Sundays

Sundays are the only day "off" for Indians, the only non-work day. Sundays are a day to rest, a day to be with family, a day to relax (and apparently for the majority of Indian men, a day to drink a lot and go to work hungover on Monday, ah see, we aren't all so different).

Here, Sundays are pancake day, reminiscent of my own childhood where Sundays were also pancake day, or more often, Dad's french toast. Sundays are also biryani day, a nice break from our standard lunch of rice and yellow dahl.

Sundays are nice.

Today I went to the market and stocked up on apples and oranges. We got caught in a wedding procession, which was a big truck with loud speakers going through the town and a group of about 15 men dancing and singing in front of it. Where the woman was, I do not know. As we walked along and tried to make it through the group and get back to campus, I had one of many instances I have here where I say to myself "damn, where is my camera?"

Anyone that knows me, knows how much I love a little rooftop happy hour. My friends and I in DC are frequent takers of the rooftop bar, and luckily, there are many for us to choose from, one of the best being at my old apartment building where Kristen and I would frequently head up with a glass of wine and debrief our days.

So today I decided to have my own rooftop happy hour. Armed with my book and a nalgene bottle with some beer I headed to the roof of the building next door to watch the sunset. It was, in a word, beautiful. Its still 80s here and there was not a cloud in the sky. I looked out at the lush green fields and saw a man with his herd of goats, and listened to the sound of people driving by, talking, in the village background. I looked out at the campus, and felt incredibly lucky to be here. While its no Bristol House, its not half bad.

Then the birds came. Lots and lots and lots of birds, making lots and lots of noise. They drove me to retreat to the safety of my room. I guess they want to have their happy hour too.