tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54610799742861924612024-03-13T03:54:28.698-07:00Of Curry & CustomsEmilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-78430994910418110272020-02-04T20:03:00.002-08:002020-02-04T20:03:46.587-08:00HE GETS KNOCKED DOWN, BUT HE GETS UP AGAIN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">**Written and verbal consent has been grated by this patient to share his story.**</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you’ve been following along on this most recent trip to
India, you’ve met him already, but his name and story were not revealed. He was
the man who fell victim to the imaginary magic wand that I seemed to have
stashed in my back pocket. Although my prior post may have painted an alternate
picture, the reality is that this man is incredibly determined and hard
working.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/02/he-gets-knocked-down-but-he-gets-up.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-12435150181029182442020-02-04T15:40:00.001-08:002020-02-04T15:40:15.867-08:00THE PEOPLE AT CHANDIGRAH SPINAL REHAB<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d like to introduce you to my friends. I’m sitting here at the Seattle airport waiting for the last flight of my trip I can’t stop flipping through the photos of the friends I left in Chandigarh. The photos are likely just faces to many of you, but to me each face has a score of memories logged away in my mind. I look forward to the day where I can log more memories. Like a few of the others, this post will likely be more photos with captions.</span><br>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/02/the-people-at-chandigrah-spinal-rehab.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-58850081067464988502020-02-04T14:35:00.000-08:002020-02-04T14:36:06.796-08:00SMILE BECAUSE IT HAPPENED <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying
goodbye so hard.” -A.A. Milne (Winnie-the-Pooh)</span></i><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometime in the early part of my second week someone leaked
the news. There was to be a party Friday night. This was somewhat of a surprise
party, but not a well kept one. The party was not in my honor; however, it
functioned in part as a farewell party for me.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/02/smile-because-it-happened.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-64167021606619945982020-02-03T14:05:00.001-08:002020-02-03T14:05:15.671-08:00THE SILENT GARDEN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am going to take a cue from the name of this garden and not say too much about it. This is largely because I really don’t know too much about it other than it flanks Sukhna Lake and is home to a giant Buddha statue surrounded by places to sit and reflect and be silent. Enjoy!</span></div>
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</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/02/the-silent-garden.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-15742368797784100242020-02-02T22:22:00.002-08:002020-02-02T22:22:45.981-08:00NOT ALL HEROES WEAR CAPES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength
to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> – Christopher Reeve</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wasn’t one of those kids that was really into collecting action
figures or listening to stories like <i>The Avengers</i>. To be honest, I still
don’t really know which heroic character belongs to which comic brand and who
is a bad guy vs. good guy, or who has saved what <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">universe. I do know that a cape or a
fancy suit often earmarks any given character as a hero.</span></span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/02/not-all-heroes-wear-capes.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-56801365886170746262020-01-28T07:53:00.000-08:002020-01-28T08:23:58.734-08:00THESE MAGIC MOMENTS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is probable that any American with a childhood spanning the 90's is likely to envision Michael “Squints” Palledorous locking lips with pool hottie Wendy Peffercorn when they hear the first line of Ben E. King and the Drifters “This Magic Moment” start to play. This scene of the American classic film, <i>The Sandlot</i>, begins with Squints declaring that he “just can’t take this no more!” followed promptly by his death-defying act of bravery, jumping into the deep end when he can’t swim. He does this all to get the chance to come lip-to-lip with his summer crush and local lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, as she attempts to resuscitate his life. For one brief moment, one “magic moment,” he gets his wish before he and the sandlot boys are banished from the pool for the rest of the summer because of his fearless stunt.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/these-magic-moments.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-83961480125766416302020-01-28T02:41:00.001-08:002020-01-28T06:29:01.939-08:00DIP AND DUMP<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For any who may have visited me in Spokane between July 2016 and November 2018 you likely would have seen, or experienced first-hand, the most notable and extraordinary element of my old manor apartment: a 9-spigot shower. Yes, ladies and gents… no less than nine water sources adorned that stone tile-clad shower. Count ‘em: two overhead faucets, one hand-held faucet, and six wall jets. It was beyond extra. As the first tenants after a new remodel, my roommate and I were the first to use that glorious, bright, clean, spacious shower; and the first to lose our minds over which valve on the wall controlled which water source. You could drown in a hot second with the deluge of water that shower could supply; a “human car wash” as someone once put it. I moved from that apartment in late Autumn of 2018 to a very lovely little craftsman style home nearby. The shower is adequate, but by comparison it is very pedestrian, nothing anyone would point out on a tour of the home, unlike the shower I moved from.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/dip-and-dump.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-59214429461402807572020-01-27T04:12:00.000-08:002020-01-27T04:12:15.914-08:00THE ROCK GARDEN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This post is will be mostly images as there is not a lot to say about Chandigarh’s Rock Garden other than it is literally a garden of rocks. In the US, a rock garden is typically a display of various vegetation nestled into the and crannies of interested rock formations. In Chandigarh, a rock garden, The Rock Garden, is an art installation that left me wondering what universe I had entered.</span><br>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/the-rock-garden.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-63452853837847215662020-01-27T02:12:00.002-08:002020-01-27T02:12:53.955-08:00SECTOR CITY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chandigarh is unique. It is a city as well as a union territory
and the capital city of two of the three neighboring states, Punjab and Haryana.
It seems to be one of the only cities in India (if not the only city) established
by a city planner— the combined effort of a few, to be exact: American planner
and architect Albert Meyer, Polish architect Matthew Nowicki, and a Swiss-French
architect by the name of Le Corbusier. As a result of their planning, the city
is divided up into symmetrical, rectangular sectors which are numbered 1-56.
Each sector is divided up into four areas, A-D and market areas are in C and D
only leaving A and B for residential. From my understanding, all sectors are required
to have a grocery store/market, dispensary (medical clinic), a park, and school
among other things. Every sector also has a specialty; for instance, if you
need to get your car fixed you would go to Sector 28 or 49. Sector 17 has no residential,
retail and hotels only.</span></div>
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</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/sector-city.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-20178003227399699052020-01-24T08:17:00.000-08:002020-01-24T08:17:11.633-08:00PLAYING FAIRY GODMOTHER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Emily! I need your assistance with something!” Shikha called
out as she beckoned me to the PT side of the gym. I have come accustom to hearing
this over the past few days, not because I am all that helpful, but because my
novel perspective on things is often valued here. My fellow therapists want to
know how (fill in the blank with any given therapy strategy) is done in the US,
and I am there to oblige. I obediently followed Shikha to her patient’s side
expecting to collaborate with her on his therapy. He was lying in supine gazing
at the ceiling with a small smirk on his face. He knew what Shikha was up to.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/playing-fairy-godmother.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-14727486186670036232020-01-24T05:10:00.002-08:002020-01-24T06:58:14.063-08:00LOSING PIECES OF MY HEART<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“I am fine.” The three little words softly slipped from his
lips in response to my “How are you today?” To him it was a simple response to
a question, but to me his response slammed into my heart with the impact of an
eighteen-wheeler at freeway speeds. I had heard those words before. Those same
words, spoken with that same accent (“I am pine”) and same meek delivery. Same
words, similar context, different person. Same impact. Those words haunted me,
and I didn’t realize it until that moment. Before the last syllable hit my ears
I could already feel my heart start to shred, a lump rise to my throat,
pressure build behind my eyes, and every will within me fighting back the
thoughts “No you’re not. You are not ‘pine’.” Because that is not how a therapist
is supposed to react to their patient. We are supposed to see their potential
and facilitate their ability to see and reach that potential.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/losing-pieces-of-my-heart.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-85129290411062110862020-01-22T04:59:00.001-08:002020-01-22T04:59:22.826-08:00TO MARKET, TO MARKET…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">**Do not read if you are squeamish… some of the photos are a
little rugged. If you are brave, but not interested in the bloody details, do yourself a favor, and skip over the Meat Market section.**</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night Sunil, Sobha, and their young Shaan took me to
the local lake and markets (fish and vegetable). For reference, Sunil is the
physical therapist that asked me to visit the rehab facility here in Chandigarh.
It was his marriage to Sobha that brought me to India for my previous trip. I
met Sunil my first trip to Vellore. He was one of the six souls that embraced
me and brought me into their make-shift family when I first arrived in Vellore
seven years ago. He is now head of therapy at Chandigarh Spinal Rehab.</span></div>
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</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/to-market-to-market.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-11305799893316001042020-01-22T04:27:00.000-08:002020-01-22T04:27:11.670-08:00INDIA: TAKE FIVE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can’t help compare my trips to India. It is natural, I
think. My first trip to Vellore (second trip to India) I was met at the airport
exit by a stranger with my name on a placard. I followed him to his taxi and he
took me to my destination where another complete stranger met me and showed me
to my accommodations. And then—confused, tired, and VERY alone—I cried (just
bein’ honest here). Trips Two and Three to Vellore were different that the
first one because there was familiarity with the airport, sights, sounds, and
people. Friendly and familiar faces were waiting for me everywhere I went. It
was a homecoming of sorts. I was also familiar with the traffic, the crowds,
the smells, etc.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/india-take-five.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-69320292312795036882020-01-21T18:28:00.001-08:002020-01-27T04:26:51.487-08:00I'M BACK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Historically I have written my first blog post of each trip
to India in the Dubai airport. I guess for me that is usually where I feel the “blog
worthy” ponderings start. This trip has been different. As I wondered the Dubai
airport, I thought “I should probably post something to the blog about now,” but
I really didn’t have anything to say. It felt very much like business as usual
and my musing were well… not really of note.</span><br>
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</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2020/01/im-back.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-75763182076370328052016-04-03T20:12:00.001-07:002020-01-24T08:22:06.242-08:00SUNRISE OVER KANYANUMARI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tuesday started early. I would even say that Tuesday started
in the middle of the night for us. At 3:30am my room bell rang. It was Samson
letting me know that our plans to leave the hotel at 4:00am had been changed a
little and that we were going to leave in about 15 minutes. Fantastic. Who
needs sleep anyhow? Our reason for waking early was to make it down the very
southernmost tip of India to experience the sunrise over the ocean and we
needed a few hours for travel time. I was thankful for the ability to sleep
nearly anywhere.</span><br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/04/sunrise-over-kanyanumari.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-79603250282223235592016-04-03T20:03:00.002-07:002020-01-24T08:22:42.686-08:00THE FALLS AT TIRPARAPPU ON THE KOTHYAR RIVER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once again, I will say very little about this stop on the
journey and just let the photos do the talking. </span><br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/04/the-falls-at-tirparappu-on-kothyar-river.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-79201149144557968872016-04-03T19:53:00.000-07:002020-01-24T08:23:25.606-08:00PADMANABHAPURAM PALACE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(<i>Say that ten times
fast, or… once.)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">** This post (as well as the next two planned posts) is a
bit of a “back-tracking” post. **<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While down in the deep south for the wedding, I had the
pleasure of joining my friends for a little sight-seeing. I will keep the
commentary brief on these posts as they will mostly be photos. Keep an eye out
for the photo captions to get a little more in-sight regarding the commentary.</span><br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/04/padmanabhapuram-palace.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-54869654717173310802016-04-02T20:31:00.002-07:002020-01-24T08:24:54.998-08:00WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My last morning in India started earlier than I had hoped. I
never sleep all that well the night before a big day of travel. At 5:30am I
finally decided to roll out of bed and into the script of the morning’s
departure preparations. This is always a dreaded day for me. I know it’s not
going to end smoothly whenever it finally does come to an end; jet lagged,
tired, and most definitely uncertain about whether or not I am really ready to
be back in the US.</span><br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/04/what-doesnt-kill-you.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-23698758107289841002016-04-01T03:32:00.000-07:002020-01-24T08:26:18.033-08:00FIVE TO EIGHT DAYS AND NO IMMEDIATE ESCAPE <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm about to get real with y'all, so bear with me. When I
first arrive here in India I'm ecstatic. I will tell you I'm thrilled to be
back. I will say that in some ways it feels like coming home. (Home to my
home-away-from-home, that is.) But those are little white lies.</span><br>
</div></div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/04/five-to-eight-days-and-no-immediate.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-82910818007859877152016-03-31T05:04:00.002-07:002020-01-24T08:26:41.803-08:00A MALAYALI WEDDING IN TAMIL NADU<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m going to start this post with a quick lesson in Southern
Indian geography for any one listening in at home. India, much like the US, is
divided into various states; the two southern most states being Kerala (on the
west coast) and Tamil Nadu (on the east coast). Unlike the US, each state has
its own language and cultural nuances. In Kerala the language spoken is
Malayalam with a Malayali cultural divergence; in Tamil Nadu the language is
Tamil with a Tamil cultural divergence. The wedding I attended this past
weekend happened right on the southernmost border of the two states; thus a Malayali
wedding in the state of Tamil Nadu.</span><br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-malayali-wedding-in-tamil-nadu.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-35552535629903579992016-03-30T05:54:00.002-07:002020-01-24T08:27:27.078-08:00AN AMERICAN PREPARES FOR AN INDIAN WEDDING: A COMEDY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Preparations are a big part of any wedding event; anywhere you
go in the world. Generally when one hears the word “preparation” associated
with a wedding they assume reference is being made to what the bride and groom
have gone through to make ready for the big event. It is true that the bride
and groom, more specifically the bride, take the trophy home for the one
devoting the most energy to preparations for a wedding. However, guests also
make wedding preparations.<br>
</div></div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/03/an-american-prepares-for-indian-wedding.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-72446660054785038092016-03-30T03:55:00.004-07:002020-01-24T08:27:48.010-08:00TRAVELING ALONE... WITH FRIENDS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This year, my travels to Vellore, India have been transected
by a long weekend trip to the Southern tip of India for the wedding of a dear
friend. I will be writing about the wedding itself in a separate post as well
as a posting about the adventures I had while traipsing throughout the deep
south to see the sights. But I wanted to take a moment to set the whole tone my
weekend adventures.<br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/03/traveling-alone-with-friends.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-19579965015075848632016-03-30T03:37:00.006-07:002020-01-24T08:28:17.386-08:00CURBSIDE COCKTAILS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was the afternoon of the wedding, just after the first
(Bride’s) reception that followed the wedding. My posse of people were waxing hot,
and tried and had made the decision to retreat back to our hotel to refresh and
cool off before the second (Groom’s) reception that evening. But first: a stop
for curbside cocktails (non-alcoholic). Being fairly parched, I took a pause
from my photography to quickly agree to partake of the beverage being offered.
That is to say, I quickly agreed to it before actually knowing what it was I
had agreed to.<br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/03/curbside-cocktails.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-62421879253495055852016-03-30T03:08:00.002-07:002020-01-24T08:29:16.821-08:00SYSTEMS ON STRIKE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is an open letter to my Indian friends<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
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Dear friends, <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
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There is something you need to understand about me. That is
this: when the temperature rises, my appetite and metabolism (i.e. digestive
system) go on strike. They outright refuse to work at their contracted pace. Yes,
they slog along slowly as they get acclimated to the heat, but by and large
they just don't process foods like they do in the cooler temperatures.<br>
</div></div><a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.com/2016/03/systems-on-strike.html#more">Read more »</a>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5461079974286192461.post-86765709153682578892016-03-25T22:58:00.003-07:002016-03-25T22:59:13.569-07:00NO MORE TROUBLE WITH THE LAW… OR SO I THOUGHT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Upon arrival at CMC Rehab, I am required to check in with
the Principal’s office to obtain my badge and let my official volunteer status
be recorded. In the past this has been where I get ushered off to the local police
station to register my name and housing status. Despite having nothing to hide
and having completed everything by the book (or so I think), this is the part
that makes me nervous. Last year it took me half the week, multiple trips to
the police station, and a change in housing location to <a href="http://ofcurryandcustoms.blogspot.in/2015/02/trouble-with-law.html" target="_blank">finally sort out my issues</a> with registering at the local police station. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I was delighted this year to discover that I am no longer
required to register at the local police station. Instead I was ushered off to
the library to fill out and electronically file a vague form, Form C. I don’t
exactly know what Form C is all about, but I dutifully filled in the blanks
with my name, permanent address, passport and visa number, and any other pertinent
information. With the confirmation number in hand, I trotted back to the principal’s
office to seal the deal. This process was so much easier to accomplish. This
also means that I am free to stay where I choose vs. staying at a location that
has previously been registered with the police. Yahoo! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Within 24 hours of arrival, everything was in order and I was
at liberty to go about my business… until I got a call at 730 the next morning.
This call from an unrecognized number woke me up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Unidentified caller: “Hello, is
this Miss Emily Loonden?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Me: “Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Caller: “I am calling from the
Bagayam police station. It seems there is a problem with your visa.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Me: <i>Oh crap! Here we go again! But wait… how in the heck do they even have
my visa, I never registered there? And how do they have this phone number?</i> “What
is the problem?” (in a frustrated and someone demanding tone)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Caller: “Umm.. Yes. There is a
problem. You are going to have to take a flight to Nagpur this very night to
try to resolve these issues.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Me: <i>Oh for the love of Pete! This is ridiculous! And why the heck Nagpur???
Also, this guy’s English is pretty darn good. </i>Tell me what the problem is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Caller: “Just take a flight this
evening and it could be sorted out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Me: (long pause) “Neeraj? Is this you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
Caller: (short paused followed by stifled
laughter). “Yes!” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
As it turns out, my early morning prank call was an old
friend attempting to con me into flying up north to pay him a visit. I tell you
what, there’s nothing quite like telling a traveling foreigner that there is
something wrong with their traveling papers to get their blood flowing in the
morning. Well played, Neeraj. Well played. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Just a few random photos from around Bagayam... only because a blog post without them seems so very dull. </i></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UW8F4AMWsZk/VvYkHKYeHdI/AAAAAAAADDc/Z2-OweHuj400B_U1gtB-SuqP7ry4GLv3g/s1600/NoMorePolice-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UW8F4AMWsZk/VvYkHKYeHdI/AAAAAAAADDc/Z2-OweHuj400B_U1gtB-SuqP7ry4GLv3g/s640/NoMorePolice-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mIj1Tn9JU2E/VvYkUF0IGnI/AAAAAAAADDo/C_mKKV_tDBMB_1lPPh6gcXFkfT9qsyHnA/s1600/NoMorePolice-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mIj1Tn9JU2E/VvYkUF0IGnI/AAAAAAAADDo/C_mKKV_tDBMB_1lPPh6gcXFkfT9qsyHnA/s640/NoMorePolice-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4JcXvJjZ9Ig/VvYjrZhTgOI/AAAAAAAADDY/laatIZqOKM8yiiFKWmOexbO7p9NIqk42g/s1600/NoMorePolice-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4JcXvJjZ9Ig/VvYjrZhTgOI/AAAAAAAADDY/laatIZqOKM8yiiFKWmOexbO7p9NIqk42g/s640/NoMorePolice-3.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UYy3dT441bQ/VvYkSBrR2WI/AAAAAAAADDk/ADETeJb9MP0lt07gJkTpv61Nh9BBgjucQ/s1600/NoMorePolice-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UYy3dT441bQ/VvYkSBrR2WI/AAAAAAAADDk/ADETeJb9MP0lt07gJkTpv61Nh9BBgjucQ/s640/NoMorePolice-4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136289202295503838noreply@blogger.com2