Let's eat raita way (ha!)

After Golconda Fort we went to lunch. Because of their religious responsibilities the men were limited to a bland diet: no garlic, no onion, no chili. M and I, under no such restrictions indulged in the smokiest, butteriest paneer makhani on the planet. (Evidently it's better because it's yak milk.)

From there we went to the Salar Jung Museum. The Museum was established in 1951 and declared an institution of national importance in 1961. As in many tourist institutions, it is more expensive for foreigners and there was a separate charge for taking photos, something I'd never seen before and which we unnecessarily paid as I took one sole photo in the entire museum:

There was an entire room of canes with carved handles!

For some reason, T and his family insisted on going through the galleries in order. We made it through 17 galleries before melting down and returning home to prepare for the next day's ceremony.

The next morning, my sister and I ate breakfast and lounged around all morning. To be perfectly honest, I thought she was being antisocial and weird as upstairs the ceremony for T's father was happening. I kept pressuring her to go but she showed little interest. Finally we walked up to find all the men sitting bare-chested and in dhotis (like a loincloth) around a fire built on bricks on the tile floor. M and I were quickly escorted into a back bedroom where we sat with the rest of the women relatives until the ceremony was over...well that explains M's reticence to join. She knew that the easiest way to survive the ceremony as a Western introvert is wait until the praying is over and the food begins!

And what food it was. According to custom, all the food must be local to India and not have any spices that could inflame the passions. Spread over a banana leaf we were served sweet banana in sugar, raw bananas, green bean curry, cucumber raita, sweet cheese, sesame jaggery (molasses), mango with lime, sweet poori (pancake), badai (lentil donut), paysam (lentil with milk), cilantro curry leaf chutney, and lentil with jaggery and basil and a wide variety of milk sweets.

This was also the moment that M's family noticed that I was taking notes and so I was subject for the rest of the trip to a little bit of good-humored nosiness: what are you writing? did you write that down? do you know how to spell that? are you writing about me?

Yup, I'm noting all the wild and crazy customs. So for my readers a reminder: in Indian society it is very important to only give and accept things with your right hand. Many Indians also eat with their hands and that is a right hand only endeavor as well. Luckily my Nepali friends from grad school had trained me extensively in the art of balling rice (and not inquiring after what specific animal part I'm eating) but I'm still pretty messy. It amuses me to reflect on the fact that I am unskilled at eating. To be perfectly honest, I also don't enjoy the feeling of having oily fingers or curry under my nails; it is the same sensation as having a wet sock. But I'll just have to practice more. Bring on the daal!