November 11, 2021 | Leave a comment To feast at weddings, rub charas, and be festive with the Hindu gods. Parvati Valley, Himachal Pradesh, India. Monthly Mood: ’Tis The Season New content… new About page old about page made into a post: About Vivian Alive TBT: Diwali Delights Happy 11 11(: After seven shaves last year, my hair turns one today. Not one snip or buzz, just water and love and a whole lotta sprouting. Rishikesh, Uttarakhand, India. Relevant read: 10 Reasons To Go Bald This Summer October More than in any other country in the world India is the village. Everybody spouts this truism; nobody really comprehends it. The 600,000 villages are spouts this truism; nobody really comprehends it. The 600,000 villages are where eighty per cent of all Indians live. This is a remarkable consideration. Flying over India one looks down at what one knows (for one has been endlessly told) is a country overpopulated to the point of suffocation—and for three quarters of the time one sees nothing, nothing except an immense ochre-coloured emptiness, as barren of life as the rind of the moon. But only travel on the surface of this vast place and you begin to understand: nowhere is wholly deserted; somewhere in every frame of vision is someone: a solitary man behind a plough, a boy with a buffalo awash in a pond, a frieze of women waiting at a well; no scene is wholly lifeless, ever. —James Cameron, An Indian Summer October buzzes with holiday cheer in Himachal Pradesh. The calendar of my village brims with traditional marriage ceremonies spanning three days each, nine holy nights of Navratri, a week of parading devta deities for Dusshera, and Hindu women decorating their palms in henna and fasting for their husbands’ health on Karva Chauth. Premature blasts of firecrackers and storefronts hidden behind mountains of confectionary boxes for an incoming Diwali make Halloween and Thanksgiving seem but a far away haze. When my tastebuds have the fortune of crossing paths with a Himachali wedding, on the third and final day I habitually ask if I can join for one of my favorite activities in the state: eating dham. Men from a specific ‘boti’ caste have been historically dedicated to the elaborate preparation of this meal. The six vegetarian delicacies slopped onto your pile of rice have followed a specific order since ancient times. A red, sweet rice laced with ghee is served to top off the orchestra of flavors. Some families may choose to impress their wedding guests with matar paneer (green peas and cheese) as the starter or kaddoo ka khatta (sour pumpkin) towards the end, but Himachali dham in the Kullu area invariably features urad dal, rajma, and kadhi. Dham is thought to have originated from temple food service, and certainly feels that way in modern times. Traditionally enjoyed with your hands from a pattal, or plate of dried leaves sewn together, one better chow fast because the next batch of fifty folks is waiting for you to finish. Round after round is doled out from 1-9pm. The result is that unique to Himachal, wedding events are often a dine and dash kinda fare. During the week of Dusshera I take another delicious retreat to Manikaran. Thermal mineral soaks, coffee in the sun piercing through the windows onto my bed, Meena paranthas, PB and rhubarb apricot Js, Tibetan tsampa balls on repeat. On the first and final days of this hot springs hermitage, the village I base myself in has weddings, both of which my stomach and I dutifully crash. The tap water numbing my fingers every morning and encountering monolithic scorpions sharing my bed at 2am (just hours after the final events in my previous Monthly Mood) and uncovering a chilled but live snake on my carpet (October end) begins to erode my patience. Enough is enough. I feel a shift southward coming soon. Me: When you look at your camera roll at noon and remember 2am Delfina: What did you do with this guy/girl? Me: Lol i catapulted it into the marigolds —Whatsapp Before giving Parvati my farewell, I finally take the steep hike up to Rashol for a day trip. Day 1360 28 October 2021 Jari → Jai Nala → Katagla → Chalal → Rashol → Kasol → Jari Key to powering up for the ascent was buttering the shit out of a thick parantha (BYOB) and downing proper chai, all prepared by my favorite Nepali family. Like many Parvati hamlets at this time of year, the welcoming scene to one’s arrival is an entire family sitting in the sun working on their production. Young or old, everyone’s hands are slick with oil from 10-feet ganja plants. My thing is to order tea at a view and head back to where I came from. It was a particularly good choice with Rashol because to my disbelief, the October sun disappeared over the hill by 2:35 pm, setting a new record. Back down by at Parvati River I walked from Chalal to Kasol. The pleasant path is cliche for shallow tourism in Parvati, yet I’d never taken it before. At the old German Bakery where nothing is German, someone changed their bakery order just so I could also have one of the last two cinnamon rolls. Pyaare, my home boy from The Daily Grind, made me a gorgeous 40-rupee Americano. As always, I inhaled pastries from other businesses in his shop and requested a ceramic rather than disposable cup for my joe. Earlier that same day I came across a mixed flock of birds feeding on insects by the river. I was in Katagla on my way to the Rashol trailhead. Among miscellaneous gray and yellow warblers and the adorable black-throated tits, I strained my neck and gazed in awe at several yellow-bellied fairy flycatchers. They way they almost float in mid air, if only for a moment, really made them look like fairies. It had been a full year since I got to see that brilliant yellow brow. November Forgiveness can be like peeling the layers of an onion. If there are too many tears, put the onion away for a day. You can always come back and peel another layer. —Louise Hay; Love Yourself, Heal Your Life Workbook Curious to see experience on the Ganges, I took the taxing journey back to Rishikesh, Uttarakhand. I’d enjoyed over half a year in Himachal Pradesh. I don’t know the next time I can go back. During a particularly long wait at the Bilaspur bus stand, I got roasted peanuts heated in ash and was invited to sit in the admin office where there was a humble, portable heater. The main night of the five days of Diwali is a nonstop show of firecrackers bursting over Tapovan. I admire the hysteria from my balcony and consider how meek the home fireworks of the Fourth of July compare. I ignite my first diya lamps with ghee and cotton wick and all and place them to flicker around my room. At sundown I set two diyas free on the Ganges herself, each in their cozy boat of leaves. Until now I’ve been laying low due to the flu. There was no testing available near me. Covid-19 or not, I couldn’t smell or taste for two days. I stayed in bed spooning chyawanprash and cooked myself a piquant pot of khichdi. This mush of rice and mung beans is India’s quintessential healing food, served in hospitals to women who have just given birth and by ashrams feeding the masses in the streets. Khichdi required me to overcome my fear of pressure cookers. After 22.5 months in India the daring deed was long overdue. The sputtering at the spout scared me. The whistle that lasted so long and let out enough steam to fill a sauna had me ducking behind a wall in the next room, but nothing happened. Day 1360 10 November 2021 Laxman Jhula → Ram Jhula → Laxman Jhula My recovery has been rapid and this morning I took a run and a sit along the Ganges. The holy river is now a clean green-blue. I am enthused to my bones to spend the rest of my day blogging and tackling two kitchen projects: Aimee Song’s Raw Bar that’s actually not raw at all and Punjabi chole. Clearly my strengths all lie in Western cuisine as only one of the finished works is featured below. obsessions: medium light roast single-origin arabica beansmy 70s hair flipbody oilsthermal bathshyper hardboiled gourmet reportraja, rasoi aur anya kahaniyanvinyasa flowsnon-hormonal crying/ hormonal meltdownspeepal farms vegan chocolate spreadyogurt muesli bowlssunlight in my roomthick cotton bed sheetsmoon riverbuttered aloo paranthasbutter tsampa ballsbutter honey rotirhubarb apricot jamcupwingsyellow-bellied fairy fantailspersimmonschyawanprashdiyakhichdiapricot kernel body oilpumpkin soupindian pressure cookersinner child workeverything i wrote about myanmarkimia datesaimee song’s barindian vegetarian recipe blogscrunchy spirulinahemp heartssalted almond dark chocolate Bird of the month: Scaly-breasted cupwing Source: Prashant Kumar, eBird. A cuddle-worthy pygmy of a thing with a rounded eye, chest of speckles, and a feisty call to tell you to back off, which is precisely how we met. The stunted tail makes the cupwing an absolute ball of feathers. Plain at first glance, something had me stop and take in every feature before pulling out my Merlin ID app during on my ascent up to Rashol making this perfect ten my 130th bird identified in India. Current book: Love Yourself, Heal Your Life Workbook by Louise Hay Previous Monthly Mood: Good Company Comes In All Shapes Explore my full archive of India and Monthly Moods. Learn more about this round-the-world solo trip.