I only had to change my shirt once today due to baby spit up, so it was a good day. I'm pleased to report that my mommy-training(as friends Hailey and Alison would put it) is coming along very well. I finally feel like Kara and I have gotten into a nice rhythm. She doesn't cry when I take her from mom and I've clocked being able to rock her to sleep in three minutes flat (though 15 or 20 is more the average). Tonight I cooked dinner - (which, wasn't very good but it's the thought that counts, right?), washed dishes, and then rocked Kara to sleep. I feel like I've completed a marathon. Maybe I'll call my mom tomorrow, just to say I love her.

Maybe it's because Sajiid watches me carrying around a baby so often, but he's become convinced that its time I get married. It also doesn't help that by Indian standards, I'm an old hag. Most girls in India are married between the ages of 16 and 18 to a man their parents choose. It's very standard for two people to meet for the first time on their wedding day. So by Indian standards, I'm two years past my prime and the clock is ticking. Sajiid has begun to show me newspapers - these newspapers are filled with "bride wanted" adds - advertisements where parents parade their son and comment on his family heritage, his caste, his schooling, and his lightness of skin. Sajiid started pointing out the good ones - which, of course, are all Muslim like him. He's confident I could find a very good husband because my skin is fair, thus very attractive by Indian standards. You'll certainly find no tanning oils or tanning beds in India, and most facial cremes contain lots of bleach. I told Sajiid though that I can't marry a Muslim man, because I don't want to wear a burka (the long black garbs with only the slit for eyes). I would much prefer to wear the bright and beautiful saris that Hindu wives get to wear. Maybe it's shallow but I think it's simple - I'm a girl. I like clothes.

The fascination with fair skin makes a lot more sense once you understand the caste system. The caste system works as a sort of hierarchy which the whole of India recognizes and operates within. People of a lighter complexion generally sit towards the top while people with a darker complexion sit at the bottom. The five castes are : Brahman (priest), Kshatriya (rulers, warriors, and landowners), Vaishya (merchants), Shudra (artisans and agriculturists), and then Harijan (the untouchables.) Harijan are called untouchables because people believe that they were so dirty that they were not fit to be touched by other people in higher castes. The untouchables are the only caste allowed to do the "dirty work" whether that be making cow dung patties, burning dead bodies, or simply cleaning the toilet. Honestly, it's nothing more than an advance form of discrimination. Its virtually impossible for a person to move upwards or out of their caste - basically Indian children will do what their parents do, even if its burning dead bodies on a riverbank. The Indian Constitution or 1950 (written by an untouchable) outlawed caste discrimination, but ultimately words just don't have the power to change how a whole civilization has viewed their world for centuries.

Everyday I learn so much! I learn from Theo, from Marga, from Rajju, Sajiid, Abdul, from books (graciously lent to me by Theo), and from complete strangers about this beautiful place. I've finally begun to tip-toe outside the whitewashed walls of Whisper Valley (our neighborhood which bears an uncanny resemblance to a Californian suburb) to walk in the dirt (and cow dung) of Hyderabad. I climb the road that twists up the hillside, reach the top huffing and puffing, buy some coconut juice from a roadside shamble, and then head back down. Hey, I never claimed to be a modern day Lewis and Clark, but it's something.

Its kind of unnerving to go out into the city by yourself, even though the Hindi/Muslims codes of honor make it one of the safest countries for tourists. But...everyone STARES at me. Its weird, I find myself looking at my feet as my cheeks turn red with embarrassment. People said I'd get used to all the staring, but I'm not so convinced. Plus, the traffic! The lines that divide the lanes and mark the edges of the road are more like guidelines. You don't have to be in your lane, let alone a lane at all -if you need to get around someone, the side of the road (where I am) will do just fine. There are no sidewalks and I don't know why they have the five traffic lights they do in this city, because nobody pays attention to them. When accidents occur, usually the guilty driver just throws up his hands proclaiming innocence and keeps going. If legal action is taken it is always the bigger car's fault - always. So when walking around Hyderabad - you have people staring at you like a giraffe on roller blades, and you're pedestrian life is usually in danger, at all times. But the coconut milk is so good.

Finally, I have one more reason to be thankful to my walks. They made me no longer aggravated about the cockroaches that climb up through the drain in my bathroom floor. I had started to keep a tally of the number of cockroaches I had killed or attempted to kill (11). I even left one cockroach dead, right on top of the drain where I killed it, so he could serve as a warning to all his little friends. But now, I no longer mind the cockroaches. Why, you ask? Well on one of my walks I saw the biggest rat I have ever seen. It was about the size of a gallon of milk with a tail probably 8 inches long. As long as I never see one of those climbing out of my bathroom drain, I'm happy to entertain cockroaches.

As these posts are getting too long and i always have soo much to say I promise to write more often! Until then, yours truly