It is getting colder in the mountains. I can handle it—it will never get as cold as it routinely does in Minnesota, and there is no snow here, unlike on the East Coast right now. Also, it is very dry, which makes it easier to stay warm. But there is absolutely no heating in houses. Also, all houses are made from concrete and stone, with stone floors—not very warming.
So, after layering clothes for days on end, I decided to break down and buy a space heater. I hesitated only because the family who I’m staying with does not use them yet, and I felt like I could hack it as well. But they are also Garhwalis, and therefore are used to this weather. I might have grown up in colder climates, but I also grew up in houses with insulation.
There are a variety of ways to keep one’s room warm in India. None of them are central heating, but rather an array of dangerous space heaters. I wanted a small, cheap one that I could either carry easily with me to my next field site or just leave here without regret. One shopkeeper recommended a sort of small, portable stove with a ceramic top. It was cheap and he said that it would keep a small room warm. Given that space heaters in India aren’t particularly safe, I figured an actual stove would be a fair approximation.
When I took the device home, I saw that it had no plug. I have seen Indians putting stripped wires into sockets and I knew this is what the shopkeeper had assumed that I would do as well. But I decided to go back the next day and ask him to put a plug on the wires. He cordially agreed and handed the finished work back to me. I asked, predicting where this would go, to test the stove out in the store. He eagerly agreed, plugged it in, turned it on, and then backed away quickly as the “on” light bulb was shot out of the stovetop. He looked at the stove understandingly, fiddled with wires some more, and then tried again. This time there was a legit explosion with smoke and an awful smell. He showed me that a bare wire had touched the iron of the stove, and then told me that he would give me another one. I argued that it was, “Safe nahi hai,” and he gave me a refund without any argument.
In the next store, I purchased a space heater of the same design that Victoria has in Mussoorie. It is much safer, unless you put your wet socks on it to try them. Victoria’s socks now have burn marks, but otherwise everyone was safe. It is now next to my bed, shining with an uncomforting amount of orange glow. Fortunately, there are no small children around. This space heater also came without a plug, but the shopkeeper that I bought it from was much more competent with electronics.
The good news about all of this is that, as I previously mentioned, all houses are made from stone and concrete. So, the fire hazard is relatively small. I wondered if the spaces heaters would be designed with safety in mind if houses were made from wood. But then I remember that this is India, and I know that they would not be. For a country with a very large population, there seem to be many ways for Darwinism to play out. I wonder what the population would be if there weren’t so many ways—traffic accidents, dangerous appliances, monkeys, and diseases, to name a few—that slow or just unlucky children can succumb to evolutionary tests.
In terms of work, I have been busy. I'm now up to 35 surveys, which is amazing! I had hoped to have 25 by the time that I got back to America, and it looks like I'll have 40 or more. The women who I've been working with are great, and are very helpful during the interviews. It's also an excuse to see beautiful, natural areas. On my days off, I don't really feel like hiking, because I'm usually recovering from my field work. Plus, all the tourist areas aren't as beautiful as the villages that we end up just finding.
One tradition that I have found is that the whole village eats a blessed lunch together. This happened both in Baragoan and Meerak, two small villages in which I work. I did eat the lunch with the people who I was working with, and did not get sick. The nice aspect about this is that it shows that these villages do have a large sense of community, even though self-appointed "experts" on the area claim that urban migration is ruining Garhwali communities. This is true to some extent, but even if men migrate to cities, it is clear that a lot of women maintain community traditions without them. Besides, there have been a lot of men at these free lunches, so I doubt how much time the experts have really spent with the people in these villages.
I met a very nice family in Meerak, and they invited me back to their house on Sunday. Their daughter, Anuja, wants to learn English and she says that she will teach me Garhwali in exchange for English. That sounds like a good plan, but I don't know if my Hindi is up for it. Her father will be in their home on Sunday and he speaks English, so we'll see what kind of language exchange happens.
Most importantly, I'm flying back to the USA in less-than-a-week. Exciting!
