still designs and works on houses. The Stuti I have mentioned before is apprenticed to her. She designed and owns Didipur, the cluster of mud houses where Anya lives.
In any case, I accepted and hopped into her car. We drove nearly all the way up the mountain, much farther than I had ever gone before, to a small temple where the feast was being held. The occasion, as I understand it, is that it's the ninth night of a holiday here where they put on nightly plays of the Ramayana, a great epic. Everyone in Rakkar is welcome to come, and anyone who passed by the temple, including a bus full of people, were stopped and invited to partake.
Long mats were set out in front of the temple on the grass where people sat and were served. First, plates made of large leaves were distributed. Then, a man went around with a large basket of hot rice. Following that, three yellow curries were poured over the rice in succession by other men. The time interval between each food was, it seems, long enough for you to finish eating the previous one. I, however, am not so skilled at eating rice and curry with only my fingers, so I was never quite ready for the next dish.
After the three curries came more rice and three dishes in a brownish sauce. I'm not sure exactly what they were, but it was all delicious. Following those three, an orange rice dessert with dried fruit and bits of cocoanut in it wrapped up the feast. I was the last to finish. I should say that it's amazing how much easier it is to eat hot food with a spoon or fork. Your mouth can handle hotter temperatures than your fingertips can.
All the while, there were two little boys hauling around pitchers of water (which I did not drink as it was obviously neither filtered or boiled) enthusiastically pouring it out for whoever needed more. Once our group was done eating, they pulled up the long mats, swept them off, laid them back down, and ushered in another group of people to eat. Everyone put their leaves away (to be burned or washed, I'm not sure), then used whatever water they had left to wash off their hands. The turmeric in the curries still left yellow stains on my fingers though. “That way everyone will know you have been to the feast,” Didi's friend told me.
That far up the mountain, it was like we were in a cloud with haze hanging everywhere. Even while we ate, a light drizzle fell, but no one seemed to mind. It was hot enough that the cool rain was appreciated.
Life is a lot more interesting, I find, if you leap into invitations. There are so many things I have seen and done even in this month so far if I had stuck to my own plans and declined invites. I wouldn't advice to leap without looking, but it is certainly more fun to go at life here with an adventurous and open spirit.
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