Well, you know that we are back in the old neighbourhood, if only for a few more days.
Yesterday, we went off to Harpreet’s house for a lunch of saag, corn roti, dal and raita. The saag seems to be a heavy favourite here and I believe we have determined that it is cooked mustard greens, rather than spinach which it sort of looks like, when cooked. The spinach is called palak, often with cheese, called palak paneer. It looks like a greenish, greyish puree (mess) – not very appetizing to look at but quite tasty – and the saag looks exactly the same to me. Anyhow, this combo is a favourite of Harpreet and her Dad, and the meal was delicious.
Her house is not really that far from us. She lives in Phase 2 and we live in Phase 3B2. So we set off to walk, with a planned stop to buy her flowers at our local flower market.
Like SO many of the little businesses here, the flower shop is an area on the pavement rather than in a building. Yesterday being Republic Day, the “florist’s” stock looked sort of decimated by previous sales, but he still had roses and baby’s breath – and set about to make us a bunch.
Yesterday, we went off to Harpreet’s house for a lunch of saag, corn roti, dal and raita. The saag seems to be a heavy favourite here and I believe we have determined that it is cooked mustard greens, rather than spinach which it sort of looks like, when cooked. The spinach is called palak, often with cheese, called palak paneer. It looks like a greenish, greyish puree (mess) – not very appetizing to look at but quite tasty – and the saag looks exactly the same to me. Anyhow, this combo is a favourite of Harpreet and her Dad, and the meal was delicious.
Her house is not really that far from us. She lives in Phase 2 and we live in Phase 3B2. So we set off to walk, with a planned stop to buy her flowers at our local flower market.
Like SO many of the little businesses here, the flower shop is an area on the pavement rather than in a building. Yesterday being Republic Day, the “florist’s” stock looked sort of decimated by previous sales, but he still had roses and baby’s breath – and set about to make us a bunch.
He started with the ferns (I might have put them last) and made what seemed like a tight ball of them which he then snipped at - again and again – with thinning shears(?) using exaggerated flourishes with his arm. Next he placed the baby’s breath and then slowly, one by one, he placed the 10 yellow and 10 red roses – with painstakingly careful precision. Finally he was done and secured the bunch together. No wait - he’s NOT done! Do we want a cello sleeve? Sure we do. And then after that, he decided we needed a ribbon and upon further deliberation, he decided we needed another ribbon. And then he had to curl the ribbon tails with the scissors. And then he had to sliver each tail into many strands with his fingers – all with theatrical arms waving and a very serious look on his face - while we stood on one foot and then the other – waiting to set off for Harpreet’s.
We were put in mind of a great scene from Love Actually, where a fellow is trying to surreptitiously buy jewelery without his wife catching him, but is thwarted by the clerk (Rowan Atkinson) who is painstakingly slow and methodical.
Finally had to take a rickshaw to lunch (but walked home). And it is a good thing we did, because our route took us past a UMT barber, which we have wanted to photograph - AND another shoemaker.
UMT stands for Under the Mango Tree and I guess it was coined by us Canadians here in 2004. Many barbers are just set up outside, under a tree (where they can nail a mirror) beside the sidewalk. They leave their chair, inverted in place, when they go home at night. This guy – about to shave his customer - did not have a tree, but was set up beside the wall of our park. UMT haircut is about Rs.20 (under 50 cents)
Around the corner from him was a shoemaker. I will include his picture and of another shoemaker we snapped earlier this week. Just a little area of sidewalk and a throw-mat is all that is required to set up shop. Please note that there is a little assortment of replacement thongs for broken, dollar store flip-flops. (Broken things get repaired here that us North Americans just throw away.)
Although I am not sure you can see the detail in my last picture, it is of the street sweepers who were cleaning up our main road the other day. Man with a cart, lady with rake, and two other sweepers – already squatting on the sidewalk to enjoy the chai which was just handed over the gate of the posh house to the right, as I walked past. Someone inside had thought to make this foursome tea, which was then carefully delivered in china cups on a china tray over the wall. It was such a nice gesture, and I thought to myself, “I have never taken a cup of coffee out to our garbage collector or the man who drives our street sweeper….”
| Street Sweeper |
| Kigelia Africana |
This large tree fascinated me in 2004 and now I find there is a stand of them in Phase 3B2 on the main street. They have large, dark red flowers which drop off on the sidewalk day by day, and after the flowers, they grow very large “fruit” (woody) which hangs from long, vine-like stems. I think they look like sandbags, and believe me, they get almost that big. They are thought to have medicinal properties concerning skin conditions. Please google.
I have to add one more thing. Back in 2004, the "sandwich" was virtually unknown here, but in 2014 they are EVERYWHERE -- served grilled and cut diagonally in half. Most people buy one half, as the sandwich bread is very large -- 6 inches square -- and BTW, just as lousy as it was in 2004. Not sure why. Thin, sort of tasteless with poor consistency. Not like our bread. My colleague Amandeep, in the English department, just LOVES these things and would rush off to the cafeteria for a veggie sandwich whenever she felt the least pang of hunger. Many feel the same, judging by the numbers of people who frequent these stalls. You can see that the choices are many, though I wouldn't recommend any of them.
Hansi






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