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”

  2. The only exception to this rule is when you attach a buttered bread to the back of a cat so that the buttered side faces up. Then you can be sure that the food will not touch the floor.

    Though the hair and fur from the cat’s back will attach to the unbuttered side of the bread! 🙂

  3. A N N A @98: You vacuum EVERYDAY? How do you get the time? I haven’t vacuumed my apartment in .. (well too long a time) and I still can’t find time to other important things! Do you have some secret time generator?

    chachaji @102: LOL

  5. A N N A @98: You vacuum EVERYDAY? How do you get the time? I haven’t vacuumed my apartment in .. (well too long a time) and I still can’t find time to other important things! Do you have some secret time generator?

    1) I live in a tiny studio apt, not a 2,000 sq ft house ;). It turns out that my entire apt is smaller than the Master bedroom at home!

    2) I am terrified of roaches and since I tend to eat while sitting on the rug, next to the coffee table, I’m paranoid about errant crumbs attracting them, etc. So immediately after eating, I vacuum. I’m lazy about some things, but if it means no roaches, I’ll MAKE the time.

  6. what is this stuff about Americans eating breakfast before brushing their teeth? Is there an official survey? Since childhood I have brushed my tongue & teeth immediately upon rising. It is not an unusal habit among Americans, and recommended by many early health writers. People do consider “others” to be dirty. The world’s cleanest culture IMO–the Japanese. I think. But I’ve never been there–I’m just thinking of those soothing rooms, steamy baths, paper panels and glossy wood. btw, a Japanese lady told me they consider the Chinese to be very dirty indeed, and she seemed to think that had something to do with their excellent and varied cuisine. I’m not sure I followed… The cookie guy committed a faux pas in not changing his gloves. This American must confess I probably would not have let it bother me if I really wanted the damn cookies. But–and correct me if I’m wrong–I do believe the custom of wearing latex gloves in food preparation was pioneered by Americans. The Sterile American, with nothing old, worn, comfortable or of historic meaning, was food for humorously malicious Jacques Tati films of the 1950s. That was the stereotype. How things have changed. The eye of the beholder and all that jazz. All that said, since reading alternative health researcher–Hulda Clark, I have become very aware of how we take in disease causing germs at every turn, so i do think that Anna’s fastidiousness is a good thing. However, I am surprised that she sits on the rug while eating….Anna, think of what your clothes are collecting.

  7. Anna, think of what your clothes are collecting.

    I’m supposed to be wearing clothes, even at home?

    Blast!

  8. 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).

    Wun does naat rool out the other, no?

    I won’t go so far as to say that the Ancients figured out the germ theory of disease 5000 years before Louis Pasteur, but growing up in a household (ok, TamBrahm Mom-hold) where these rules were observed in almost their intricate entirety, I must say those desi routines of ritual purity and modern hygiene overlapped a lot. I speculate that there was quite a bit of empiricism applied to matters of hygiene and health over a long period of time, and the resulting rules were given the authority religious sanction to make them stick.

    PS: Ha! A thread that matches my nic perfectly. Geddit? Geddit?

  10. Yea seriously.. How do you do the whole vacuuming everyday thing?

    I do admit that when I was in grad school and things got rough, vacuuming the carpet was pretty low on my list of priorities. The house did get messy sometimes – but we were in such flux all the time that I saw it as a symptom of a high-workload lifestyle.

    This also somehow reminds me of this friend who had once invited us to her house. She had the cleanest house I had ever seen. What really got me was that she, in the kitchen cabinet, had the exact same number of spoons, knives and forks neatly separated and lined up. I remember thinking at that time – wow, this girl really doesn’t have anything better to do; she definitely must not be doing anything important with her time if she has time to separate her spoons and forks.

    Of course that was completely irrational since she was a student as well and me thinking that was definitely a sign of guilt at not being able to keep my house as clean as hers. However, just anecdotally, the people who get the most done seem to have the craziest offices with piles of papers on the floor, etc.. And the people with the books/folders neatly lined up in the bookshelf were the ones who were more obsessed with what their offices would look like. Of course, this is only talking about offices and not homes in general.

    Is it just my irrational mind that automatically associates a crazy office with signs of activity? Pretty off-topic but since we are talking about cleanliness..

  11. I was just wondering about this. While I don’t have pets, I do have allergies, so I’m thinking of getting rid of the carpet in my apt (which has wood floors anyway), after being advised to consider it by my doc.

    I think it could really help. My parents just switched up their type of carpet and installed an air filter in their heat/AC system, and it’s made a dramatic difference around their allergies.

    I’m with you on the vacuuming daily (or at least every other day). If you think about all the nasty stuff that gets housed in carpets, it makes me want to shampoo my carpet weekly. But the trade off (cold floors) makes me hesitant to switch over completely.

    Ugh, now I am thinking about carpet bacteria, cat’s backs and people who don’t wash after using the rest room.

  12. 50 – SM Intern and Anna

    I am not handle-switching. I made my point to my complete satisfaction, and we’re hardly brawling over here. Tara Bora and I have the same employer – I do know her in real life – and we work off the same computer network, which apparently puts up the same IP for different PCs. I drew her attention to this post, but I didnt ask her to comment. Dont shoot first.

    That apart, I pre-emptively apologized for what was going to have to be a self-righteous tone. I didnt comment to accuse ABDs of being effete because they care about hygiene. Its just that the post, and the subsequent commenters, were talking about “South Indians.” Even if you are musing, and even if you are American-born, and most of your audience is, I dont think its unreasonable to interpret that phrase as meaning “people who live in South India in addition to American-born South Indians.” Or am I wrong?

    I really only had two points I wanted to make: one, that the prevailing hygiene-consciousness among ABDs cant be so easily extended to a cultural wavelength that exists in India. Two, that to the extent that one can generalize about hygiene-consciousness in India, the present level has to do with much more than affordability. I wasnt talking about the poor, and my second post made that quite clear.

    Concrete example: I live in arguably one of the poshest districts in South Delhi. Yesterday I went to buy mutton from this area’s most popular butcher. I asked for half a kilogram, and even I was a little startled when he began cleaning it off the bone. He did so by holding a long-bladed knife between his big- and second-toes, and pulling the muttonleg against it. When a piece was sheared off, he would splat it into a pile on the same marble platform that he and three other butchers were sitting on. So, generally: feet, knives, meat, floor, all in a proximity that is probably discouraged by both law and science. But not by people around here.

    55, Kartik

    I’m sure that in ye olde Vedic days, all behaviour that now seems irrational had a rational origin. Like the caste system, which as we all know was ancient India’s prefigurement of the division of labour, ha.

    So, no. Impurity in the Brahminical tradition had to do with a lot more than washing your feet or soaping your hands or other proto-scientific good ideas – it also had to do with safeguarding the elevated Brahmin from types of human interaction. Did they have what we would still consider a valid argument for not eating the food cooked by lower castes?

    In any case, who cares where it came from? The point is it still persists in a time when those arguments dont hold. When you eat with your family, unless one of them is ill, it really isnt medically hazardous to eat off each others plate or even share cutlery.

    Secondly, you’re right that latex gloves are beginning to appear – I wonder where they’re disposed of? NIMBY! – but I guarantee that thats something we’re borrowing from the West.

    Didnt Gandhi say something to the effect that hygiene was the most important legacy left to us by the British?

  14. Nizam: It’s not us shooting first. Two handles “legitimately” sharing one IP is such a rare situation that in the past it has almost always indicated trolling. Even if nothing incendiary is being said, we still don’t allow it because it’s confusing (we once had a commenter who liked to switch handles for every comment).

    I can count on one hand the number of times we have had readers who were coworkers, who shared the same IP, commenting (much like this, actually) on the same thread. Thank you for clarifying.

  15. While I’m full of similar obsessions, I have to say it’s pretty ironic to reject cookies touched by a glove which picked up other cookies which fell on the street, when each of the component ingredients of that cookie has been walked on, thrown on the ground, exposed to every sort of animal and insect excrement, and transported in containers of every level of cleanliness. I know, you’ll say but it’s been washed/cooked after that, but that’s not true of everything. Grind pepper onto anything lately? Do you really think someone washed those peppercorns after they were dried in the open air on a Kerala street, and walked all over in storehouses around the world? Want to trace the life history of the ingredients in that mango pickle? Again, I suffer the same contradictory impulses, so I understand, but one must recognize the irrationality of it to fully embrace one’s neuroses.

  16. AG:

    Again, I suffer the same contradictory impulses, so I understand, but one must recognize the irrationality of it to fully embrace one’s neuroses.

    One recognizes. 🙂

    There is more at play, here; to me, the emotional relief I get from washing my hands before I touch food, even while eating out, is worth whatever risk you say I am taking by being persnickety. I won’t enjoy my food if I haven’t washed my hands. I’ll be grossed out and uncomfortable…so sometimes (a lot of times, maybe, b/c people don’t want to admit that this is a part of the reasoning behind cleanliness) this is more about mental health than physical, if that makes sense. [link]

    ::

    As for this question:

    Yea seriously.. How do you do the whole *vacuuming everyday* thing?

    I answered that already. 🙂

  19. Nizam: So, no. Impurity in the Brahminical tradition had to do with a lot more than washing your feet or soaping your hands or other proto-scientific good ideas – it also had to do with safeguarding the elevated Brahmin from types of human interaction. Did they have what we would still consider a valid argument for not eating the food cooked by lower castes?

    My Brahmin grandparents and their parents ate food cooked by all castes, but were clinical about washing up first. My mother washes her hands before eating all the time even if she just stepped out of the shower and will not eat a thing that has fallen on her impeccable Lysoled floor. Food cooked outside home, especially in Indian restaurants, is right out. To top it all off, my uber-Brahmin mother was a Kuwait government meat inspector for a while – she can tell bad beef just by looking at it.

    As for those who don’t eat food cooked by other castes or even other people in their own caste, they may be ignorant, but have you considered that they don’t want to eat food prepared by those who cook meat or whom they consider to have lesser hygienic standards?

    And, to someone who asked us to wait until we have two kids with diapers, I think the reason my immune system is such a piece of shit is my mother obsessively cleaning us and our surroundings ALL THE TIME when we were babies and toddlers. If I’m not mistaken, my parents’ OCD went up to 11 after we were born.

    If you think we’re obsessive, have you observed and pondered Jewish purity laws? Life is stricter when you’re one of the Chosen People.

  20. As for those who don’t eat food cooked by other castes or even other people in their own caste, they may be ignorant, but have you considered that they don’t want to eat food prepared by those who cook meat or whom they consider to have lesser hygienic standards?

    true that. When traveling in India, if at a roadside stall – I would prefer to eat at a ‘Vaishnav’ dhaba than a no-name eatery. There are more subtle clues when doing the assessment. If the proprietor is eating there, and seems to be on good speaking terms with the patrons that is a good sign. Frankly these rules hold good just about everywhere. Contemporary affection for farmers’ markets is reflective of the same sensibilities – and one draws linear conclusions on the quality of the foodstuffs based on one’s personal appraisal of the vendor.

    though we seem to be evolving towards an irreligous society, at least i am partial to products brandded with religious symbols and have gone out of my way to purchase yogurt branded with the star of david and paneer stamped with the ekonkar.

  21. Hilarious. My mom was always hyper-sanitary. She also referred to Americans as being dirty. I believed her, even using her words in a round of name calling during my sandbox years, right up until I visited the ‘desh for the very first time. Then I realized that my mom was full of it. She used to brag bout how clean her mother’s place in the ‘desh was. So what happens when we visit? My mom breaks out into all kinds of skin irritations just from sitting on the chairs.

    I do think there is a danger to being “too sanitary.” It’s why us western bred desis have to steer clear of the street food back in the mother country, but people that grew up there have nothing to fear.

    So, getting back to my story about my mom – my mother’s main motivation for keeping the house more sanitary than a hospital was b/c she claims she had allergies to everything. The great irony of her life is that her ultra-sanitary habits most likely worsened her susceptibility to to EVERYTHING. I swear, drinking distilled water gives my mom the runs.

    I know that when I was a little kid, I’d run around outside every chance I got. I probably ate dirt too. I never had allergies during the seasonal pine tree bukkake session when I was a kid. Then came a period of time when I didn’t go outside as much. During this time, my body decided to develop serious allergies to pollen. So now, every spring, my nose runs and tears stream from my eyes as I lament the fact that my body hates the outdoors that I love.

    So yeah, I’m not too concerned with being ultra-sanitary. I understand that some people are really concerned with germs etc, but it wouldn’t be above me to purchase and relish tainted cookies in front of such a person.

  22. I understand that some people are really concerned with germs etc, but it wouldn’t be above me to purchase and relish tainted cookies in front of such a person.

    Awww, thanks Poodle! You’re a peach. 😉

  23. but have you considered that they don’t want to eat food prepared by those who cook meat or whom they consider to have lesser hygienic standards?

    excellent point, and thanks for bringing it up. in fact, i don’t stop just at food, but extend this approach to another area where sanitation is even more important, medicine. i don’t go to hospitals because who knows which low-caste orderlies have handled the equipment? or might have washed the sheets? i don’t even trust modern medicine, because ever since they let those damn lower castes in, there has been an explosion of techniques of questionable hygiene – catheters? pig’s skin valves? implanted stents? it’s cleanest to just trust in my local high caste brahmin priest to invoke the mercy of the gods for me.

  24. it makes me want to shampoo my carpet weekly

    i don’t know about vacuuming, but i do shampoo my drapes daily, and use a hair dryer on them. the carpet, just soap and a towel.

  27. Ever heard of the 5-second rule?

    Ever heard of reading the post? 😉 Sorry, couldn’t resist. Yes, I have heard of it. 🙂 I wrote about it in the post above:

    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.

  28. If I’m not wrong, ‘kundi’ is the word for ass in Tamil. I’m a Mallu brought up in Maharashtra and have never come across any Mallu using that term. ‘Aasanam’ or ‘chandi’ (with a soft ‘d’) is ass in Malayalam. Many in Mumbai know the meaning of kundi. Funnily, it does cause some embarassment to the Marathi-speaking public because in Marathi, kundi means flower pot.

  29. If I’m not wrong, ‘kundi’ is the word for ass in Tamil. I’m a Mallu brought up in Maharashtra and have never come across any Mallu using that term. ‘Aasanam’ or ‘chandi’ (with a soft ‘d’) is ass in Malayalam.

    All said words for backside are equally correct.

    In Tamil the only word I know for kundi is ‘soothu’ – there may be others.

  30. As for those who don’t eat food cooked by other castes or even other people in their own caste, they may be ignorant, but have you considered that they don’t want to eat food prepared by those who cook meat or whom they consider to have lesser hygienic standards?
    true that. When traveling in India, if at a roadside stall – I would prefer to eat at a ‘Vaishnav’ dhaba than a no-name eatery. There are more subtle clues when doing the assessment. If the proprietor is eating there, and seems to be on good speaking terms with the patrons that is a good sign. Frankly these rules hold good just about everywhere. Contemporary affection for farmers’ markets is reflective of the same sensibilities – and one draws linear conclusions on the quality of the foodstuffs based on one’s personal appraisal of the vendor. though we seem to be evolving towards an irreligous society, at least i am partial to products brandded with religious symbols and have gone out of my way to purchase yogurt branded with the star of david and paneer stamped with the ekonkar.

    Vaishnava dhabas cook without onions and garlic which is an observance of the yogic, jain and vaishnava diet which many in India follow.

    Even in the West, strict vegetarians will not eat at restaurants that cook meat because the veggie dishes will be cooked in same utensils of meat. Strict Hindus, Buddhist and Jain Indians are not the only vegetarians who are strict on this issue.

  31. I agree with Tara Watabe all the way up #12, it’s all about the cleanliness in different ways. My mom’s German, and I’ve spent plenty of time in Germany, so let’s talk about clean enough to lick the floor in Oma’s kitchen CLEAN, but then…if you’ve ever gotten on an elevator in Germany with a bunch of Germans it is not, how shall we say, pleasing to the nose. There’s always some sliding scale of cleanliness that’s all about the culture.

    I believe that in part, the American concept of a 5-second rule comes from a notion of toughness. We perceive having the strength of will to pick up something that fell on the floor and put it back in our mouth means we’re tougher than other people. That’s why it’s often boys who first pick up on this idea and spread it to their children. And as a boy I was known for having a certain propensity to gross out people by eating things off of the floor, or worse taking food directly out of their mouth and putting it in mine. As an aside, there was a time in at summer camp when dared to eat a slim jim that’d been underneath the bunk for a week and had clearly been gnawed on by a rodent I finished it. (I didn’t feel so good afterwards).

    But back to my theory, in America if you’re freaked out by dirt and grime you’re not tough, and what the American ethos values more than anything is…stoic toughness. The guy at the cookie stand probably had this thought of “Jeez lady, get over yourself. What you can’t stand a little dirt?” To each their own I say. Honestly, now, having worked at at a few restaurants, I’m a little more particular about what I do eat and from where, and the cleanliness of the place plays a part in that equation.

    But that’s just my $0.02.