Banana Phone

Don't get too excited, Raffi hasn't come to Hyderabad. I'm currently listening to the kids at the preschool next-door sing the Indian version of "Frere Jacques," so I'm momentarily reliving my childhood. Anyway, "Banana Phone" isn't just some random reference, it's just the best song I know about bananas. For the past two weekends, I've gone on trips in the state of Karnataka, which I've dubbed "the land of bananas." Seriously though, I have never tasted such delicious bananas before, or seen so many different kinds. I'm not claiming to have become a banana connoisseur or anything, but I am now convinced that you haven't tasted a banana until you've tasted a banana in Karnataka.  My new favorite bananas only share a basic resemblance with the bananas that you buy in American grocery stores. These Karnatakan bananas are about 3-inches long and at their widest point, have about a 1-inch diameter. (While I've become accustomed to the whole driving on the wrong side of the road, I have yet to develop an affinity for the metric system.) The banana peel is so thin that on the really ripe bananas it takes a little effort to separate it from part that you want to eat. Did I mention that these bananas were probably just cut off of a banana tree at the edge of town that morning? These bananas are the banana-y tasting bananas that you'll ever eat. As my family can attest, I'm pretty picky when it comes to fruit. I don't do bruises or squishy bits or anything of that sort (though India has taught me not to judge a banana by its peel). These delicate little bananas, however, are ripe and delicious and are a beautiful firm texture that passes even my hyper-sensitive quality check. To top it all off, you can buy a bunch of about 10 of these wondrous mini bananas for Rs.10, the equivalent of about 20 cents. I wish I could bring you all some of these amazing bananas so you could try them for yourselves, but somehow I don't think U.S. customs would take to kindly to that idea.

Ok, I promise that's the one and only banana rant that I'm going to put you through. Karnataka, is in fact, much more than just bananas. On my first trip in Karnataka I journeyed to Hampi, which is the ruined city of Vijayanagar, and could easily be described as the land of the dreadlocked-hippies. Really, they were everywhere. Sometimes I wonder what Indians must think of these dreadlocked tourists, since in Hinduism only extreme ascetics, the sadhus, dreadlock their hair. Anyway, Hampi was this very cool combination of impressive temples, relaxing roof-top cafes, funny-looking rock formations (which, legend has it, the monkey-god Hanuman and his monkey army created by dropping boulders to show off their strength), and elephants. Or actually one elephant in particular--Lakshmi. (Ok, one more digression. This was about the third or fourth elephant in India that I've met whose name is Lakshmi. You'd think they could be a little more creative or something.)  Lakshmi is the 21-year-old temple elephant at the main temple in Hampi, the Virupaksha Temple. She's quite remarkable. If you catch her at the right time, and give her the correct amount of money (Rs. 2 for Indians and Rs.10 for foreigners), she will bless you with her trunk. To be more accurate: she takes the monetary donation in her trunk, gives it to her owner, and then bops you on the head with her trunk. I've discovered that elephants are sort of prickly--they have these very stiff hairs on their trunks sort of like whiskers. To make a full circle, Lakshmi is a big fan of those little bananas too!

Lakshmi taking a bath in the river.

If Hampi is the Jungle Book-esc version of Karnataka, than Mysore is the regal, Aladdin-like version.  Except it sort of, actually is: Mysore's last maharaja is still in residence in his palace in the center of the city. I didn't actually spend too much time in Mysore itself, but my favorite part of the city was the Devaraja Market, which is full of fruit, flowers, and the brightly colored powder called kumkum. It smelled amazing, which is saying quite a lot because in India because your nose tends to be assaulted by less pleasant aromas. My favorite part of my Mysore trip was our day trip to the nearby town of Bylakuppe, where a community of Tibetans in exile live. As soon as we entered the town there were fluttering Buddhist prayer flags attached to almost every building. The town also boasts of a large Buddhist monastery and temple.  At the monastery I got to witness the monk's prayer session, which was incredible. About 100 monks sat in the temple in very straight lines while a head monk chanted in this beautifully deep voice. To accompany the chant, monks in the first rows beat hand-drums in unison along with two huge drums.  The effect was overpowering. I felt like I had internalized the drum-beat and could feel it beating inside of me. I've never felt anything like it.