Cricket and Ants and everything that crawls

"What you don't understand about cricket is that it is a huge mind game, once you understand that the game makes sense"
As I'm sitting here in the GDL courtyard, the power having just faded out from the fans, speakers and lights with the soft whir of a dying spaceship finally set to drift among the cosmos, several of the staff members along with a few members of the local community are practicing their cricket skills, which involves bouncing a tennis ball at a man holding a flat bat who is standing in front of a garbage can, evidently meant to represent the "stump", here as with most things at GDL a certain amount of "Jugar" is at play, a Hindi word meaning creativity in using what you have to get things done, sort of a combination of ghetto and innovation (ghettovation?)that i've been assured is a buzzword for operations in rural India. While those who are playing certainly seem to be deriving some enjoyment from the action, the only "mind" at work that I can observe is with the rest of us interns who, skeptical of this odd ritual taking place, are taking particular care to mind that our faces do not get pommeled with the ball being smashed in our direction. We'll be no doubt scheduling a viewing of Lagaan in the near future so that out minds can become acquainted with the stunning concept that is known by the deceptively minuscule and chirping name of cricket, despite being far and away India's most popular sport.

Speaking of Jugar, things have been heating up for the Mobile Naukri Marketing Team, where we have been set the target of 2,500 job-seekers registered in our database and 100 job-opportunities filled by the end of our internship in mid-July. Daunting as this may seem (and I assure you it doth), we have put together a comprehensive and and somewhat intensive plan to accomplish this goal, mainly by setting up shop in a major town center and handing out fliers/business cards and generally "bringing the buzz" with our "mobile marketing booths" that we will transport via India's luxurious and hassle free bus system (sarcasm alert) to the 6 greatest population centers in Jhunjhunu district, knocking down one a week with a maelstrom of Mobile Naukri Marketing that should be irresistible to Rajasthan's rural job-seekers. Only problem is we don't have a portable table or tent of any sort nor no anywhere to get one, slightly essential to our whole portable marketing booth plan of action, so we're going to spend the next day scouting around the GDL compound for possible materials to cobble together a table (some blocks and an old white board?) and tent (poles from the mops and a bed sheet?) fit to do the job. I feel confident we can assemble a regular "Jugar"naught that is unstoppable, unswerving, and quite possibly highly unattractive, but regardless we'll have our base station from which to conduct Mobile Naukri operations.

Speaking of maelstroms, we had our own actual freak weather event this past week when the first rains hit with a vengeance, dropping the temperature from the high 110s to the low 70s in the span of a say, and leading a number of us to play "storm volleyball" in the downpour, getting chilled and soaked but thoroughly enjoying every minute of furious play, accompanied occasionally by the thunderous applause of the heavens to celebrate a particularly destructive spike or bump. The rain continued throughout the night and the following day, keeping the power off with it and leading us to resort to candlelight and cellphone Hindi songs for our night's entertainment. By the time the sun finally reappeared the sweltering sauna of the previous week was a distant memory and we were all eager to welcome it back, knowing we would most likely be cursing it within a day to salutes of sweat and the rasping of parched mouths. Later I was to learn the change in weather was due to a major cyclone that had caused much destruction and several deaths in Pakistan and Oman before turning down into Rajasthan to flood us out of our heat-soaked stupor. As with many things in this part of the world tragedy and tribulation were often part and parcel, two sides of a capricious coin passing through the hands and lives of the many.

This was the case with the one other development of our week, the expedition to what we had expected to be out first Indian wedding, a glamorous and gala event involving the procession of the gold-festooned groom on a white horse and the excess of food, dancing and song until the wee hours of the morning. After an hour of walking along the highway in the dark, we finally arrived at the place, where the groom, (who was the former student of a man who ran an English training institute who was an acquaintance or one of the other staff members at GDL..), practically our best friend, greeted us warmly and gave us some chairs to sit and rest on. After which we grabbed some ok but incredibly spicy food and made our exit, no dancing, no music, not white horse. Turns out this was the reception, the wedding taking place at a special auspicious time around 1 am a week distant. What followed was over an hour of unsuccessfully attempting to flag down a bus to take us back to Bagar, which we finally achieved just after witnessing a motorcycle driver lose control and crash along the side of the road a little ways ahead of us. The next day the newspaper had an article proclaiming India's newly claimed position as number one in traffic fatalities in all the world, a claim that after our experience with the roads and those who drove them we found hard to dispute, and thus resolved to take extra caution when traveling about. Now to get invited to a real Indian wedding...