Nesting

No, I haven't written here for nearly a month. I have been (among other things) "shifting" to the long-overdue new flat, and there's no net there yet (it was of course supposed to be there, promised to be there, and now isn't; so what else is new. Installing my own router will cost some 1800NRs per month -plus down payments - another hidden expense).

The new place is very high and dry; 4th floor, lots of windows and sun and air. I call it the Cuckoo's Nest.

The sheer amount of plastic required to set up a household these days is really dismaying. Garbage bins, sponges, scrub brushes, coat hangers and so forth all involve investing in the dread substance. (I tried having a kitchen rubbish bin made of something else...not nice. And metal is about three times the price.)

Then there are the cleaning items. I looked around the other day and realized how many varieties of scrubbing and cleaning devices I had acquired in 3 weeks:
-floor scrubbers;
-sponges with scrubber only on one side (you know, yellow sponge, green scrubber);
-bottle brush for those hard to reach areas;
-floor rags including both "wet rag" and "dry rag" (we don't normally use mops here);
-two different kinds of handmade straw brooms;
-toilet brush;
-squeegee for the bathroom floor,
-and coconut husks (really, they are good for scrubbing). (Those were FREE at the market.)

Okay, so I am a child of Eisenhower-era parenting. Or maybe it's a result of so many years in south Asia, where the dirt demons prowl.

Then there are all manner of other mundane things I haven't had to think of in literal years, such as hammer & nails, bathmats and doormats, bulletin board, fan, and window screens. It's easy to see how people get bogged down in fixing up their homes. Fortunately, I have limited myself to two rooms. Anything larger, and I may start collecting stuff.

I have yet to figure out the garbage schedule here. One morning a week, a truck comes by and they blow a whistle. Then you're supposed to run down and toss in your bags. You can't leave anything out the night before; there are too many stray dogs.

Drinking water has to be brought in from outside, via the neighborhood corner-store run by a very sweet couple who have Muslim names but seem to be a bit closeted otherwise about faith. (This is unusual here, where everyone wears their faith on their sleeve like people in Tennessee advertise their favourite NASCAR drivers.) A big blue tank of the best-quality drinking water is 90 NRs (like $1.40). I had to put a 500NRs refundable deposit on each tank. A kid with a push-bike delivers the water - the bike is specially outfitted with metal ring holders, like saddlebags, one on each side to hold the tanks.

Cooking gas, and also gas to heat the hot water "geyser," is a bit more pricey. It's 4500Nrs deposit (refundable) on the heavy red-metal cylinders that dispense life-giving fire here. The actual propane contents of the cylinder are 1100 Nrs or so per tank.

Then, I still had to come up with an actual gas stove. This runs anywhere from 2000Nrs to 4000 or so. I can't help wondering how average Nepalis, who make perhaps 2500 Nrs a month, come up with these deposits. That explains the kerosene cook stoves owned by the very poor (much cheaper than propane).

But, Thank Gods (there are lots of them to choose from here) the power is mostly back, and the rains appear to have started. Hope I don't jinx anything by publicly stating this.

Drought's about

Water, water nowhere
Orme, Tennessee via Leh, Ladakh

Darkhorse from Nashville, Tennessee was kind enough to send this news story from my home state, regarding results of the severe drought down there:

Tennessee Town has run out of water
As twilight falls over this Tennessee town, Mayor Tony Reames drives up a dusty dirt road to the community's towering water tank and begins his nightly ritual in front of a rusty metal valve....Orme, about 40 miles west of Chattanooga and 150 miles northwest of Atlanta, is a town where the worst-case scenario has already come to pass: The water has run out....."You never get used to it," says Cheryl Evans, a 55-year-old who has lived in town all her life. "When you're used to having water and you ain't got it, it's strange. I can't tell you how many times I've turned on the faucet before remembering the water's been cut."

Dear Darkhorse:

For America, that is a shocker. An occasional power blackout in summer is one thing. But no water--!

Here in Ladakh, though, it's no biggie. Damn near all the water here is imported.

Every house that has "running" water has a big plastic Sintex tank on the roof. This has to be delivered and refilled by truck. All the water suppliers are private operators.

As far as I can tell, the "municipality" (city government) has no water infrastructure at all. Water runs all round the district and Leh Valley in literally ancient channels, dug centuries ago by locals to funnel the meltwater off the mountains for irrigation in what is otherwise a desert. This was the traditional version of "running water." Those lucky enough to live right by a stream (ie, not in the city) still wash their clothes, hair, and dishes from these channels.

However, with increased population, increased demand (including from foreign tourists) and increased pollution, it is now necessary for "safe" drinking water to be brought in from outside.

For the less fortunate, who cannot afford to buy/rent a tank and the monthly water refills, water is literally hand delivered. Every day I see bearded Kashmiri men pushing dolly carts loaded with oil barrels, jerry cans, plastic tanks, every possible available container of any size -- pushing these carts and up the streets. They are full of water and must be damned heavy. This is very hard work, sometimes they even have to push them uphill.

Every little family-run restaurant or ordinary home has to have water delivered this way. Every cup of tea I drink in such places has been carried in by hand in plastic can, then boiled before serving to me. The effort!

Now, with the freezing winter weather, most all the "running water" (piped down from the tank) has been cut off. In order to take a bath, I must get water in a bucket directly from the tank. That freezing water has to be heated on the propane stove. I only get one bucket to wash my hair, body and clothes in - even getting one bucket is difficult. Amazingly, I have learned to do this.

That's another story....the propane tanks. These red gas cylinders (which weigh about 16 kgs each) sustain life here. Electricity is unreliable, and very (comparatively) expensive anyway. To make a cup of tea or soup using electric energy would be extravagant. So, everyone except the ultra-poor has a gas burner and a government-issued (is Indian Oil and Indane Gas part of the goverment? I am not sure) red metal gas cylinder. (What do the ultra-poor do? They have kerosene stoves. These horrible, cheap kerosene burners like camp stoves, that take five tries to light. But they are far cheaper than the gas burner and cylinder.)

The cylinders must be acquired from Leh where they have been delivered from the "mainland" by truck, then ferried out to the villages via bus (most passing buses have a fleet of red cans on top, which are then tossed down by the Bus Boy), then lugged on the back of a villager....all the way to the home, monastery or tea shop. And here in the desert, distances are vast. (Thirty minutes is a short walk.)

This is pretty much the case all over India - the well-off people have water tanks. The poor go to the village hand pump and lug khumbhas back on their shoulders, several times a day.

So, when I had my tea at the monasteries this week, I really appreciated what a commodity this was. The water, the hot tea, the gas. It represents a very real expenditure of energy here.