"It's actually really good if you can get past the fact they made it with ketchup."

... The title was a quote from James, in reference to the "Mexican salsa" served along with our "Mexican" nachos, quesadilla, chimichanga and burrito. All of them were made of the exact same thing: Chicken, some creamy white sauce with peas and corn in it, "sour cream" that was just mayo with some spices, and a tortilla. The burrito and chimichanga came smothered in authentic American bbq sauce. Oddly tasty. See photo.

What can I say? There are good days, and there are not so good days. Today was one of the latter kind. Six hours of studying (on Indian Independence Day -- our day off, mind you), and several work days that went well into the night were not enough to earn me a passing grade on my programming fundamentals test this morning. I am not alone, but among the vast majority of our class who failed this test. The Debbie Downer in me keeps saying stupid things like "well, maybe you're not cut out for this. Maybe you just didn't try very hard." But then when I'm being real about it I get all fired up because I'm no dummy, and I've been working my ass off all this time and something about this teaching style has got to change. It's one thing to listen to someone talk at you with little to no practice with the concepts or interaction for 3.5 hours every once in a while, but it is another to do this routine day after day. Every concept I'm learning is brand new to me, and before I've had the chance to absorb it, we're on to the next concept, which only builds upon the previous. And then it just keeps building and building. To say the least, I am frustrated. Most, if not all of us are.

But to be less of a Debbie Downer, here are some of the highlights from the past several days:

Mmmm. Schwarmmmmmmmas. There's a great little joint in Mysore called "Lemon Tree." They're a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves chicken and schwarmas, which are basically chicken gyros on small pita-type bread. AMAZING. And at something that converts to about 35 cents for each one, that's a tasty cheap meal.

"It's a bird! It's a plane! It's SUPER FIRE-ALARM MAN!!!"
While sitting in class today, we were in the midst of a heated debated with HR about a new 10p.m. curfew policy (weekends included), when we heard an odd sort of screechy-scream of sorts outside the door. This went on for several minutes before we were told that this was, in fact, a fire alarm, and that we all had to evacuate the building promptly. Now think back to high school when everyone is just kind of lazily gliding to the door in a "here we go again" manner. This was the same kind of thing, but with one major difference: There are no alarms installed on the walls. No clanging, piercing hammer-on-bell objects. And yet, there was this noise. Where was this noise coming from? As we headed for the steps, we heard the alarm getting louder. And then, THEN, from around the corner, in a startlingly dedicated fashion, came a guard, running. Not only was he running, but he was blowing a whistle. Oh, AND he was turning the crank on a giant horn attached to his belly, much like a percussionist in a marching band carries their drum. And at this sight, much of the built-up tension from a stressful day melted (temporarily) away.

"Soccer game ... Cricket game ... Soccer game ... Cricket game ..."
Yesterday during a bit of free time, I went down to the soccer/cricket field to watch a match between Americans and Indians. When I got there, I thought something seemed a little amiss. That's when my friends and I realized that there was a cricket game going on in the middle of the soccer game. Right there. Cricket paddles, balls and all. It turns out there was a group of guys playing cricket who had been there all day, and when their game ended, they were not so willing to give up the field for an hour-long soccer game. The field is not reservable. So the soccer boys, feeling peeved that these guys wouldn't share the field for one hour when they had already been there all day, proceeded to play the game right through the cricket game. I've never seen anything like it. It was hilarious.

It may cause cancer
Sarah brought microwave popcorn to India. We have no microwaves in our rooms, and a cheap one here is over $100. So today, Sarah wanted some of her popcorn, and I accompanied her to the Floating Restaurant on campus, where we knew they had a microwave. We presented two bags of microwave popcorn to Unni, the sweetest, most kindly person you'll ever meet.
"Okay, Unni. Here, you just take off the plastic and you unfold it, and just put it in the microwave for 3 minutes, okay?"
"Okay, yeah! Sure, of course!"
"Okay, so just 3 minutes, just like this."
"Yeah, okay!"
... 3 minutes go by. And 4. And 5. And maybe also 6 or 7. We decide to check out the popcorn situation. Calling for Unni, we declare that "it's okay, Unni -- we don't really need it. It's no big deal if it burned. We burn popcorn all the time!" And to our surprise, Unni comes over and tells us that it's not ready yet. Not ready? After a good 7 minutes in a microwave? "But it should be good in about 3 minutes." Unni: "Well, it isn't done. I don't know why." And Unni convinces us to stick around for 3 more minutes. Three minutes pass and sure enough, out comes Unni carrying a giant plastic fruit bowl with a good pile of uncooked, buttered popcorn seeds and about 1.5 cups of popped popcorn. Out of the bag. There was a big bubble in the plastic bowl and it was scalding from being in the microwave for so long. It was so cute.
"Unni," I said, "you didn't have to scrape it out of the bag. You can just put the bag in the microwave..."
"Oh, yeah, sure! Sure! Yeah!"
It gave us a good giggle. And the popcorn we did get out of the deal was delicious.