Two weeks ago, on a Friday evening, we climbed in Deepak's new Hyundai (a “very nice Maroon color, very good quality” he is quick to point out) with Derek and Reena, and headed out to Town Park. The park was massive and it was nice to see some green stuff growing, an oasis in comparison to Faridabad's dry and dusty streets.
But when we arrived, Derek's excited pointing and shouting made it clear that we were not here to go for a stroll and enjoy the greenery—we were here for the rides. In a corner of the park there was a small amusement park, maybe 15 different rides. Some were clearly Indian rides, covered in Hindi, but most were covered in English or Spanish lettering. These appeared to be rejects from amusement parks in North America and Europe, perhaps too old or unsafe for use in other countries. Deepak paid the ticket teller 20 Rs and Christina and I climbed onto one of those flying saucer rides, the kind where a big disk spins around while simultaneously gyrating up and down. We locked ourselves into our seat (I don't think I need to tell you that they don't make sure you're secured into your seat here) and off we went. It was terrifying. The metal bar over our laps did not secure us well at all, and I spent the entire ride making sure my left foot stayed didn't stray outside the cart—so that it wasn't snapped off by the ride's sharp metal track rotating just a few inches away. Afterwards, Deepak offered to pay for one of those swinging “boat” rides, but Christina had had her share of Indian amusement parks, and my arms were sore from the death grip I used to keep use from flying out the side of the cart. I think we were wise to call it quits—that Sunday we read an article in the Hindustan Times about a lawsuit being brought against an amusement park where a young girl recently died.
The following day, Saturday, the Corneliuses took us to their Church, a one and a half hour drive into Delhi. The church was Catholic (Reena's family is Catholic, Deepak comes from a Protestant family). Also attending were Reena's father (Joseph), mother (Teresa), brother (Henry...her other brother is Alex!), aunt (Vimla), another aunt (?), and some mysterious other man.
Although the church was Catholic it all seemed very...Hindu. Shoes were left outside the entrance. Shrines to the Mother Mary covered three walls of the church, the front wall had a Jesus shrine complete with flashing multi-color lights—substitute a Ganesh for a Jesus, a Lakshmi for a Mary, and a Krishna for a Joseph and you could have been in any Hindu temple. We all brought flowers and candles up to the altar area, where they were received by a priest who then blessed us with a silver cross. We kneeled in this area and gave prayers, then made our way around the walls of the church, stopping at the various Mary shrines to say our Mother Marys and light candles (which were placed in Coconut shells). No sermon was given. We sat in the altars, silently prayed some more, looked lovingly and longingly into White Jesus' mellow eyes, then made our way outside.
Outside, in the church's courtyard area, the Corneliuses opened up a huge pot of Chicken Biryani and a small container of a sweet red rice dish (think licorice-flavored rice). Many street children and beggars, who had been waiting impatiently in the courtyard, came running forwards to get their bowl of food. Awkwardly, Christina and I, being the guests, were handed the first plates, directing twenty pairs of hungry eyes upon us. We waited till most had a bowl and then ate. I went back inside the church and bought a holographic Jesus poster for 50 Rs.
On the way home from church we stopped at a gas station for some beer (a major perk of having a Christian host family). We assumed we would drink these when we got back to Faridabad, but Henry popped four 650 ml bottles of Carlsberg malt liquor open with his teeth, and handed one to me, one to Christina, and one to Joseph (his father) who was riding shotgun. The last bottle he kept for himself for the drive home. When we got home, we had only made it halfway through our beers, so Joseph suggested Henry drop off him and his wife, and drive us around while we drank the rest. This was strange logic, but no one died and the car's a/c was quite nice. What was not nice was Henry's music selection—I think Clare would have enjoyed it much more.
Still living, but having to pee, we again returned to Joseph and Teresa's home (50m down the street from Deepak and Reena's). We were tired and wanted to nap, but Joseph immediately brought out a bottle of Smirnoff vodka and some awful Indian-made whiskey. He made us drinks of vodka, whiskey, pepsi, soda water, regular water, and ice. We had quite a few—Indian hosts never take “no” as an acceptable answer to anything food or drink related—and then took a nap on the beds in their living room (which converts to Henry, Alex and Vimla's room at night).
When we woke up a few hours later, Teresa was preparing a big dinner. Joseph had bought beef earlier in the day in Delhi, something that surprised us since it is obviously a taboo to slaughter cattle in Hindu communities—and illegal to do so in all but a few of India's states (incluidng the area we were in, and all surrounding states), leading me to suspect Joseph's butcher is dealing in black market bovine (read more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cattle_in_religion#In_Hinduism). Knowing both that Christina is “shakahari” and that Americans eat lots of beef, they asked me to help “prepare” it. Not wanting to disappoint, I obliged without telling them my experience cooking meat is limited to hamburgers on a barbeque or George Forman grill. Thankfully, Teresa had already done all of the real preparation work (marinating and boiling), so all that was left to do was for me to fry the cubes in about 3 inches of very hot mustard oil. I did alright, and only sustained one minor burn on my finger.
I had found some goat hair in the “mutton” I was served the other day but no such problems this time around. Cow Mother was very good.
-Alex
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