Betty Crocker

After a night of tossing and turning in a room that has me baking like a muffin in an adult version of a Betty Crocker Easy Bake Oven, there is nothing I look forward to more than a cold shower and good, full body exfoliation. But this being Delhi and temperatures being what they are, cold showers are not as easy to come by as one would think. With the exception of my temporary moments of weakness when I actually shave myself, I have not turned on my water heater. No need. The metal water tanks sit on the roof and have what I assume is a minimum of insulation and they spend their days lazily basking in the over 40 degree weather, not a drop of shade in sight. I have considered filling my tub with bags of tea and just stewing as that is supposed to be good for the skin, but I am afraid it may make me a bit wheatish and rob me of some of my gora-ness.

Yes, the heat is on and it is working its way all over my body. I am not quite recovered from my near malarial experience when suddenly I am confronted with the itchy reality that is prickly heat. So now, several times a day, I have to take a shower and then powder myself until I look like a doughnut. Thank the gods for movies like Memoires of a Geisha that have brought the overly powdered look back into vogue. And I don’t just use any powder, I use a special one that contains some sort of menthol like ingredient (I would know what it was if I bothered to read the label) and let me just say, a few sprinkles on my team and suddenly I was wide awake. For anyone looking for cheap thrills, at 59 rupees a bottle, that’s about as cheap as they come.

Something has been brought to my attention and I am embarrassed and disappointed in myself that I did not notice it first, but it has become my new unsolved mystery and I fully intend to dedicate my life searching for the answer. There I was, reading my friend Stephen’s blog. Oh, by the way, it is Stephen with a “v” sound. Why don’t they just write it Steven then? Why all the drama with the “ph”? Doesn’t his mother know we are on the verge of an alphabetical famine and there she goes, throwing around extra consonants like they grow on trees. Anyway Stephen with a “v” sound also keeps a blog and suddenly I find myself standing on the platform, ready to dive into the online journalistic pool where we will freestyle toward the gold medal of adoration. But that is not what I am here to write about. He made an observation on his blog that the streets that were once so crowded with the cows who lunch are suddenly deserted and easily navigated. Today on my way into the office, I was struck by the absence of the girls hanging out on the divider, giving each other hooficures and perms, exchanging the latest is farm animal gossip.

Where did they go? This is the Mayan Indians all over again. Not one cow between my home and office. Although last night while walking back from the market, I did get sniffed up by a cow I hardly know. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended, but as there was no actual contact or kissing of cheeks, I decided that no picture burning needed to take place. I would write some humorous story about what might have happened to them, but Stephen with a “v” sound has already done that here.

Oh, and while you are on his blog, take a look at the pictures and check out my new flat. Well, it will be mine as soon as I find some sort of evil way to snatch it out from under Stephen and Pierre when they aren’t looking. Hmmm… Suddenly Snow White just popped into my head – I can be the like the evil queen, lock myself in a dungeon and make some sort of yummy concoction. Perhaps a bunch of cocktails that will knock them out long enough for me to get the locks changed.

And speaking of cocktails, the news every alcoholic and cocktail aficionado has been waiting for has finally arrived. It seems that fruity cocktails are to be considered health foods as the alcohol increases the antioxidants in the fruits. So actually, I might be stealing an apartment, but I would do it in the healthiest way possible.