Cold Showers, Not That Bad, Really
I took another cold shower tonight. I turned only the hot water on, and I turned it on full blast, but the water was still cold. At my hotel the past two nights, I also took cold showers, confronted with the same problem: hot water all the way up, water still cold. I have a few theories about this.
1. there is some sort of switch that turns the hot water heater on, and I don’t know which switch it is; my room here, and my hotel room, and their bathrooms, all had more switches than I was able to ascertain functions for
2. this is as hot as water gets, which doesn’t appear to be any hotter than straight cold water
3. there actually is no hot water, stupid, this country doesn’t waste energy as obscenely as the U.S. – but that being said, there is a hell of a lot of air conditioning in this city, which leads me to guess this city is using a lot, a lot of electricity
So, to repent of my guilt for using so much energy on air conditioning, maybe it’s ok I’m taking cold showers. A cold shower is not bad, and a cold shower during a Mumbai summer is not as cold as a cold shower during a Pittsburgh winter. Really, it’s easy to tough out.
Babu, My Servant Guy
I could ask Babu why there is no hot water, but that would just end up in a blank look on his face, and lots of hand motions and worthless English words on my part. For dinner Babu made me some chicken legs and wings bathed in some sort of thin, red, spicy Indian sauce. After dinner, I pointed to myself and said, “I, veg.” Then pointed to the bare chicken bones, from which I had just eaten all of the meat, and said, “non-veg.” Then I told him again, “I, veg.” Indians divide all food into veg and non veg. (I’ve also heard about pure veg, which I think means no egg.) The veg category still allows all manners of dairy products and, I guess, eggs. After I had my little sit down with Babu, I got a look somewhere near confused, but maybe a lesser degree of confusion than I got when I told him there was no toilet paper (that time, I had to take him into the bathroom and show him the empty roll holder). But it must be confusing for Babu to be told that dude’s a vegetarian after dude just ate two chicken legs and a chicken wing. I think I’ll be eating meat again tomorrow.
I hope he cooks me more meals than just dinner, cause I’m gonna be hungry circa 10am, and if Babu’s gonna cook for me, I ain’t gonna go embarrass myself in public trying to order food. I thought about ways of trying to ask him what meal times would be tomorrow, but I thought that would end in futility and confusion.
I’m uncomfortable having a servant. I feel like I could be doing this myself. During dinner, he saw me scooping rice from the bowl to my plate, and he came over and did it for me. Thanks, Babu, but I can do it. Of course I didn’t say this. I just let him help.
Postscript
I made my bed tonight. This probably makes Babu as uncomfortable as it would have made me, had he came in here and made it for me. He’s probably thinking, Shit, I was supposed to do that. But seriously, it ain’t no thang, Babu. I’ll bet tomorrow the bed will be remade because I probably didn’t do it right. Eh, oh well.
1. there is some sort of switch that turns the hot water heater on, and I don’t know which switch it is; my room here, and my hotel room, and their bathrooms, all had more switches than I was able to ascertain functions for
2. this is as hot as water gets, which doesn’t appear to be any hotter than straight cold water
3. there actually is no hot water, stupid, this country doesn’t waste energy as obscenely as the U.S. – but that being said, there is a hell of a lot of air conditioning in this city, which leads me to guess this city is using a lot, a lot of electricity
So, to repent of my guilt for using so much energy on air conditioning, maybe it’s ok I’m taking cold showers. A cold shower is not bad, and a cold shower during a Mumbai summer is not as cold as a cold shower during a Pittsburgh winter. Really, it’s easy to tough out.
Babu, My Servant Guy
I could ask Babu why there is no hot water, but that would just end up in a blank look on his face, and lots of hand motions and worthless English words on my part. For dinner Babu made me some chicken legs and wings bathed in some sort of thin, red, spicy Indian sauce. After dinner, I pointed to myself and said, “I, veg.” Then pointed to the bare chicken bones, from which I had just eaten all of the meat, and said, “non-veg.” Then I told him again, “I, veg.” Indians divide all food into veg and non veg. (I’ve also heard about pure veg, which I think means no egg.) The veg category still allows all manners of dairy products and, I guess, eggs. After I had my little sit down with Babu, I got a look somewhere near confused, but maybe a lesser degree of confusion than I got when I told him there was no toilet paper (that time, I had to take him into the bathroom and show him the empty roll holder). But it must be confusing for Babu to be told that dude’s a vegetarian after dude just ate two chicken legs and a chicken wing. I think I’ll be eating meat again tomorrow.
I hope he cooks me more meals than just dinner, cause I’m gonna be hungry circa 10am, and if Babu’s gonna cook for me, I ain’t gonna go embarrass myself in public trying to order food. I thought about ways of trying to ask him what meal times would be tomorrow, but I thought that would end in futility and confusion.
I’m uncomfortable having a servant. I feel like I could be doing this myself. During dinner, he saw me scooping rice from the bowl to my plate, and he came over and did it for me. Thanks, Babu, but I can do it. Of course I didn’t say this. I just let him help.
Postscript
I made my bed tonight. This probably makes Babu as uncomfortable as it would have made me, had he came in here and made it for me. He’s probably thinking, Shit, I was supposed to do that. But seriously, it ain’t no thang, Babu. I’ll bet tomorrow the bed will be remade because I probably didn’t do it right. Eh, oh well.
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