On Feeling *Extra* Brown This Afternoon

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After finally deciphering and then completing the most challenging assignment I’ve had yet, I grabbed my badge and headed out. I wanted to take a little walk…I deserved to…I was done two hours before I expected to be and I felt a tiny sense of “Victory is mine!” because of it. Since I had skipped lunch, now was the perfect time to get some fresh air (and look for turning leaves). Once outside, I realized that today was the the day for our weekly Farmer’s Market. This made me mindful of how there were a finite number of Thursdays left before the weather would end the charming gathering of, oh, all of a dozen artisans and farmers, and that made me determined to appreciate everything even more. Excessive positivity (and the relief which blissfully arrives after meeting a deadline) inspired my lame ankle to try for whatever spring in my step I could muster. This was going to be nice.he gets my love jones for the cookie.jpg

I wasn’t looking for groceries, I was in search of a treat. I immediately recognized one when I saw a baker and his assistant arranging a decadent array of breads, scones, brownies, muffins and best of all…cookies. If I could list “home-made cookies” under my interests, I would. “C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me”, indeed. I spotted apple cinnamon, oatmeal raisin…then a few dozen peanut butter appeared…and then something which I couldn’t visually place, it was darker than the PB and didn’t have nuts dotting its smooth surface like so many allergy-inducing polka dots. Chocolate chip, my favorite hadn’t been unloaded yet. I smiled at the three women who were crowding the stand, impatient for the official start of the market. Oh yes, I’m not joking– you cannot sell anything until it is exactly 3pm and a bell has been rung. It’s a fair and thus lovely thing, apparently.

While the three, a duo and a single milled between me and those delectable baked petit morts, I observed the women as they observed the baker. Two were old enough to be my grandmother, and one of them had beautiful skin, bright reddish-orange lipstick and very pretty hair. She was so arresting, I couldn’t even look at the other two. I was fascinated, thinking silly AnnaThoughts like “I wonder what moisturizer she uses” and “I bet she wears lots of hats”. I was so transfixed, I almost missed what was occurring directly in front of us. Almost. Thanks to being perpetually high-strung, even things in my peripheral vision cause me to swivel and investigate, so that’s what commenced my micro-Monk-like-adventure: the gesture I saw, which I wish I hadn’t, while I was looking elsewhere.I spied, with my round Southie eyes, the baker’s assistant, dropping one and then another cookie on the ground. He lunged for both, but alas, alack, they were goners. Leaning over, he picked them up with his latex-gloved hands and then walked a few steps back to the van which he had been unloading. After hesitating, he put the two dirty cookies somewhere we couldn’t see and came back out. I resisted the urge to mutter, “I hope those didn’t go right back in the case” mostly because I was too appalled by what the assistant did next—he walked right back to the racks near us and picked up the most beautiful, luscious chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever desired. He started arranging them in the last, forlorn, empty basket. I was astounded.

No one else seemed to mind.

Let me see if I underwear this—this man, who was wearing gloves, apparently for sanitary reasons, dropped food, picked it up and then, without changing gloves, grabbed several “fresh” and so “clean” cookies like it was no big thang?

This would be an opportune time to point out that this farmer’s market occurs on 8th street NW, in Penn Quarter. That’s right, it’s a city street. Just a scant hour before, cars had been rushing over this very spot, dripping oil while perhaps crushing the dead bird I saw a few feet away. This wasn’t indoors. This. was. a. filthy (albeit pretty!) street.

I started to feel a bit anxious. I turned to the woman on my right and asked, sotto voce, “Did he just pick up stuff from the ground and then NOT change his gloves before touching the rest of the cookies?” She looked a bit stunned, then shook it off. “You’re right. That is exactly what he did.” And with a grimace, she turned and walked away, towards the mellow mushroom farmer.

The majority of chocolate chips were still safe. I was trying to stay positive—maybe he was rushed, absent-minded, unintentionally icky…it would occur to him…now…or…erm…now? How about now? Oh, for the love of sugar, please change your nasty #?@%!%& gloves! He walked away and I thought, “Yes! See what happens when you hope for the best?”

The duo who remained between me and the stall started speaking.

“What did I tell you?”

“No, you were so right, these are gorgeous…I can’t wait ‘til 3!”

“I’m not sure what to choose!”

“What about you, dear?”

That last question was meant for me. Now both were looking my way, expectantly. It was kind of them to include me in their conversation. I love how people in cities just do that, they just insert themselves in to your life and then a few seconds later, float out, so naturally. I also love how contrary to popular belief, New Yorkers are NOT MEAN, nooo, people in DC are way ruder, in my experience. But that’s neither here nor fair.

“Well…I know this might sound obnoxious, but…I don’t know if I can buy something after seeing him pick up cookies off the street and then NOT change his gloves.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that! My dear, you are very observant.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to seem…I don’t know…unreasonable?”

“Not at ALL. You raise a very valid concern. That’s unsanitary handling of food.”

And with that, they both turned back to the baker.

The cookies were glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. How much butter did those babies get battered with? Oh, why, WHY does this guy have to be so naree*? My cookie-lust got the better of me, empowering me to be bold. I’m a consumer! They want me to buy things, so they would want me to be satisfied, right? That’s the whole point of supporting indie everything, you get such kind, personal service, that you feel extra good when you walk out with your purchase. As long as I’m polite, a question is perfectly acceptable. If that’s all it takes to get a glove change…and thus a clean cookie…

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes?” He was ready for my question. He had the slightest accent and he looked and sounded a bit like the “pool boy” in Legally Blonde. You know, the one who was all…”Don’t you go tapping your last season Prada shoes at me missy” or similar. No? Didn’t watch it? Fine, let’s move on.

“Did two cookies drop on the ground?”

“Yes, but I threw them away. There’s trash in the truck.” He looked at me like, “come on, you should know better…of course I threw them out!”

“Oh, but…didn’t you…pick them up while wearing…those gloves?” I gestured towards his hands, each of which were holding 4-5 now-tainted cookies.

The smile immediately disappeared from his face. In fact, he was scowling. The epiphany had smacked him, all oops upside his head, like.

“Look, I touch the cookies, not the road!”

I nodded. “Thank you so much.”

I don’t know how he had magically avoided asphalt and thus preserved the integrity of his food-handling equipment, but I felt that it was appropriate to leave, since a line was forming for all the baked goodness.

Glum, I wandered past organic cheese samples, dried apple rings and a mini-orchid shop, over to the woman who always brings such gorgeous flowers to market. I had a question for her, about a certain…green, plant-y thing which I didn’t know the official name for. Since they were in the last few bouquets I had been given, everyone expected me to know what they were called. I’m asking for it; they are eye-catching. On Fridays, when I take the vase home (they last for over a week!) on the metro and while walking, I constantly hear “What ARE those?”

I was about to pose my question, since she had finished with an actual customer, when the two cookie ladies “cut in line”.

“Do you have dahlias?”, one asked.

The other older woman, the one who hadn’t spoken to me was eyeing me as she slowly, sensuously bit in to a chocolate chip circle of bliss. I know, she wasn’t doing it just to make me feel bad, but that was obviously the end effect.

This was really starting to bug me. I started wishing I was more “chill” about such things, her cookie looked THAT fantastic. I’m famous for washing my hands before I touch food, after I touch my laptop, upon re-entering the house, after I take off my shoes in the hallway…any time that they might be dirty. I have no more control over such rituals than I do over my obsession for 120 Minutes-era music. No cookie for me.

Here, have some context, it’s free today: I don’t think this is anything but familial myth-making, but allegedly, my first word was “chee-dirty!”. Does that count as a word? Whatevs, I grew up with typical, anal-retentive, paranoid brown parents. Which is not to say that I think Desis are somehow cleaner than everyone else, rather that they are more consumed with the concept than some.

After college, my two prospective Asian roommates (Chinese and half-Japanese, respectively) became probable and not possible roomies when I kicked off my shoes without being told, before touring the white carpeted apartment (what genius installs white rugs in a college apartment complex? Something about the G-line makes people wacky, I tell you.) Apparently, every other interested party had just stumbled on in; half had observed all the shoes by the door and asked about it…only to then strut right past, shoes still on.

See? And some of you think we have practically nothing in common with “real” Asians. 😉

[Aside: as if that last sentence wasn’t incendiary enough, I’ve got more flame bait for ya. I recall a very controversial early-early-morning breakfast, i.e. in the wee hours, after a night of partying, which was heated because the question stupidly being considered by several people in various stages of intoxication was, “Were South Indians cleaner than North Indians?”. We were all referencing our parents in our arguments for and against, as if we were still infants who hadn’t realized that we weren’t physically attached to them. Later, a Guju gf confided to me that she felt she had more in common with Southies, and not just because a Tamil family friend had taught her Mother how to make fantastic sambar…”No, it’s the cleanliness thing. I feel like with North Indians, the shoe thing is optional. My house? Not optional. Yours too, right??” Right. “But…aren’t you technically North Indian??”, I asked. She arched her back, squared her shoulders and sniffed at me. “I most certainly am not. I am Gujarati.”]

Back to the story within a story. So, after hearing about my possible first word(s), you won’t be surprised to hear about the time when I was five and my sister, in her stroller, had dropped her bottle on the sidewalk, in San Francisco. “Chee!” my mother hissed, grabbing it and swinging it above my baby sister’s dimpled, grasping hands. We were near the park, so it wasn’t so odd that we almost immediately encountered another stroller. That baby’s pacifier fell out, and bounced on the ground, twice. That mother stopped, shrugged, picked it up, wiped it on the back of her pants and popped it right back in her baby’s waiting mouth. I still remember the disgusted look on my mom’s face. “Why are Americans so dirty?” she muttered in Malayalam.

“Aren’t we Americans?”

“Where is your brain and smart mouth when Americans ask you that? You just stare at them, like you are a dumb. Of course we are. But we are clean ones.”

Beyond the fact that “Americans” seemed to be code for white people, I was perplexed by this new designation of “clean” vs. “dirty” Americans.

When I was growing up, there was no five-second rule; if it dropped, it got tossed, and yes, a “Chee! Dirty!” was usually uttered by someone in the vicinity, to commemorate the fallen.

Twenty-seven years after a scolding on a San Francisco sidewalk, my phone rang, on a street 3,000 miles from fog, hills and proper sourdough bread. I answered. It was my best friend.

“You have good timing!”

“Not really. You’re just uber-predictable. I knew you’d be free for a bit.”

“Hey…can I ask you if I overreacted to something?”

“hold on…let me clear my throat…I’ve got Dionne Warwick on the brain…”

I told her everything (obviously with less punctuation or consideration for detail) and by the time I got to the part where the assistant had returned from tossing the dirty cookies, only to pick up the innocent choc-

“GASP! NO!! That is NASTY. And on a freaking city street! Eww, eww, eww, eww, ewww.”

“Oh…wow. Thanks. I thought that maybe I was the weird one, since the other people weren’t bothered, but you caught it before I could even-”

“NO! Who does that? I mean, it’s one thing when you’re in a restaurant, I’ll grant you that you have no knowledge of what’s going on in the kitchen, etcetera…but to see it first-hand…I wouldn’t have been able to eat it, either. You’re not veird.”

I sighed with relief as I contemplated the odd mish-mash of feelings within. There are moments when I just feel more desi than I usually do, or when I’m reminded that I was raised differently. I’m not talking about being othered by others, I mean little eurekas of my own, about something just like this. Often, when I question myself about a reaction to something, the answer will float to my surface like one of Razib’s old comedic comments…

…Brown.”

“Gawd, why do you tell me this stuff? It’s like the time that guy at Au Bon Pain dropped all those bagels on the ground, made eye contact with you and STILL put them out to be sold. I couldn’t eat bagels for like, a year. Who are these narees?”

“I think they’re a tiny, indie…not exactly a storefront-in-dc type of establishment.”

“Good.”

“Yes. Your Marvelous Market addiction can continue, in peace.”

“Isn’t it amazing?”, she asked.

“What?”

“The ridiculously different standards we have about cleanliness, compared to others.”

Ah, there. I was not alone. Perhaps we never are, despite how we feel.

“Amazing and inconvenient”, I said. “My attempt at cookie-ing uncovered an…inconvenient truth.”

“That your parents raised you right?”

“Yeeeeah, let’s go with that one.”

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Naree…is such a brilliant Malayalam word. It encompasses so much in its two potent syllables; it’s the epitome of “Chee! Dirty!”-osity. It’s one of the examples I think of when our seemingly-stodgy-about-certain-things Amitabh rails about the loss of languages and how that’s a tragedy. He is right to rail, because it is tragic, because words are magical, potent, precious. There are some things I just can’t say precisely, in English, and I’m not even THAT fluent in Malayalam; there are words (beyond kundi, silly) which are perfect for what I am thinking, even if they are in the “wrong” language, and those are the only words which my mind can or will summon, in that moment.

As for what “naree” means…well, I was never one of those who liked having a glossary in the back of a mehndi book; I visibly grimace when I see such things, unless it’s ironic, in which case the most annoying song ever gets stuck in my head.

I always thought that if you were a skilled enough writer, a strange word could be understood via context. I am no “skilled” anything, but this is one of the guidelines I attempt to consider when I am writing, “does this sentence and this sentence reveal what ‘kundi’ means, to a non-Mal speaker, in this paragraph?”

131 thoughts on “On Feeling *Extra* Brown This Afternoon”

  1. Americans dirty? You should see the people here. Sharing drinks, food, no wonder Epstein-Barr spreads so quickly in this country. Not to mention tramping in the house everywhere with shoes on. Cleaning lenses with saliva. Unfortunately I’ve assimilated some of their dirty habits as well as the good stuff. Aren’t Americans supposed to be really anal about cleanliness? Wet wipes and disinfectants for every handle and seat in the metro. Germs are good for your immune system.

  2. Aren’t Americans supposed to be really anal about cleanliness?

    I feel like it’s very all-or-nothing, i.e. either they walk around with anti-bac crap and cringe a lot (cough) or they are utterly sans souci.

  4. i’m mallu and can speak it informally and I keep saying “naree” to myself and can’t recall it meaning anything like dirty. I think that there are so many accents or dialects depending what part of kerala you are from, and my malayalam is rudimentary as it is, that I’m not recognizing the word.

  5. Cleaning lenses with saliva.

    There’s a horror story associated with that truly horrific practice. One of my favorite Australian boxers ended his career with one lick of the Oasys.

    but really Anna, my mother’s ability to detect micron-sized dirt particles on carpets, dishes and my hands (prior to every meal, funny enough) had me thinking for a long time that I was the least hygienic fellow on the planet. Then I went to college and lived in an all-male, mostly freshman dorm.

  6. Heh, ^^#5 reminds me of how my mother can detect microscopic spots of chipping paint on the wall, nearly invisible scratches on the floors, tiny stains on the sofa, she can see a crumb from a mile away, etc. So I guess in that sense she is very neat. And she always told me to wash my hands after coming home, especially if I’d been on the subway, and still admonishes me for biting my nails for this reason. I have to admit though, that recently we went to the temple with another family and then went to their house, and my mother’s friend asked if she wanted to wash her feet in the tub upstairs, and my mother declined (it wouldn’t matter much because, to be honest, she doesn’t take care of her feet anyway, unless I massage them with lotion… yes I am the best daughter ever). This friend of my mother’s has talked before about some people from Guntur she has met who were very very dirty, and could have made a joke then about us being from Guntur, reputed to be the home of the dirtiest people in Andhra Pradesh. Any other Telugu folks care to corroborate on this?

    It is jarring for me to visit the homes of friends who don’t take their shoes off… it’s just bizarre to me. But isn’t it ‘ironic’ that we’re talking about this we are mostly descended from a country full of these? And I’d be wary of being ‘too’ clean with respect to disinfectant, etc., simply because it’s good for the immune system to have some things to fight off. And it makes me sad that my weakling Americanized immune system can’t handle so much of the vendor food in India anymore. 🙁

  7. oh and while I can totally understood how you couldn’t eat the cookie anymore after seeing that ANNA, I have to admit that in my younger days (when I could still eat that much sugar… sigh), my ice cream fell off my ice cream cone into the grass and I just picked it up, put it back on, and ate it. My parents weren’t around…

  8. I’m a parent now, and my once high (ok, moderately high) standards for hygiene have taken a beating.

    Example: baby throws his cracker down on the carpet, then picks it up. He puts it in his mouth. I do not protest. (Indeed, I’m actually happy that he’s finally eating that damn cracker…)

    My point: I know where the mommy with the baby in the stroller and the fallen pacifier is coming from now. Once your kid becomes dependent on a pacifier, taking it away from him/her becomes a very bad idea, especially if you’re out in a public place. (Note: We don’t actually use a pacifier, but I’ve seen it happen.)

  9. ice cream fell off my ice cream cone into the grass and I just picked it up, put it back on, and ate it. My parents weren’t around…

    To me, that’s STILL not as bad as a DC street, covered with motor oil, mystery fluids, small dead things etc.

    I always think of grass as being cleaner than I think…

  10. Example: baby throws his cracker down on the carpet, then picks it up. He puts it in his mouth. I do not protest. (Indeed, I’m actually happy that he’s finally eating that damn cracker…)

    See, so I was saying to my friend on the phone, “it would be one thing if this were home or even the office-“

    and she was all, “you would eat something that fell on the floor in the OFFICE?”

    but I mention all this to say I kinda see where you’re coming from. I vacuum daily, mop, disinfect, don’t wear shoes indoors etc. I think (I hope!) my floor is cleaner than 8th street. 😉

    My point: I know where the mommy with the baby in the stroller and the fallen pacifier is coming from now.

    You are right, I’m not a parent and I’ve heard similar from my other friends with wee ones, that certain standards go out the window, usually due to desperation…but still, did the woman in my story have to wipe the pacificer on her butt? 😀

  11. Example: baby throws his cracker down on the carpet, then picks it up. He puts it in his mouth. I do not protest. (Indeed, I’m actually happy that he’s finally eating that damn cracker…)

    -chuckle- I was waiting for a parent to chip in with something like that. I saw a friend evolve to your experiences with his first son. Then they had TWINS – and it was goodbye sanity. I got into their van the other day and found a reptile skull – apparently something a kid had dragged in. It’s good fun. I think they do the dishes now by letting the dog lick it clean 🙂

    It’s bitter sweet watching folks around my age turn into those they have mocked once kids happens, not that this is likely to happen to the good professor. For example, one child, and it’s goodbye TTC and hello SUV. No more granola at $5.39 a pound – it’s hitting the costco for a whale sized carton of noname corn flakes 🙂

  12. Totally relateable.

    I think Americans and desis (or westerners and easterners) are both clean but in different ways, and both dirty, but in different ways. (I guess the ways in which desis are clean, Americans are dirty, and they way in which Americans are clean, desis are dirty.)

    Indians tend to be cleaner when it comes to personal hygeine than Americans, whereas Americans are cleaner in regards their outside environment, fines for litering, etc.

    In India you can find people who are extremely clean to the point of obsessive compulsive about their bodies and home, but just outside their front door is a huge, open garbage heap. In America you can find people obsessively clean about home or outside environment but they don’t wash their hands after eating something like a burger or taco which requires using hands instead of utensils.

    Also, to wake up in the morning and not take bath but lounge around the house in the clothes you slept in until 12 noon is considered a dirty and un-disciplined bad habit in India. In India you wake up and take bath immediately, or wake up, clean your house a bit, and then take bath before you proceed to sit down in front of the pc and surf net. Also, in many homes there is a shrine and the family member who does the worship at it wakes up early, baths, observes certain rules of cleanliness and proceeds to do the worship. Others who have not bathed yet are not to touch that person. This is called “sadachar”, or rules of conduct in the mode of goodness (sattva), which is required for persons observing religion and things of that nature.

    People who say things like, “they use their hands to wipe their butts”, are not aware of the fact that water and oftentimes soap is used, and more often than not in many communities, full shower from head to toe is taken after going number 2, which is alot cleaner than just wiping with toilet paper.

    The term “naree”; Is it comparable to “mleccha”??? The term “mleccha” is used by certain communities in India who follow strict rules of sadachar, to refer to persons from outside of India who do not follow such rules, or perhaps even to certain persons or communities within India’s borders who do not follow them but have what are considered quite dirty habits like roasting and eating swine, etc.

    Another thing, touching one’s hand to the mouth, like biting nails and then touching something with that hand is “chee worthy”. Likewise, biting on a pen is chee worthy. Also chee worthy to some is to touch your mouth to the opening of a water bottle or glass when drinking. The pen, bottle, glass or object that you touch with the nail you bit all become “juta” or contaminated.

    General speaking I can understand the value of all of this, because it does spread germs to touch your mouth with something and then touch something else with that.

  13. I think Americans and desis (or westerners and easterners) are both clean but in different ways, and both dirty, but in different ways. (I guess the ways in which desis are clean, Americans are dirty, and they way in which Americans are clean, desis are dirty.)

    That is an excellent/interesting idea. Love the rest of the comment, too. Got me thinking. 🙂

  14. Anna:

    You should be thankful the guy didn’t do a Poppie. Remember Seinfeld flinching when his pizza pie doesn’t get handled by clean hands? 🙂

  17. I agree fully with Amardeep, your cleanliness standards lower when you have a little one.

    certain standards go out the window, usually due to desperation

    It’s not so much desperation as much as you just can’t control everything with the little ones. They drop cookies, treats, etc. and before you can say “no, dirty!”, they’ve popped it back into their mouths.

    There are some Americans who live by the Puritan code of “Cleanliness is next to Godliness” and there are those who find having high standards to be inconvenient.

    A N N A, good call on pointing out the tainted gloves…oh wait, I feel a song coming on: Tainted glove…oh oh oh…tainted glove…once I ran from you…

    Shall I tell you about the time I saw the cook exiting the restroom who was still wearing his gloves? Please ignore the dangling participle.

  18. okay i’m sorry i have to ask you this anna, but what does “naree” mean?

    ‘Naaari’ derives from ‘naattam’ meaning ‘odour’. Naattam more commonly refers to ‘stink’.
    Naari therefore means someone who stinks or someone who performs a deed that stinks. It is a strong insult and one that is not to be used be lightly – except with friends. One would never call an elder a ‘naari’ regardless of the deed.

  19. ‘Naaari’ derives from ‘naattam’

    oh that makes a lot of sense – I’ve only heard “natham” (how I’d pronounce it though I do have bad malayalam) which to me resonates with someone scrunching up their nose. When I hear naree, I’m thinking “nary” – just doesn’t sound like a bad word to me.

  20. It’s more “nthaa-ree” vs. “nery” (nary). 🙂

    PS, is your fam from central Kerala?

  21. the irony of Indians in so many of our experiences, being obsessed with clean, is that I’ve heard that a common stereotype of Indians/south asians is that they stink. But I think that is b/c of the smell of the spices we use in our food which is probably unusual smelling to people not used to it and clings to our clothes.

  22. PS, is your fam from central Kerala?

    I’d say north Kerala – from Kannur or also spelled Cannanore.

    I’ve heard my mom sometimes conversing with malayalee friends from south kerala and they tease her about her pronounciation/accent.

  23. ai ai ai ai ai chee-chee eck. This is as good a time as any to reiterate my half-baked theory that mild compulsivity is an evolved (whether socially or genetically) trait aiding survival. It’s less important in the cleaner First World but utterly practical whence we all came. We all have stories about the mild OCD of our relatives; most particular in my mind is that of my Uncle Eddie, who had three sets of slippers which only stayed in their particular areas of the house so as not to contaminate the bedroom, kitchen, et cetera. I’m closing in on that myself. I concur with nala on the ol’ immune system, though; destroy too many bugs and we lack the ability to fight them off.

  25. Anandos, I don’t know, I liked “blad”, myself. “You know I’m BLAD, I’m BLAD…Come On, You Know (Blad Blad-Really, Blad)”. 😉

    ::

    PS, my family is from central. People from the North can’t understand me…neither can those from Trivandrum, for that matter. It’s so interesting how certain words or usages can place us on a Malabar map. 🙂

  26. boooooooo. . . This moment of intelligent commentary brought to you by anandos.

  27. just want to add that naree is my ABSOLUTE favorite malayalam word:) depending on how much disdain and emphasis you put into pronouncing it, it’s quite satisfying. my favorite manglish phrase is “what an ultra-naree”. i’m squealing in glee:)

  28. it’s weird…i used to be uber spotless when i had 4 other roomies. now that i’m living solo, i’ve loosened up a ton. i’m not a slob, but i don’t dust as often as i should, junk mail gets scattered, and my mirrors aren’t windexed but once a month!

    overall, i think an indian household tends to be swept/mopped more frequently, while many american households have a layer of cat/dog hair on their couches (all of my friends have cats!). but, i do see more indian men picking their noses in public…and i have my doubts on the number of people who soap after wiping themselves with their hands. Hep A and E scare me!

  29. It’s certainly an unusual transformation – I used to be completely blasé about food in India. Here in the US I’m much more careful about what I eat – trans fat level, empty carb level, cholesterol, sodium, whatever else is in there. But then, 8 years back in India I would have recoiled in horror at the mention of dosa with sour cream and ketchup. Now I think more about “How much Nutella can I mix with my gongura rice without exceeding daily fat amounts?”. The concept of “clean” and “dirty” has changed for me as much as my sense of “good food”, veering away from tradition to whatever is held to be healthy.

  30. ria: not where the dogs walk!!!

    You mean, “Not where the dogs pee or poop.”

    I hate it when the guy who makes my wrap from scratch drops the sauce tubes on the floor, picks them up with his gloved hands and continues to fix my meal. That’s just gross, especially when you live in downtown New Orleans, and I’m reporting it ASAP.

  31. There was a article in the New England Journal of Medicine that concluded the obsessive behavior with cleaning products in the US is partially responsible for the increase in allergies/asthma.

    As a poster mentioned earlier… wait until you have kids. Make that two in diapers… we’ll see where your standards go…

  32. The concept of “clean” and “dirty” has changed for me as much as my sense of “good food”, veering away from tradition to whatever is held to be healthy.

    Truth in food changes every six months. One is off better eating traditionally cooked foods – regardless of country of origin – and then exercising. Both food and exercise in moderation.

  33. Maitri: You mean, “Not where the dogs pee or poop.”

    Have you ever watched grasshoppers or daddy long legs(s? es?) walk around in the grass? Their poop is VISIBLE TO THE NAKED EYE! Just think about how many insects are trolling around in that grass, and how much they defecate in it…ugh.

  34. As a poster mentioned earlier… wait until you have kids. Make that two in diapers… we’ll see where your standards go…

    Yes, we’ll see. My parents must have been miracle-workers to keep their standards up, with TWO kids. More recently, the months I spent living with my Godson and keeping him clean/washing my hands before I touched him/after I changed him etc were probably a hallucination. 😉

    On a sincere note, both of my best friends from h.s. and college are now mothers of little boys…and they are still as clean as I am, if not more so, so I think it’s possible to remain persnickety; if it’s a huge part of your personality, I think it is probable. I think we tend to mimic our parents and if I do that…I’ll have kids who are so clean, they’ll be constantly sick, just like I am! Yay!

  35. On a sincere note, both of my best friends from h.s. and college are now mothers of little boys…and they are still as clean as I am, if not more so

    …forgot to add, they’re not even brown! One’s a Persian Jew, the other is Pinay. Their parents were just like mine. Clean-freaks. No pets indoors. Daily dusting/vacuuming. Washing infant butts vs. diaper wipes. Etcetera ad awesome parentums.

  36. Warning; CRASS Generalisation Alert.
    I think it depends. Indians are sloppier with hair falling in food. Whites are not. DBD and some ABD Indians like to wash their behinds after wiping. Whites just wipe and wash when they got to prep for some action. Indians dont mind eating with their hands, but wash their hands carefully after they do so. Whites look down upon it, but when they do happen to eat with their hands, they think napkins are good enough after eating. Indians(mainly DBDs) like to clean their tongues. Whites are erratic about this, but will brush more often.

    Anna, if you watch Kitchen Nightmares episode on Dillon’s Indian restaurant(renamed Purnima’s) in NYC, you will not go to a restaurant again. The episode is on the FOX website.

  37. Anna, if you watch Kitchen Nightmares episode on Dillon’s Indian restaurant(renamed Purnima’s) in NYC, you will not go to a restaurant again. The episode is on the FOX website.

    Ugh, ugh, ugh…maybe for Halloween. Sounds appropriately scary.

  39. I love Doubletree cookies. Whenever I stay at a Doubletree, i pretty much get half of my roomrate paid for with free cookies.

  40. Mmmmm cookies. You know what, this is a real cute little bit of prose. I loved reading it, especially at 4 am when for no reason I just propped up in my bed and felt like reading something. This is a delightful little piece. Points for extreme cutness!

  41. Grass isn’t clean. It’s just as filthy as the sidewalk, perhaps even more. I know in the USA everyone is required to pick up after their dogs but not so in my country. Except in the town where I live. This place is spotless compared to my hometown. Actually, swimming pools are REALLY gross, despite the chlorine. You’ll never know until you’ve actually been at the bottom of the pool.

    I’m afraid that ever since I’ve moved out I’ve turned into even more of a slob than I already was. My parents refuse to set a foot into my room and don’t want to know the horror stories. I haven’t vacuumed in two weeks and have never properly cleaned my desk with soap and water. There are crumbs and clothes lying everywhere. 🙂

    Since I’m in molecular biology I have to keep sterile when working on my experiments. Which means repeated desinfection with special ultra-strength soaps and chlorine. Which is not good for your skin. It kills all the good bacteria and dries out your skin. So remember, don’t wash your hands more than necessary. 🙂

  42. I share a floor in a flat with 15 other people. There are 10 floors with 16 residents each. All your previous standards go out of the window as soon as you move into a student flat. Cheap rent, shared facilities and a cleaning roster. Those who dont clean up in the appointed week encounter a punitive fine, unfortunately there are still some who would forsake cleaning for the fine. Actually, my dad’s the one who spots dirt from miles off. He claims to have seen flats in Brooklyn, NYC that look better than ours. The kitchen is especially filthy. I’ve seen some horrific toilet situations as well. Though my house is not nearly as bad as the all-male frat houses elsewhere in the rather picturesque neighbourhood I live in.

  43. Actually, Anna, I find your sentiment pretty bizarre. I understand that America’s disinfectant culture is striking deep roots – obviously – but to me, even the contention that the first two cookies needed to be thrown away is wasteful. Car tyres are hardly the nastiest infection-vectors you can imagine.

    It really isnt my intention to sound self-righteous, although I’m about to. I cannot believe that we’re talking about Indians being so hygienic they’d throw away food that touched the ground. Quite apart from the obvious fact that most Indians couldn’t afford a treat like a street-stained chocolate chip cookie if they wanted to, the culture of preserving food has a far stronger sway here than the culture of hygiene, if you can call it that. Trashing cookies that fell on the ground would be disgraceful, as it still seems to me; in most parts of India – and what else is India? – it would be a fantasy of waste and indulgence.

    The Indian obsession with washing and taking off shoes has less to do with hygiene (as a way to counter disease) than it has to do with Brahminical notions of cleanliness (as a way to counter impurity). It sound very much the same way in your case. A much better analogy than the one you made between taking off shoes and throwing away food is the one between taking off shoes and not sharing food (ecchal in Kannada.

  44. I can’t believe somebody would expend close to 3000 words on a thunderous build-up to something so trivial. I think the next time you go out shopping, you oughta get yourself some REAL problems so you have some perspective on what’s worth writing a jeremiad about.

  46. Warning; CRASS Generalisation Alert.

    No sh!t

    I must ask: Pravin, how much time have you spent in the restroom with “whites who wipe”?

    Bidets: It’s not just for Europeans!

  47. I cannot believe that we’re talking about Indians being so hygienic they’d throw away food that touched the ground. Quite apart from the obvious fact that most Indians couldn’t afford a treat like a street-stained chocolate chip cookie if they wanted to, the culture of preserving food has a far stronger sway here than the culture of hygiene, if you can call it that.

    But I don’t think when people are reciting their experiences with cleanliness we’re talking about Indians or Americans living in dire poverty. Poverty brings a completely other facet into cleanliness. When many people are talking about cleanliness in Indian homes, I would think they are just referring to their average middle-class household, which probably most SM-ers come from – anyone who lives in dire poverty, whether its the US, India, or wherever will have a different perspective on cleanliness.

  48. 45 Meena: Wow. I can’t believe you just expended all that energy on your fascinating family history, and the even more fascinating account of how to ward off bacteria after coming into contact with grass.

  49. 47 … PS, people experiencing dire poverty are only the most extreme case where the instinct to preserve food applies.

    In the many economic brackets between the direly poor and the average middle-class household (which, I should point out, does not get served by waitstaff in latex gloves) and between the average middle-class household and the upper-class, you will find that instinct – I would call it a value – reiterated again and again. You’ll find homemakers selectively cleaning moulds out of jars of jam so that what remains can be eaten. I daresay that is going to make Anna go “eww, eww, eww, ewww!” but its a habit that is informed, not necessarily by the personal experience of deprivation, but by the apprehension of its existence. Food, quite simply, is not wasted until it is clearly and completely compromised.

    Moreover, we’re talking about Indians, right? As tempting as it is to conflate “the households most SM-ers come from” with “Indians,” posts like this make it seem increasingly inaccurate. Frankly, I think its careless and almost offensive to generalize to Indians some standard of hygiene that is only feasible in the first world, if at all.

  50. FYI- “Tara Bohra” and “Nizam of Sarakki” are the same IP. This is a perfect example of why we prohibit handle-switching. When you’re making a strong point and you create another handle to agree with yourself/flame others you disagree with, that’s not right.

    Please stick to one handle per thread.

    Other things to keep in mind, especially since many of you are new to the Mutiny:

    • This is blog written by people who were born and/or raised in this country, not India
    • Posts filed under “musings” are just that (Musing: contemplation: a calm lengthy intent consideration)

    Next time you are outraged that someone has the nerve to worry about unsanitary practices, when in India that would be wasteful and indulgent or when you think that a topic “wasn’t worth writing about”, kindly keep both of those in mind. You’ll be less upset if you do.