Are you good at what you do? What would you like to be better at?
5 things that I totally rock!
1. Sleeping in…got that one down to a science… I know when to sleep in just enough to avoid the “hangover from oversleeping”. If that means I have to bring my breakfast to work…so be it! lol
2. I am really good at cooking for survival. I passionately dislike cooking!
3. I do really well with ‘not’ shopping. I have confidence that shopping is overrated!
4. I do really well with exorbitant amounts of time spent in solitude. Don’t misunderstand it as boredom or loneliness. Refueling sometimes takes more energy and time than the task just completed or the one that lies ahead.
5. I have confidence in me. That whatever is for me, is for me and nobody else!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”What question do you hate to be asked? Why?
While working abroad in India how can one not take pleasure in eating food from the spice capital of the world!
..well not easy- not at all in fact. It’s doable though- 15lbs lighter…but it’s doable! lol
I’ve been here for 6 months so far- minus a lengthy holiday trip back home, and I’ve eaten at 1 Indian restaurant, actually two…I had chicken fingers… and garlic bread-with process cheese…yuck… but that doesn’t count as Indian food.
I’ve tried one Indian treat-just last week actually, and have had 3 morsels from a birthday dessert… I think that was during my first week here way back in September.
So what’s the question that I’d “plead the fifth” to…
it’s “do you want some? or any variation of the same…”do you want something to eat?” The latter is especially when in foreign places and foreign spaces.
Cause my answer is always “hell no”…at least to the people here that know me well. And then we laugh. To others, it’s a polite “no thank you” or “it’s ok”.
Indians are very generous people when it comes to food. Feeding someone is a part of being hospitable and I am fortunate enough to work with colleagues who “get” my food issues and after many offers of food and many explanations and fact seeking missions…now we’re at the ‘light-hearted jokes” phase. They get it- for the most part, and just tease me every now and then.
A typical lunch conversation between me and one colleague in the office…
Colleague: Do you want some?
Me: What is it?
Me: (I have no clue what she’s said, something Indian, with lentils, or cumin, or some other Indian spice).
Side note: I came to India with such high hopes of learning Hindi….but Hindi is soooooooo hard!!!
I stand up and peak over the partition that seperates our desks. What’s in that?
Me: (I have no clue what she’s said, something Indian, with lentils or some other protein, or cumin, or some other Indian spice. But it’s definitely not a chapati… I love chapati…pure carb. Yum!)
We both laugh, I sit down and continue to eat my lunch and she continues to eat hers.
Although I do think they secretly think I will eat Indian food before my stay here ends.
It’s impossible to miss it in Mumbai. It’s hard when children who live on the street tug at your sleeve, or just appear out of nowhere and are tapping the window of your taxi and you look up to see a schoolager holding a toddler in her arms. Or that senior who gives you the universal gesture for food (tips of the fingers touching each other as you gesture your hand to your mouth).
You know, when I was staying in an area closer to where I work, I used to almost step over a woman on my walk to work in the morning. Literally side step around her. The sidewalks are not wide enough on most streets and most people walk on the road as the sidewalks are often crowded. She slept stretched out on the sidewalk nightly.
It’s also hard when you take the same route home from work everyday and there he is … same place same time walking across congested Mumbai streets tapping every window he can before the traffic light changes, hoping he can get a few rupees. Standing on the median at the stoplight is another man holding a cane-left arm stops where ones’ elbow should be. He’s just watching the cars. He must be tired in this heat. I want to give him the fruit I have in my bag. Or give it to the guy I pass on my way home from the grocery store. But I stop myself…most times.
Sometimes I make it home and the window of the taxi hasn’t been tapped at all.
I struggle with whether or not I should give, and how much I should give. I’m not even phased by the idea that some people on the streets in India make more than people who work at some menial jobs. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t know how real that is, but it doesn’t matter to me, they don’t have a roof over their head and whatever they get from begging can’t afford them one either.
I don’t want to talk about the politics of the matter…I don’t like politics and my brain will hurt too much. Anyway, if you’ve heard anything about politics in India, even if only 25% of it is true, your brain will explode! I want to talk about what I see day in day out as I live and work as a foreigner in Mumbai.
So I give. Not as often as I’d like, cause I’m still struggling with this issue. It is incredible to see poverty in so many forms. When I’m people watching on the drive to work and I see the impact of poverty- stunted growth in children and adults, I don’t know…I don’t know.
So I have to give. Actually, I don’t ‘have’ to, really. I am compelled to. I have minimal needs and someone else has major needs. I have enough so that I can give. So I will.
As I write this last line, I think my struggle is over. This prompt was a blessing in disguise.
My clone would be relegated to the kitchen. Period! Passing on the job of having anything to do with prepping food, seasoning food, slaving behind a stove cooking and cleaning up the mess afterwards would give me the greatest sense of relief in my life right now and FOREVER!
Exempted from my distaste of ALL foods creamy are the following:
cheese whiz, peanut butter or “strawberry” jam- spread paper thin, and soft serve ice cream (and maybe one or two others). I am thinking fondly of all three of you as I write-especially cheesewhiz and DQ ice cream and the fact that I had DQ ice cream last month- in a cold Canadian December, more times than I’ve ever had ice cream in any winter…I was stocking up for no DQ in Mumbai;)
Back to embracing the Ick… I don’t like creamy foods!
It is a miracle I don’t ‘whip’ you pudding.
You’re only ‘blush’ing cause I slapped your saucy mouth.
Mister mustard…you’re just icky. You and your ketchup and mayonnaise all slapped on a burger…
…a melange of madness!
Gravies of all kinds, colours and flavours…just die. Go to the grave- the root of your existence.
Oh… and salad dressing…really?!?! I don’t even know what to say…you give salads a bad wrap!
Last but not least, yogurt…I don’t care how you disguise yourself in fruits and flavours… Yo mama!