Elephant and Kitty

hooray! my esophogas is slowly getting better, i ate a bit of (well-chewed) naan tonight, the most solid food i've had in a week. tonight i also got to enjoy home-brewed ginger beer. so refreshingly delicious in the s. asian summer heat. and i *never* knew how easy it was to make! i've been craving ginger ale for ages, and usually end up shelling out a wad of cash for carbonated water which i spice and sweeten up. but no more, it's homebrew ever after for me thanks to our meheman (guests) from Austria: Birgit and Martin.

They're an awesome, sweet, down-to-earth young couple who have spent 4 of the last 5 years camping and cycling around the world, the last 3 in Asia. they've not once taken a bus, train or plane on their journey, carry 60-80 kilos of gear on their bikes and are probably the most frugal, low-impact travelers i've ever met. we met them on this site (which will enable us be able to afford visiting paris for a few days on our way home). birgit and martin have a neverending stash of lovely stories from their trip to share (though too bad their site doesn't have more in english). when they are finished they will become sheepherders in austrian alps making cheese for extra money, which is just about adorable enough to make us want to expatriate and join them.

since devin's camera got stolen (along w/ my cell phone and i-pod) we can't take a picture of the ginger beer or the 4 of us, so this recipe will have to do instead. (Next time I'll experiment by adding some other spices or a bit of pineapple juice.)

*****Birgit and Martin's Fabulous Ginger Beer*****

TAKE: a clean, empty 1.5 liter plastic soda bottle

FILL:
3/4 full of water

ADD:
juice and chopped remains of 1/4 a lemon or 1/2 lime (or 2 pakistani-sized lemons)
3/4 inch piece ginger, washed and chopped
3-4 heaping Tablespoons sugar (make a cone out of paper to help you funnel it in)

SHAKE: till sugar is dissolved

ADD: 1/2 teaspoon of dry, active yeast... gently tilt/swish the bottle once or twice.

SET: in a warm corner for a day if it's summer, longer if it's winter or you want a stronger flavor.

CHILL: in freezer or fridge till cold. Keep it upright when chilling to let the yeast settle to the bottom.

OPEN SLOWLY! there's a lot of fizz so be careful

STRAIN and pour into glasses. Pour it *gently* to avoid agitating the yeast at the bottom. Enjoy!!!

A. and I arranged our food in our kitchen so we could show you, our lovely readers, how much food costs here:



Here are the questions (no cheating):

(A) How much, total, did these groceries cost?
(B) What are the top two most expensive items?
(C) Which items cost about the same as they do in the US?
(D) Which is the most cost-inflated item (i.e. above its normal price here)?

In case you're wondering, here is an inventory (from left to right, starting in front):

4 kele (bananas)
1 kira (cucumber)
1 mooli (daikon)
4 baingen (eggplant)
1 large bunch dania patta (cilantro)
3 kenu (tangerines)
.5 kg aloo (potatoes)
1 kg tomatar (umm... tomato!)
1 cup dahi (yogurt)
2 sticks makkan (butter)
2 Liters whole milk
1 Liter lowfat milk
1 sponge
4 mombatti (candles)

( Click here for the answers! )

Amber is too sick and Devin is too busy with job applications to write any in-depth political analysis about the situation here in Pakistan. Instead, we present you with a montage of recent photos... and hopefully will muster up the energy to write something more gritty in the near future. (Disclaimer: These were taken with a cell phone, thus the rather poor quality.)



It's strawberry season! We're not sure how long it will last, so we're taking advantage while we can. These shakes are made with strawberries, milk and a little sugar. We had these while shopping in Anarkali in the old city. It is at least 200 years old, making it one of the oldest bazaars in South Asia. It is named after a famous legend about a prince that fell in love with a dancing girl.



After going to Anarkali, we asked our taxi driver where we could go for good samosas and he took us to Shadman bazaar. The samose may well be the best in Lahore - not too salty, perfectly spiced filling, and light and crispy on the outside. Unfortuantely we ate them, smothered in a bit of warm chole and sweet chutney, too quickly to take pictures. But, for our second course, we had dahi balay, a chaat (snack) made with yogurt, a crispy dumpling made from lentil flour, boiled potato chunks, chick peas, and some raw vegetables on top. A perfect and cooling snack as the mercury creeps up, up, up.



On a walk the other day, we spotted this splendid sign. It looks like some sort of domestic finishing school for women. if I had to go to such a school, I'd definitely pick one with the word "deviant" in the title. Seriously.



Graffiti, defense* style. That it's not "illegal boy" or "illegal man", but "Illegal boy man" makes it cake! What does it mean? Who knows.

* Defense = Defense Housing Authority, an upper-middle-class suburb of Lahore.



Finally, a bit of politics! Well, not really. But this tree sits on the campus of the Lahore University of Management Sciences, where Devin was working until recently. Look carefully at the sign... across from this tree is another, planted by the former head of the world bank. For better or for worse, these are the kinds of people you would expect to be planting trees at one of the most elite universities in the country.

We've been meaning to share recipes with you for some time; hopefully today will be the first installment of many. While most Lahori specialties are meat-centric, the average person cannot afford to eat meat on a daily basis. Thus, dal (lentils), sabzi (vegetables) and roti (flatbread) make up daily fare. The first recipe we're sharing with you is for a dry preparation of aloo-gobi, which is served in North India as well. The result is a lovely blend of cauliflower and potatoes coated in a caramelized onions and spices. Devin says it's even better the next day.



My first word of advice to those embarking into the territories of Indian and Pakistani cooking is not to be overly afraid of oil. Now, I'm not saying that you need to be the typical desi aunty or mother-in-law who drowns the overcooked remnants of what once was a vegetable in at least an inch of oil. Nor need you cook the restaurant version of desi food found primarily in Indo-Pak restaurants outside of the subcontinent, which inevitably include copious quantities of malai (cream). But I'm also saying you should avoid being health nut aunty. Anyone who has grown up in a South Asian immigrant community in the US knows one or two... she's the one who zealously converts to no-fat cooking after being exposed to US diet fads and insists on making chai with nonfat milk, much to the chagrin of her family.

Most of my preparations would not get the seal of approval from either party. But, as they say, there is joy (and flavour!) in the middle path...

ALOO GOBI

Ingredients*

1 Small head (or half a large head) cauliflower, washed and chopped into florets
2-3 small potatoes, washed and cut into 3/4" cubes
5-6 T Oil**
1 t Cumin seed
5-6 Cloves garlic, minced
2 T Fresh ginger root, minced
1 Medium onion, minced
1 Small tomato, minced
4-6 Small, green chilies (remove seeds if you don't want it so spicy)
1 t Salt (more or less to taste)
1/4 - 1/2 t Tumeric powder
2 T Dried methi (fenugreek leaves)
1/4 C Water
1 + T. Dry-roasted*** coriander powder
1 t Red chili powder
1 T Amchur (green mango powder, or substitute 1 T lime juice)
pinch Garam masala
handful Cilantro, chopped

Optional
1 1/2 C Cooked chickpeas/chana (or one can)

Method

+ Optional step
In a large mortal and pestle, combine onions, tomato, green chili and mash until it looks like yummy salsa. It should not be too pasty. (If you don't have a large enough mortal and pestle, just mince these three ingredients nice and finely).

+ In a medium-to-large pot, heat oil over medium-low flame. Add cumin seeds and let them sizzle for a minute until they begin to turn a darker shade of brown. Add the garlic and ginger and stir for 1-2 minutes... they should turn golden, but not brown. Next add the onion, tomato and green chili mixture. Saute, stirring, until onions begin to turn golden brown.

+ In a small bowl, combine water, coriander powder, red chili, amchur powder and mix together. Set aside.

+ Stir salt and tumeric into sauteeing ingredients . Now, add the water/spice mixture and the dried methi leaves; cook it for a minute or two until a bit of the water has cooked off.

+ Now add the potatoes and cauliflower and stir well. Cook covered on medium-low heat for 3-4 minutes, then check, stir, add 1-2 tablespoons of water if necessary to keep it from sticking. Don't add too much water or it will turn soggy. Repeat this step for about 10**** minutes until cauliflower is begins to get soft. If you are using chickpeas/chana, stir them in now along with half of the cilantro. Cook for another 5 minutes or so until the potatoes are soft enough for your taste.

+ Finish by putting a pinch of garam masala and sprinkling the rest of the cilantro on top.

+ Serve with yogurt and fresh roti or basmati rice.

Notes:
*Since I rarely measure when I cook, these are approximations and you will have to tweak it to your liking.
**Using this much oil ensures that the vegetables don't stick to the bottom of the pot as they cook, but is modest enough to give the dish a light and subtly roasted finish.
*** Dry roasting - I dry roast and grind my own spices every few weeks, which isn't as much work as it sounds like. We'll do another entry on how to dry roast later! Stay tuned.
****We prepare the recipe so the cauliflower is still a bit firm, but you can cook it longer if you like soft cauliflower.

You know something that makes me sad? that the only time our friends hear about Pakistan in the Western (particularly American) media, inevitably spurring a cascade of thoughtful e-mails, is when a suicide bombing happens. I'm not saying I don't appreciate the concern, it lets us know we're loved and cared for. I'm just saying, wouldn't it be cool if you also saw a short news feature on qawwali music, or a special on kite-making/flying and Basant, the challenges and successes of women healthcare workers in rural areas, a mini documentary on ethnic minorities, or even a cooking show on tasty Pakistani delicacies, and thought of us?

There are so many complex and interesting things going on Pakistan, I'm just depressed that the only things most Americans hear about the country are those involving explosives. This fosters an identity of/interest in Pakistan, in the eyes of Americans, framed soley in terms of its security situation and relationship to America vis-à-vis the war on terror... without understanding/appreciation for the more complex ground realities in which these things are occurring or interest in the other stories shaping Pakistanis' lives.

Anyway, thanks for all your thoughts midst the recent spate of suicide bombings in Lahore. They seem to be targeting government security/military forces, as has been the trend across the country, especially since Lal Masjid. As to why they have seemed to increase in frequency and spread to previously untouched places such as Lahore at this particular moment is something I wish I could give you better analysis/explanation of. There doesn't seem to be a clear sense among locals either who have varying explanations. What people seem to agree on is lack of faith in Pakistan's intelligence agencies and other government bodies to protect its citizens from such attacks.

Recent attacks on Lahore, where there had never been a suicide bombing until a couple of months ago, has shaken the illusion of an untouchable heart of the Punjab. For those not familiar with local politics, the Punjab is the most populous and wealthy province in Pakistan containing both the federal capital and several other large cities (Lahore and Faisalabad). There has long been resentment throughout the rest of Pakistan against the Punjab's dominance in the military and government bureaucracy and national economy.

While Islamabad/Rawalpindi are also in the Punjab and have been frequently targeted, they also border the Northwest Frontier Province (which itself borders Afghanistan), which has a history of militant politics dating back to the CIA's support of the mujahadeen during the cold war.

The larger blast targeted an office of the federal investigative agency, the smaller one happened in a residential area were both Asif Ali Zardari* and Nawaz Sharif have homes... although I'm not sure if the bomb went off anywhere near their homes or not. This morning as we lay in bed, I thought I heard somebody rattling our door and was alarmed... others are now saying that this was the impact of the blast which was at least 10 or more kilometers away. To reassure those reading, as far as we know we don't live near any top leaders and don't often frequent offices of government security agencies. The hearts go out to the men and women who have lost their lives and loved ones today, as well as for an entire nation that is increasingly becoming the victim of the acts by a vicious, militant minority.

*I really need to find an exhaustive list of Muslim and South Asian names to import into my speech recognition program (though I don't know how many I would have to individually train for it to recognize them). I hardly have a few of my family and friends names programmed in, but I get really tired of spelling out each and every oyher non-Western name :P. Dragon recognizes Nawaz Sharif as "nosh reef" and Asif Ali Zardari as "possibly the very"... before I programmed my father's name in, the program misrecognized it as "Brought before a". Hell, even after training it almost never gets my last name right :p. Someday I will make a video of me tediously attempting to dictate a journal entry for your viewing amusement.... this one took nearly an hour and a half.

Time for another round of pictures.



ROTI! The other night instead of just getting roti, we sat down for a proper dinner at our favorite roti shop. In addition to the Roti of all rotis pictured in the foreground, Devin relishes some gosht (meat) dish and a nice cool salty lassi.

...



KAPRE! I am happy because I finally found a tailor that I like :-), even though he speaks no English I managed in my broken Urdu and he made the outfit more or less exactly up to specification. This is in comparison to my previous tailor who always got something wrong. I took this cheap set of fabric to him as a test run and I'm quite pleased with the results. Best of all, the shop is right behind our house and his rates are very reasonable.

...

Pakistan runs on Inshallah Time. For those who haven't lived in Pakistan before, a little explanation is in order. There is a word-cum-phrase "Inshallah" that basically means "God willing"... and it is used liberally when discussing anything in the future. For example, I just planned a coffee date with my friend tomorrow before hanging up she said "see you tomorrow, inshallah". Ask somebody if they can get something done for you by a certain date/time, instead of saying yes or no, the likely answer will be "inshallah". For the secular minded, I could roughly translate it as "hopefully". A somewhat noncommittal response that both conveys a more fluid nature of time as well as the acknowledgment that many factors of life are out of our control.



(Alas, not makan*, but...) GLOBALIZATION: I love this picture because it's such a great combination of Pakistani culture intersecting with globalization... even Subway is on Inshallah time. It has been under construction for who knows how long. As you can see in the picture, the sign is quite faded, and in the three months that we've been passing, it has never looked any closer to being completed. Guess it just goes to show that God is not always willing (at least when it comes to opening mediocre sandwich shops in Pakistan).

...



DAHI: Homemade yogurt. Add this to the list of things that seem ridiculous in America (such as central heat/air conditioning and low occupancy vehicles): store-bought yogurt and, even more bizarre, yogurt makers. Why would you buy a yogurt maker when it takes like 5 minutes and no special equipment to make?

You should try it, it's fun! And kind of like magic. You just put a covered bowl of warm milk with a little yogurt in a still corner, forget about it, and voila! Yogurt! Here's your recipe:

1) Heat the milk almost a boil, then let it cool to about 112 degrees (no need for a thermometer, just stick your finger in -- it should be like a hot but not scalding bath)
2) Mix in 1-2 tablespoons of leftover yogurt (with active cultures)
3) Put it in a bowl and leave it, covered, for 6 to 24 hours. (How long you leave it depends both on the temperature in your house, and how tart you want it.)

* an allusion to my incomplete pun. the slogan of the pakistan people's party (benazir's) is "Roti, Kapre, Makan" (food, clothing, shelter), as it clings to the faint memory of socialist reform that its founder (benazir's dad, zulfikar ali bhutto) originally rose to power on.

No, seriously.

The Pakistan Supreme Court actually has a theme song, complete with a patriotic video.

The U.S. Supreme Court definitely needs a theme song. I was going to put a link here to John Ashcroft's rendition of Let the Eagle Soar, but they all have ads so I'll spare you.

i. Haggling

One challenge for many Westerners of living in the sub continent is adjusting to different cultural practices around paying for things. Back at home, there are posted prices that are nonnegotiable for almost anything under the sun, save, perhaps, your car and house. Go to the grocery store, and bananas are a dollar a pound... doesn't matter if they're rotting and swarming with fruitflies, they're a dollar a pound. If you don't like the price, don't buy them. Taxis run on meters, clothes have price tags, computers and cell phones have prices listed on websites or in catalogs.

Things couldn't be farther from the case in the subcontinent, which can lead to many an awkward experiences for immigrants to the USA. Even when prices are posted, they are almost always negotiable (electronics, CDs, clothes, handicrafts) unless they are at an upmarket boutique/store. Many second-generation desis I know have bonded over stories of mothers trying to haggle down prices of onions at a US grocery store, while their embarrassed children scamper to the next aisle and pretend they are unrelated. I remember an incident where my father valiantly tried and failed to negotiate a discount on a mattress for me while the salesman repeatedly told him the prices were set.

Flip the scenario and Westerners are equally ill-equipped to negotiate the kharidari (shopping) culture of countries like India and Pakistan. I remember how on my first couple of visits I was terribly uncomfortable at the mere thought of haggling. In countries like India, with a huge tourist industry, locals get used to Westerners willingness to pay the first quoted price on anything, and quickly realize a lucrative opportunity... instead of starting at a price 50 to 100% more, and then coming down to their actual price... they can start at triple, quadruple or 10 times the actual rate and make a pretty penny off Westerners too polite or clueless to ask about 'the discount'. In countries like Pakistan, it's a bit different. There isn't a large enough population of tourists for locals to have become accustomed to. Therefore, the experience can be the puzzling for both parties.

Some foreigner/tourists believe that, given that inequality in power/economic roles between traveler and local, it would be almost immoral to request any price lower than the initial offer while others ruthlessly argue over pennies (at various times living abroad, I admit having done both). Some, such as my sister who has a background in economics, call prices inflated for a certain group "discriminatory pricing", and explain that it is an inadequate way to address macro problems of economic inequality and can have larger and unforeseen negative market consequences. Lacking expertise in economics, we fall somewhere in between, engaging in the act of negotiating/haggling (in part because it is culturally expected) but also accepting/being willing to pay a somewhat higher price than locals.

Having lived in the subcontinent for a year, I've become a lot more comfortable with the culture of haggling, and have even come to enjoy it at times. At first, like many others unfamiliar with the practice, I mistakenly interpreted the haggling interaction as an adversarial one, walking away angry if we couldn't come to a mutually agreeable price. Over time though, I began to see it as a routine and sometimes playful part of a social interaction. Although I have the basics down (having a general sense of the local price, good-naturedly asking for a discount, making jokes at prices that are outrageously high, being willing to walk away), I'm still figuring out the subtleties of when negotiating is and is not expected.

Last night was a perfect example. Devin was famished and craving pizza, so we dug up the number of the pizza place and made an order. I was feeling proud of myself for conducting the entire conversation in Urdu (and in my fantasy world imagined I hadn't been discovered as a foreigner). However, we were both a bit surprised at the price of the pizza: 410 ruppees for a 11 inch. While the equivalent, 7 dollars, may not seem like a lot in the US... by Pakistani standards it's quite high.

When the delivery man arrived, Devin took longer talking to him than I expected, so I yelled out to ask what was going on. Turns out that the guy had taken pity on us for not knowing that we were supposed to haggle and gave us a 20% discount and free Pepsi... he went on to give Devin his personal cell phone number, saying that if we called him directly in the future, he could get us the same pizza for 210 rupees (probably expecting a small tip).

It made me laugh, because like so many things in Pakistan, there is always a back channel... even for pizza delivery. And also because it reminds me of other times when I haven't haggled but accepted the initial price. Of course, sometimes people are happy to take your money, but in several instances shopkeepers have looked at me uncomfortably and uncertainly... and, after shifting for a minute while counting my change, announced that they are giving me a discount (anywhere from 10-30% off). My interpretation being that by failing to negotiate, I've made a social faux pas... forcing them to overcharge me more than they feel is fair, and thus they give me a partial discount to maintain their own sense of business integrity. So, the lesson is, next time you order pizza in Pakistan (at least from Ginos)*, don't accept the first price! :-)

* I imagine this may not apply in the same way to transnational chains such as Pizza Hut, though who knows?

ii. Professional Pakistani Bartenders

You might imagine that they are few and far between in a country where the possession and sale of alcohol is illegal for over 95% of the population (all Muslims). And, you would probably be right. Sure there are a 3-4 formal bars in the fancy hotels around the city, but other than that, it's mostly a DIY affair. While the black market is extensive and thriving, and half the population seems to have a bootlegger, professional bartenders are another matter. . We met our first one today.

Walking home, an old man on the scooter approached from the opposite direction.

"What's your country?" he yelled as he slowed to a stop. Devin answered "USA" at the same time as he kept walking on. Devin especially (with his red hair and blue eyes) is accustomed to being chatted up by random people on the street, due to the lack of tourism and scarcity of foreigners in Pakistan, people are often eager to talk to someone from another country. For some reason, I stopped and turned to face the man who had a mischievous grin, a pakol hat, and the beginning of an underbite perhaps caused by a loss of teeth. He was frail but lively, dressed in a salwar kamiz with a vest buttoned over top.

"Ah, USA, I have lived there! Where in the USA?"
"Seattle, Washington"
"Oh, not there. I lived in Houston, Texas, beautiful place. then in New York." He flashed us another grin, "you know, I'm a professional bartender!"
"Really? Not so many jobs in Pakistan , na?"
"No," he scowled, "but I worked at the PC." (arguably the fanciest hotel in town)

He went on to recount his adventures in bartending, how he missed going out to get an ice cold one at the local bar back in the USA (making an exuberant gesture of cheering his imaginary mug of beer), and swore about this blasted country where you can't get a proper drop to drink. "It's like a graveyard here!" He exclaimed good-humoredly and proceeded to produce a business card.

"If you want a party at your house, call me (wink wink nudge nudge)... you want Johnny Walker Black? I've got it, Johnny Walker Black." Devin smiled, but politely declined the offer which was repeated several times, explaining that he had a liquor permit. The old man smartly shot back that even with a liquor permit you can't get the good imported stuff (true, imported stuff usually only comes on black market... with a permit you can buy deadly cheap, although mediocre, liquor made in Pakistan).

At that, we said our goodbyes and the old man sped away while we walked home smiling.

This one's for Amber's mom who asked if we had any recent photos to share.

So here are a smattering of photos from the last month. Starting out with the mouse nest that Devin found in his suitcase when we were packing to move to our new place:



One very traumatized mouse ran out of the bag after Devin unknowingly dropped it on the floor :(.

On nearly every street in Lahore, you'll find these little snack-vendors. The setup is a bowl of hot sand placed over a fire, on a pushcart. In the mitti, a variety of things are roasted, the usual choices being: peanuts, soaked chick peas, soft corn, and hard/pop corn. It quickly became one of our favorite snacks, bought in Rs. 5 or Rs. 10 quantities (8-16 cents). One of the downsides of living in a wealthy neighborhood where car culture prevails is that we hardly see these snack vendors pushing their carts down the streets. In fact, the only one that we've seen was in the small bazaar near our house.





An illustration of the lack of water in our house most mornings:



We love our rooftop! We have a panaramic view (of a bunch of other rooves) and often spend our weekend afternoons soaking up the sun in this brief period of spring before the summer heat.



A game on the roof.



A neighbor weaving a net(?) on her roof.



Riding a scooter, Pakistani style. Middle class people in the US get an SUV when they start a family. Middle class people in the subcontinent get scooters. (Look closely - there is a whole family of 5 on this 110 cc bike).



The best roti ever comes down this shoot from a mysterious tandoor in the sky. These are no lackluster roti, but thick, wide rotis with both tender, chewy bits and and roasted, crispy pockets! The microphone is to call up the orders. Amber's favorite occupation of late: going to the market to watch the order go up and the rotis come down. It's important to always buy an extra roti because it's impossible not to devour one on the way home (Though they are best if you can wait till you get them home and slather them with butter, Mmmmmm).

More photos are here.

It was a good morning, both Devin and I got to take showers before the water went out. He made a big pot of steaming elaichi chai that we slurped down by the cupful, his with honey and mine with chini(sugar).

There is one month of perfect weather in Lahore, when men and women emerge from winter's cover of wide woolen shawls pulled over heads and shoulders. The chill has departed and summer's blistering heat has yet to arrive. I find my spirits lift with these days, as winter's weak sun swells to a buttery warmth. Nasturtiums, marigolds, dahlias, and sweet alyssum spill out of their pots, naïvely thriving before the fierce heat of summer scorches all tender greens to the last drop of moisture.

We step into blinding sun and brazen sky, I squint and Devin has a sharp pain in his head from the sudden contrast. Clear and carolling blue, the sky is eerily vacant, with only an odd crow diving, instead of the usual gaggle of a thousand bright kites bobbing in the breeze. There is a ban on the ritual spring (Basant) kite flying this year after innovations in synthetic kite string, razor sharp, led to hundreds of injured and dead, necks and bodies sliced by the taut invisible wire.

Devin walks on to work and I circle back home, making sure to place my sore ankle carefully on level ground with each step. To my right a heavy concrete water or watch tower rises up on crisscross girders. In the shadow beneath it, a small black cat squeezes between the wire fence and begins to trot across the road. Without looking, it quickens its pace, hearing and rumble of an approaching motorcycle. In one quick moment, I see its miscalculation. The cycle swerves around the corner, and the cat's hind quarters launch into a run. Then, just like that, a tumble of black fur and the cat flips over like a plastic bag caught in an alley-gust. I let out an involuntary shriek as a cycle continues on. The startled man looks briefly over his shoulder, his legs, draped in a loose salwar, are relaxed astride the purring metal engine.

I glance around, and either nobody else on the street noticed what happened or am I particularly faint of heart. It's true, I've always been hyper sensitive to witnessing violence or injury... I screen my eyes during TV shows and wait for Devin to tell me when the violence and gore is over. A gut-level recoil, I protect the bodypart I see being injured; a case of over-active empathy*.... and perhaps more so as my own body has become increasingly fragile.

I remember thinking once that it was ironic, how averse I was to witnessing others being hurt when I worked for seven years with survivors of violence and abuse. I finally explained it like this: an anonymous stranger, a character on TV is being injured and I'm a passive bystander... powerless to offer intervention or help. However, the woman recounting abuse at the hands of her husband or family is someone I have a personal connection with. She has survived those moments of trauma and is here with me now. Her telling is part of surviving and healing, I do not recoil, physically or emotionally. We have a personal connection, and me bearing witness to her experiences can play a powerful and validating role, connecting her more deeply and strongly to the reality of her strength and experiences which have often been been mocked, discounted or denied.

Nobody seems to have heard me cry out and, to my relief, the terrified cat, tail electrified, leaps up and bounds across the road and beneath the tower's shadow. Shocked that it can still run, I dart across the road follow it. Peeking through the metal-mesh of the gate, I see is hiding behind a the base of a girder... it doesn't seem to be limping. I strain my head over a bit to get a better look at it and realize three children are staring at me. Two young girls dressed in freshly stitched, identical pink and purple salwar kameez glare at me, and a boy in dusty white kamiz shuffles his feet. Saying nothing, I step away from the fence, put my blank face back on, and continue walking down the road.

* I love Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower for creating a character (Lauren) based around a extreme/visceral version of hyper-empathy.