Desert wording

I have had a long standing debate with a considerably more erudite friend over the origins of the term desert. He argues from his extensive knowledge of linguistics and Latin that the term is derived from the verb to desert, which is predictably descended from the term de-serere, to unjoin. This is, of course, a logical and most likely correct explanation.

I, however, tenaciously hold onto an interesting anecdote related during a 9AM Egyptian Archaeology course. In ancient Egyptian (which, like its modern day cousins Hebrew and Arabic, and descendant Coptic, uses combinations of consonants to express core ideas), the term d-s-r-t described the uninhabitable 'red land' that stood in contrast to the k-m-t 'black land' of the Nile Valley.

I can find no credible explanation of how the Egyptian may have made its way into English, but it is a fun coincidence.

The Fierce Urgency of Now

My friends and family got to enjoy an exciting October full of electioneering and all sorts of good old American fun. I missed out, catching only snippets of Palin sound bytes through an intermittent YouTube. But nature ensured that I was not to miss out entirely on the sense of destiny everyone seemed to hum about in the first weeks after the election. After two months of playing the local water probability game, I finally and definitively came down with a nasty gastrointestinal something.

I have been no stranger to the stranger afflictions of the digestive system, but the past month has been a veritable Gotterdammerung. I simply refuse to give in to a recalcitrant duodenum, and so I have come to understand Obama's call to duty far better than I had ever hoped. For, squatting over a whole in the floor of an overcrowded train or hanging off the side of a Goan fishing boat or holding a pucker as I near the end of a 90 minute airport security line, there really is no better expression than the Fierce Urgency of NOW.

Saddle of camel: on hump designs

Riding was never a priority for the first camel owners. When necessary, people and belongings were haphazardly and inefficiently perched around the animal's swaying hump. But early saddling techniques prevented the camel from competing as beast of burden. Besides, there was no need for it in littoral camel-herding communities.

But money makes the world go round, and the high profits to be had from trade with the emerging civilizations of the Mediterranean drove the development of a new saddle. The prevailing winds of the Red Sea make northward journeys inefficient (even the Pharoahs tried to get around this problem), and most pack animals can't handle the distances and temperatures of the Arabian desert.

By arranging blankets and ropes around the hump of the camel, it was possible to stabilize the load enough for profitable quantities of goods to be carried the 2000 miles from Aden to the Levant. It is in just these caravans that camels first appeared in Western literature, with the arrival of the Queen of Sheba bearing gifts for Solomon (I Kings 10:2) and as Rebekah's mount (Genesis 24:61). Soon, camel caravans had taken over trade routes throughout southwest Asia, ferrying goods from the Gulf, Turkey, Persia, and beyond.

Back on the streets

After five weeks away, I'm back in Bikaner. I'll do my best to fill in the past days, but the gist is that, thanks to the Mumbai terrorism, I was 'stuck' in Goa for an extra week. And then how could I say no to a Delhi weekend?

The world's first camelid cDNA library

When some scholar desperate for a PhD topic turns his gaze to the history of research on camels, October 25, 2008 will undoubtedly mark a new chapter in his exceedingly tedious and irrelevant dissertation. After a year of research, the Camel Health Unit successfully synthesized the first camel-related cDNA.

DNA, being the stuff of heredity, is safely ensconced inside the cell nucleus. While this isolation ensures its integrity, it also makes DNA kind of useless. In order to get something done, the cell must transcribe instructions (genes) from DNA into RNA, which then passes out of the nucleus to be translated into proteins. These proteins are what actually do things in the cell. So if you want to study how genes get expressed rather than just how they get passed on, RNA is of far more interest, because it reflects exactly which instructions are being carried out when. But DNA is easier to study, so we collect the active RNA, copy it back into DNA, and call it cDNA.

Once you have cDNA, you can do all sorts of cool and godlike things. We're looking at the parasite Haemonchus contortus, a worm living in the camel digestive tract that feeds by digesting hemoglobin. We isolated the H. contortus RNA that codes for the protein responsible for digestion and copied it back into cDNA. Next, we'll insert that cDNA gene into the genome of a small bacteria (called a vector) and see if the genetically modified bacteria can digest hemoglobin. We'll then use that bacteria to design a simple diagnostic that would detect the presence of the hemoglobin-digesting protein in camel blood.

An interesting sidenote: even this advanced work has at its root the same large-level changes I've seen throughout Rajasthan. Desertification and overpopulation have led to a reduction in the quality topfeed (trees, tall shrubs) that camels prefer, forcing them to compete with sheep, goats, and cows for low-level grazing. This means that H. contortus, usually only found in sheep here, has moved to camels as the animals are exposed to feces-covered groundfeed.

Reasons to shave, vol. III

There's a lot of pot in India, and a lot of tourists who make its consumption a priority. It's an odd situation, for while some groups (like wandering sadhus and some farmers) are allowed to freely light up a chillum, marijuana use is otherwise very strictly proscribed, both highly illegal and socially discouraged. So an awkward balance is struck, with the freely growing weed and rich tourists on one side and a strict penal code and unsympathetic embassies on the other.

Pushkar is a holy city for Hindus, but it's also a major stop on the hippy circuit. Banana-nutella pancakes, Enfields, and homespun are as common as Siva lingams and sannyasins. And there isn't a tourist restaurant in town (most of which sport a 'No Indians Allowed' sign in Hindi-- a nice contrast to the radical egalitarianism of the idealists sipping chai inside) that doesn't offer 'special' cookies or lassis.

I've never been one to condemn having a good time, but I'm happy to avoid this side of tourism in India. This country's class-based and image-obsessed culture is extremely sensitive to details of behavior, hygiene, and dress that the 'smile and a handshake' West prefers to write off to individuality. By keeping my hair short, my face clean, my pants pressed, and my shirt collared, I can make a real difference in the way I am perceived and treated. In a place like Pushkar, where the locals are all too used to the interests (and weaknesses) of westerners, that goes a long way towards an enjoyable and hassle-free visit that includes genuine interactions with Indians.

Whistlin down the road

This evening I depart for Delhi for a flight to Kerala, where my Sanskrit teacher Jayanth is getting married. I studied with J for nine weeks in the summer of 2006, and he's stepping outside of his very conservative Brahmin caste to marry a secretary from the school where we met who has subsequently begun working as a lawyer for the High Court of Kerala. I can't pass up this opportunity, but I'm also using the trip as a chance to drop in on friends working in Madurai (Tamil Nadu) and Bangalore (Karnataka). Then a few short days on the beach. It's funny- since I'm already in India, my per diem on this trip will actually be lower than my current living expenses, despite how big a deal it would be if I were planning such an adventure from home.

History of camel: domestication

Every person who has argued over the relative merits of dogs versus cats as house pets has engaged the fundamental question of domestication: how do you get an animal to acknowledge your superiority? For some species, like sheep and goats, a herd mentality makes domestication the simple process of acclimatization. For others, like dogs, a hierarchical social structure means that establishing control is more of a play for dominance. And for some, like cats, the process is never fully complete, instead constituting a regular exchange of services.

Camels, despite their tendency to herd, are quite socially shrewd, so domestication involves the establishment of dominance and control. The first domesticators were probably fishermen on the coast of Yemen and Oman, who turned to the camel for milk around 2000BCE. They had no need to ride the animals, their semi-sedentary communities simply serving as a base for fishing expeditions, nor did they require the meat. Corralling a few females would have been easy-- getting one to let you touch its udder would have been the tough part.

As described earlier, the practice of keeping camels for milk is today only prevalent in Somalia and East Africa. The Arabian fishermen slowly turned their seafaring chops to trade, spreading the camel across the Red Sea. There, in one of the most inhospitable environments on earth, the camel could provide milk from land that was previously useless. The custom stuck, and even today Somalia is the home to the most camels of any country.

Me and those dreaming eyes of mine

For the two weeks leading up to Pushkar I practiced my Hindi and developed a survey on camel ownership. I hoped to gather quantitative data to support the idea that macroeconomic, environmental, and land ownership changes in Rajasthan were affecting just who was showing up at the Mela and what prices they were asking. By reanalyzing data from similar studies conducted in Pakistan and Sudan, I was able to find about twenty variables on herd condition and owner economics that would confirm the trend away from nomadism that I could describe qualitatively. I carefully designed a survey methodology, practicing with the raikas at the NRCC enough times to feel comfortable with the camel lingo and veterinary inspection. Fulfilling a childhood dream I even had a custom lab coat made so I would stand out from the thousands of western tourists.

And although cries of 'Doctor Sahib' bidding me to attend to this or that camel ailment were certainly a welcome alternative to sales pitches and begging, my introduction as a 'research doctor' invariably rebuilt the cultural wall between me and the camel owners that had been briefly pierced by our mutual concern for the animals. In their eyes, my clipboard and tape measure could mean nothing but rules, taxes, and bribes, no matter my pleading or the number of shared biris. It only took me a few hours to realize my research goals were utterly unattainable.

Which is not to say the scientific end of the visit was a total loss. I got to sit around and drink chai with a lot of camel owners who loved the lab coat so long as I wasn't writing down everything they said. Hanging around the veterinary hospital I saw every sort of camel injury, including a compound fracture from a racing accident (say farewell to Rs.30,000 of prime camel). And, most repulsively, I got to try my hand--literally-- at a pregnancy diagnosis on a purebred Mewari mare (horse).

Here, feeling like a badass having just correctly estimated age by dental erosion:

Pushkar Unt Mela

After an overnight train back from Delhi I hopped on my Bajaj for the 300km drive to Pushkar, a small town nestled in the Aravalli hills whose natural lakes and bathing ghats make it an important Hindu pilgrimage destination. To westerners, though, it is most famous as the site of the yearly Camel Fair/Unt Mela, where thousands of animals are bought, sold, and displayed and herders get a rare chance to kick back a bit. The popularity of the Mela and the town's relaxed atmosphere have also made it a prime stop on the 'alternative' tourist circuit.

The Mela is a result of the particular ecology, anthropology, and economics of camel herding in Rajasthan. Camel herding castes (such as the aforementioned raikas) live in family groups that own 40-100 camels, all but two or three of which are females and young. Spending the summer in the hills to avoid the desert heat, the herders return to the Thar for the lush vegetation and cool temperatures of the winter breeding season. Before heading off, though, they all meet up and swap top studs to prevent inbreeding. Inferior males are castrated and sold to farmers for work.

This year's mela was one of the most profitable ever, a result most likely caused by high oil prices and the resulting ineconomy of tractor use. The number of camel herders, however, was at an all-time low (I only met one full-size herd). This year's selling was mostly done by middlemen, dealers who rounded up marginal animals from their district and came to make a profit. For the NRCC, hoping to find some really top animals (and willing to pay their hefty price), the fair was a disappointment.

November

I have been out of Bikaner since October 30, when I went to Delhi for Halloween and the Election. On November 6 I headed to the Pushkar Camel Fair, and then teamed up with a Brit for a quick roadtrip to Udaipur and Mount Abu. Now I'm back in Bikaner for a few days before heading to Kerala for the wedding of my Sanskrit teacher. The next few posts will fill in the missing time.

Hipness, it is what it is

Here are some pics of the election event in Delhi:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/webethere/sets/72157608757535958/

I've been at the Pushkar Camel Fair the last few days and will be back in Bikaner tomorrow evening.

History of camel: dominance and collapse

If the camel's close relationship to man was foreshadowed by the two species' concurrent, countercurrent, then the camel's fate during and after the last Ice Age was a sure signal of things to come.

By the middle Pleistocene, Camellus included at least seven different species spread across southern Europe, North and East Africa, the Middle East, and most of Asia. Although each differed in morphology and environment, osteological and ecological clues tell us that, by and large, they lived much as camels do today. Their adaptations to aridity gave them access to untapped resources and protected them from most predators. But periodic ice ages drove declines in the marginal areas the camels enjoyed most, pushing them into closer contact and competition with other herd animals. Humans, always ready to eat anything big and easily hunted, didn't help.

By the beginning of the Holocene (12,000ya) most camel species were extinct, and the others had been driven into small refuges. In southern Arabia, the dromedary survived only in the hilly fringes of the Rub al Khali, the Empty Quarter. The Bactrian, like Lama, took refuge in the mountains of Central Asia. And some scholars hold that a third species remained in the Atlas mountains of Morocco and Algeria until the introduction of the domestic camel. In any case, the precipitous climate and human-fueled decline of Camelllus is an apt analogy for the problems the animals face today.

Source: Wilson RT. 1984. The Camel. Essex: Longman Group.

American Lard

It was the catharsis of cheering at Obama's brief shoutout to overseas voters that alleviated the intense emotions of the several dozen expats and journalists who had gathered at a small cafe to watch the election results roll in this morning with the Democrats Abroad. As the electoral vote passed two hundred (assuring an Obama victory once the left coast was in), tears started to appear on elephant-painted cheeks and well-coiffed photographers began composing shots of diverse supporters and miniature flags. But at Obama's personal invocation of the past century and its challenges, even the newscasters put down their microphones to take in the momentous occasion.

The twenty-first century will inevitably push the United States and India together. The two largest democracies on earth share an entrepreneurial spirit, strategic interests, and a massive immigrant community that twist together the nations' fates. Yet even in India, a nation that regularly elects ethnic and religious minorities as well as women to its highest ranks, there is a certain awe at the American ability for political self-renewal.

As with much of the world, much of this impression stems from the miracle of regular peaceful revolution. Every four (indeed, two) years, our government is opened to complete change. Yet the opposition doesn't withdraw from society or take to the hills with AK-47's, as they are liable to do even here. No-- what Americans might write off as bureaucratic weight, institutional inertia, or, at worst, conspiratorial class dominance is in fact our greatest asset: the rule of law.

But even in a country aligned against the United States until just the past decade there is the awareness that another, even greater trend is present in the periodic renewal of American democracy. The great names of Indian history tell a story of emerging nationhood, the gradual definition of identity in the face of British imperialism, Cold War socialism, and finally globalisation. The great names of American history-- Reagan, Kennedy, Roosevelt, etc.-- paint a much more complicated picture of generational change and constant rebirth.

The United States, almost uniquely, is a country without history. Or, more precisely, it is a country whose history does not define the present but instead reflects our hopes for the future. New ingredients might be thrown into the melting pot-- we're starting to see more chorizo and pho, plus some collards that were stuck on the rim-- but as you boil it pure fat will still rise to the surface. Our culture is rooted not in traditions of religion, caste, or family, but in the elusive sweetness of the all-American Lard (some might prefer the term Dream) we skim off the top. Hyperbole, perhaps, but it was American Lard that lubricated the peaceful transitions of the past 232 years of elections and American Lard that ran down expatraites' cheeks this morning.

And so we've chosen our 44th president. Forty years ago, in the same place where Obama made his victory speech, battle lines were drawn that would come to define a generation. Today, a new generation was defined just as clearly. But whereas the conflicts that divided the Baby Boomers centered around our culture and identity as Americans, the world that Generation O inherits is one requiring sacrifice and dedication. The financial, environmental, and political challenges facing us ensure that our lives, so far surely among the most privileged ever lived, will not be without struggle, nor without meaning.

I am reminded of a summer visit to the nation's capital, where after a stroll through Arlington National Cemetery my friend Noah and I walked across the Potomac to find a Lincoln Memorial mobbed by tourists, soldiers, and citizens. Yet even when filled with the chatter of schoolgroups and flashes of cellphone cameras, the sepulchral interior maintained the still reverence of the memorials across the river. Indeed, the very diversity who stood and contemplated Lincoln's legacy seemed to live out his words:

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

This will surely be the hardest Thanksgiving to spend away from home.

Roar Lion Roar

I'm still not convinced that making people spend $170,000 on a four year BA is the best way to educate, but HOT DAMN it sure makes a great party.

Thanks to the organizational prowess of the UPenn Alumni Association, Delhi Chapter I spent Halloween at the superposh Taj Hotel in the company of all sorts of Ivy League businessfolk, bluebloods, and brahmins. I came to Delhi for the weekend, intent on getting a dose of western nightlife after two months of early Bikaner nights, then sticking around to watch the election results roll in on CNN.

Four generations

Here, the four generations (counted, of course, through the sons) in Jitu's family. All but the great-grandfather live in the same home.

Tourist stereotypes: Karmic krusaders

Spiritual tattoo? Dreds? Hippie clothing? Glazed-over eyes? Caveman stench?

Why some people think that India, home to one of the most capitalistic, materialistic, class-driven, ambition-friendly, image-obsessed cultures on the planet, is some haven of spirituality where karma comes to get down is absolutely beyond me. Yet think they do- at least as well as they can while perpetually stoned- and at the slightest provocation will deliver a monologue on familiar New Age themes. Actual conversation at the guesthouse:

UNWASHED HIPPIE : Hinduism's all about love, man.
ME: I'm not so sure. Have you read the Bhagavad-Gita?
UNWASHED HIPPIE: No, but I've been meaning to. It basically says we're all one, right?
ME: Not really. It's about duty.
UNWASHED HIPPIE: This world is transient, we're just lost souls seeking liberation.
ME: What does that mean for the here and now?
STONED RAVER: Now and here, man: nowhere!

I'm all for people opening their hearts and minds to new cultures, new ideas, and new ways of life, but this is something else. Trying to relive the individualism and idealism of the revolutionary 1960's in today's world is hedonistic and irresponsible. So go ahead and have your Paulo Coelho-fueled journey of spiritual self-discovery, but at least have the decency to conform to the hygenic standards of the culture at whose expense you're naval-gazing.

Stud selection

The primary responsibility of the Genetics Unit is the direction of selective breeding. Due to a variety of bureaucratic, biological, and statistical barriers this effort is moderately futile, but every September and October the numbers are crunched and the master breeding plan is put out.

With no real economic value for camels other than their capacity for work, breeding is conducted with the aim of increasing draught ability, while carefully maintaining the genetic diversity and population structure of the herd. So we take three biometric measurements long ago found to correlate with strength and billet the males accordingly (we do not select for females; due to their long intergestational period it is highly uneconomical not to mate them).

There are lots of problems with this approach. First, it constitutes indirect selection: we are choosing males based on biometric traits rather than actual work ability. Second, the study that pushed those traits to the forefront utilized primitive statistics that confuse what's really going on (I'm working on new numbers). Finally, while the assumption that 'big dads have big sons' is common sense, the heritability of strength is unknown so we have no clue how effective our efforts may be.

Winter approaches, and that means it's business time. Whether or not our selections are having an effect, we'll get some good-looking calves in a year.

The most valuable camels this side of the Gulf:

Deserts and the rise of civilization

Despite centuries of trying to understand just what drove humanity to choose the plow over the atlatl we've only come a little closer to understanding that pivotal moment in our history, and at this point it's safe to say we'll never really know the whole story. The implications of the adoption of agriculture are so profound- for technological and economic change, for societal structure and hierarchy, even for genetic and racial heritage- that to study it is to study human nature. Needless to say, the old 'cradle of civilization' model has been showing its cracks for a while, but the dessicated view from Bikaner leads me to ask: why was it that many of the first states emerged in the most arid environments?

In China, the Middle Kingdom grew around the dry banks of the Yellow River, not the Yangtzee. In India, the Ganges and the Brahmaputra, hosting the greatest agricultural land in the world, lost out to the desert-bound Indus. The arid setting of the Tigris, Euphrates, and Nile are regular features in today's news. And in the New World, complex societies emerged and flourished in New Mexico, the Mesoamerican Plateau, and the Andes rather than in the rich Pacific Northwest or Amazonian rainforest. Why didn't early civilizations emerge in environments optimally suited for agriculture?

In 1957 Karl Wittfogel addressed this quandary, arguing in his 'hydraulic empire' hypothesis that it was the need to regulate and control access to water that led to the first governments, which in turn led to states. I have only been out of school for six months and I already can't recall exactly why his theory fell out of favor, but I think it had to do with the idea of necessary 'stages' of the development of civilization. That, and the title of his book was Oriental Despotism.

There are a few other reasons why deserts might have played a role in the birth of civilization. Rich farmland is also probably rich nomad-land-- for the residents of the Rhine, there was no good reason to look past hunting wild boar. A desert river, on the other hand, might force specialization, leading to a symbiosis between people who maximized the river's potential and others who dropped in on it occasionally. This situation also would drive trade, the great engine of technological development. Once settled, the people on the river would be more likely to adopt agriculture, begin to accumulate wealth, and exhibit the social and economic hierarchies associated with civilization. And once you're on that bandwagon, there's no getting off.

Fame

Very belatedly, here is the article that appeared in the Rajasthan Patrika the day of my arrival. The title: American Student in Bikaner Will Do Research.

Hot dog:

History of camel: evolution and speciation

The mammals emerged during the Triassic, around 225 million years ago. For 160 million years they were the dung beetles of the reptile world, relying on their small size to stay out of the way of T. Rex. But things changed when earth's collision with a massive asteroid 65 million years ago made life tough for large cold-blooded animals. Diversity of form and function that had been lurking under the saurischian-dominated surface was let loose, and within fifteen million years after the advent of the Age of Mammals the world was populated by a whole new array of exotic and quixotic animals.

On the plains of North America, the rabbit-sized ancestors (the Poëbrotheriinae) of the camel family gradually increased in size in the Eocene, grazing on grasses and forming into herds for protection. By the Middle Oligocene (around 30 million years ago) the family had diversified and spread across the New World and Asia, most of its members of a size and shape similar to modern camels.

The Miocene, Pliocene, and Pleistocene (20m-12tya), the great age of apes, was a time of consolidation and expansion for the camel. Most genii died out in the face of new environmental conditions, but two-- Lama and Camellus-- specialized and thrived. The former moved into the isolated mountains of South America, where it today survives as the llama, alpaca, guanaco, and vicuna. Camellus, on the other hand, was a little more adventurous. Crossing the Bering sea land bridge in the early Pleistocene, it emerged onto the arid steppes of Asia and thrived. As Camellus conquered the Old World, it surely must have encountered the other ascendant genus spreading across the world's plains: Homo.

Source: Wilson RT. 1984. The Camel. Essex: Longman Group.

Music appropriate for desert walks

Lacking any large arid regions of its own, the West's experience with deserts has come only through the lens of other cultures. Whether in the plains of Andalusia, the dunes of southwest Asia, or the pueblos of the American southwest, our view of deserts is tinged with a hint of the exotic. This is obvious with regards to the camel-- how else could such a simple, well-adapted, useful animal be seen as so primitive and foreign?-- but it also holds when we look at western music's portrayal of deserts and their people.

The phrygian modes of Iberian music have lent a 'Spanish Tinge' to jazz, a sound that melts into the semitone scales of the Maghreb and the familiarly stereotyped drums of Africa. Bombastic Arab marches contrast with the honest melodies sung by herders. Epic soundtracks complement the sun-splashed monuments of Utah, and even the tundra gets the balalaika. In western music, the desert is at once overpowering, massive, inspiringly romantic, and simple, foreign, and honest. I like it.

See, for example, Rimsky-Korsakov's Sheherazade, with dissonant harmonies resolving into an unforgettably grand theme. The classic soundtrack to Lawrence of Arabia plays around with the "Turkish March" made famous in Beethoven's 9th Symphony after revealing the famous motif appropriate for its beturbaned hero (note that John William's love theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark, set in arid Egypt, relies on the same hackneyed exotic chord changes as Lawrence's tune). Its composer, Maurice Jarre, exhibits his talent for endlessly repeating a schmaltzy romantic theme in another desert movie, Dr. Zhivago. Elmer Bernstein's rousing The Magnificent Seven and Gabriel Yarre's beautiful but tedious The English Patient show the same trends. And then there is Caravan.

If you can think of more, please send them along!

Tourist stereotypes: introduction

When I first visited India two years ago I was disgusted by most tourists. It seemed to me like everyone who came here was intent on reliving some 1960's journey of spiritual self-discovery, while in fact their Lonely Planet led them to trendy exotic placenames where Indian entrepreneurs, seeing the dependable signs of white skin, poorhouse clothing, and dubious hygiene, sold them bhang lassis made with filtered water that cost three times more than an average Indian family made in a day.

Needless to say, this is a very harsh and over-generalized view that has since softened. Still, there are very distressing aspects of tourism particular to this country. There really are a lot of people who come to India for material renunciation, temporarily forgetting the price of their airfare. Many come espousing New Age spirituality's roots in Hinduism or seeking a yoga ashram, only to reveal that they've never read the Bhagavad Gita and couldn't pick Vishnu out of a crowd (he's the blue one). The carefree egalitarianism of hippies- or even of the most conservative Westerners- is fundamentally at odds with the rigid class system of India, the consequences of which go over the heads of all but the most observant visitors. As I spend more time here, I am beginning to see an even more sinister side to tourism: that most hotels are run my the mafia. No joke.

But my daily exposure to tourists at the NRCC and at the guesthouse have begun to steel me to their faults (just like shacking up with a hipster made me finally accept that I, too, am a hipster deep down inside) and I've even begun to take a perverse joy in hearing their predictable rants and formulaic pontifications. So please allow me to share the enjoyment only a hater can get from the idiocy of his fellow humans in this new series, Tourist stereotypes.

Camel nutrition

I have discovered the best way to pass time at the NRCC when I'm not helping in the lab, working on some stats, studying in the library, or searching Google for naked pictures of Sarah Palin. I stick my head out the door, listen for a moment, and then try to find the camel making the most absurd noises.

Yesterday the nastiest grunting I'd ever heard came wafting over from the Nutrition experiment corral and I enthusiastically made my way over to see just what tricks the Grand Inquisitor had devised for this poor camel. My stomach turned (in sympathy, too) when I realized that the technical team was in the process of collecting ruminal fluid.

In order to extract the stinky yellow juice from an organ located at the bottom of a 80 centimeter esophagus, a garden hose was connected to an imposing air pump coughing out plumes of black smoke. The camel was so doped up on xylazine it couldn't hold its neck up, but it still had the sense to try to bite the hand that choked it. Finally, a few centiliters of fluid were extracted and the camel left to enjoy the rest of its trip.

I wasn't sure whether to cry or laugh at the pitiful position the animal adopted at the end of the procedure.

Eve-teasing

A visit to India of any duration will introduce the westerner, well accustomed to a culture of transparency and straightforwardness, to the mess of social and economic complexity wrapped in red tape that constitutes the Indian way of doing things. The endless difficulties in getting anything done, the futility of individual aspirations and action, and the constant noise and hassle of this overcrowded country result in what V.S. Naipaul calls 'subcontinental patience': a temperament, perhaps the inspiration for the idea of reincarnation, geared towards accepting the chaos around you and doing your best to stay afloat. For me, with my water wings of western ambition, this environment entails little but frustration. Once in a while, the ogling crowd will just be a little too large or the tuk tuk wallah a little too bellicose or the search for the simplest provision too hopeless and I find myself entering a murderous rage, swearing to myself that I will throttle the next idiot who grabs my arm and asks me what my good name is.

Despite my less than pugilistic nature I have been secretly yearning for an appropriate excuse to take out this pent-up anger on a deserving victim, and last week the gods were kind enough to oblige me. Returning from the Dusshera celebrations (to be covered shortly) with two young western women, we were overtaken by a crowd of repressed youth emboldened by the darkness. While I am accustomed to the occasional slap or poke as some kid tries to get my attention, my Y chromosome had blinded me to the disgusting forms this practice takes on when the target is a woman. I realized the boys were trying to grope my companions, and as one rapscallion with a jaunty hairdo and scraggly goatee shoved his hand between one girl's legs my rage overtook me.

After grabbing him by the back of his neck, I kicked out his legs and forced him to the ground. But his friend came to help, and so I channeled two months of no NFL and clotheslined him. I used the boys' ears to arrange them face down and kneeled on their backs. Luckily, the crowd was composed entirely of pubescent boys whose social awkwardness precluded any understanding of their power were they to unite. I knew the police would be of no help (they would probably book me for assault), so I took a more effective route.

After the two women were in a tuk-tuk, I made the ruffians (still face down, now crying) get out their cell phones and call their mothers. Both arrived from elsewhere in the crowd within a few minutes. Careful to turn the side of my face where I had cut myself during the tackle towards them so they wouldn't join in the fray, I explained through a bystander what had happened.

To my sister and other postcolonialists who are aghast at the idea of an over sized white man beating up two Indian boys: violence is a common sight on the streets here and is seen as an OK way to resolve disputes. What isn't OK is the way Indian men treat western women. In any case, my behavior was justified by the mothers' reactions. After the boys stood up, the women took off their left shoes and started beating their sons far more savagely than I had. The crowd laughed and I walked home, telling Jitu that I had tripped over a brick in the road.

Womens

I have now been living at Vinayak guest house for more than six weeks-- and I have yet to learn the name of Jitu's wife.

This is conservative Bikaner's modern interpretation of the timeless Rajasthani (and Mughal) custom of purdah. The Maharajas of the Rajput states would acquire vast harems, and after marriage the young wives moved into a separate wing of the palace where, guarded by eunuchs and served by girls, they spent the rest of their lives until ritually burning themselves on the funeral pyre of their husband (sati). Less prominent members of the community would merely keep their women housebound, and completely covered in the case of male visitors.

Today, the gender egalitarianism of urbanized nomads catalyses trends towards westernization and liberalization, and the lives of women are rapidly improving. Tight jeans and western tees are a rare but unsurprising sight, and among youth female literacy approaches male. But the most resilient customs have nothing to do with outward signs and everything to do with male attitudes.

These are most evident with respect towards western women. There is absolutely no reason for Indian men to think western women are anything but complete whores: movies and TV depict easy flirtation and open sex (see a related observation by my friend Sloan, in Rwanda); most tourists make little effort to conform to public morality (for example, anything but the most fleeting embrace is considered part of sex, and wearing short sleeves is like wearing a short skirt); and I have yet to find an internet cafe whose computers weren't clogged with the nastiest kinds of porn. Next to Indian women, who like the men must stay chaste (and repressed) until marriage at 20-30, 'phoren' ladies are slatterns who will give it up if you just grab 'em in the right way.

So, despite changes, men still like their wives and sisters well-esconsed, even while 'Eve-teasing' any westerner they can and shamelessly exploiting unionized prostitutes.

Khyber: Aryans

The first invaders to pass through the Khyber pass into the Indian subcontinent were Aryans, a Central Asian tribe speaking an Indo-European language related to Latin and Greek. According to one interpretation, their mastery of ironworking, horses, and the chariot allowed them to quickly conquer the advanced Harappan culture of the Indus valley around 1500-1000 B.C.E. The Harappans, who since 3300 B.C.E. had developed a large civilization complete with standardized measures, an indigenous writing system, and indoor plumbing, were forced into the Indian peninsula where they are linguistically and genetically represented by the Dravidian peoples who make up today's southern states.

The Aryans didn't bring just destruction and collapse, however. Their rich literary tradition, well known from the famous Vedas (ie, the Rg Veda and the Upanishads), gave rise to a three-millennia-old poetic tradition that includes the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. Their sophisticated philosophy forms the core of what we call Hinduism, along with many of their gods and myths. Most importantly, their strict approach to social hierarchy solidified into the caste system.

As European scholars gained familiarity with Indian culture in the 18th and 19th centuries, they began to see similarities between Sanskrit, Latin, and Greek and correctly inferred the existence of a common mother-tongue, Indo-European (which also gave rise to Germanic, Slavic, Baltic, Celtic, and many other language families). Later researchers began to find shared aspects of mythology, ritual, and culture (for example: the god of thunder, Indra/Thor; creation myths invoking giants; and a fascination with cows- 1, 2, 3). It was the perception that these 'Aryans' gave rise to the great civilizations of the west that led to the term's adoption by racial supremacists of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Lunar cycles

It was a rare night in New York that I looked up and noticed the moon, its brilliance usually surpassed by streetlights or obscured by skyscrapers. Occasionally, I would find its gossamer glow adorning my dorm room when I came home late from a party. In those moments I would feel a close warmth (not just from the whiskey), knowing that untold generations of humans had gazed upon and enjoyed the same spectacle.

I am lucky to have come to a place where the moon's phases are as important as the work week. When I arrived, Ramadan was just beginning and lasted until the new moon at the start of October. That day also marked the beginning of Nauratri, which ended in Deshera nine days later. The subsequent full moon (two days ago) held a ceremony in which a watermelon was left outside all night and consumed in the morning. And the approaching new moon means Diwali.

Milk production and the follicular wave

The peculiar reproductive cycle of the camel evolved so that mating and parturition both take place during the cool season, which here occurs between October and February. This timing ensures an abundance of feed for hungry males spending their time fighting for mates and for new mothers struggling to feed their young. Follicle growth in non-pregnant females is suppressed during the summer, most likely by environmental conditions, but continues nonetheless. Around now follicles begin growing and males begin to rut, or engage in characteristic breeding behavior. Copulation induces ovulation, and gestation lasts thirteen months.

This system has a profound implication for camel-herding societies. Lactation only occurs in females with young, not only reducing the number of females producing milk but also reducing the amount of milk available for human consumption. With most camels weaned at one year, the slow and inefficient reproductive cycle is yet another reason why camels are herded in large numbers.

Flirting with camels

I often give tours of the NRCC to visitors staying at the guesthouse, which gives me a chance to practice my camelology spiel as well as remember what it's like to talk to native English speakers. The other day I stumbled on a particularly apt analogy for how to interact with camels.

Camels are smart and curious, but they are also arrogant and sly. Getting one to like you is a lot like picking up a girl at a bar. It starts with eye contact, the briefest acknowledgement of mutual interest. But you can't stare- that's creepy. Indeed, not looking can be even more effective than looking. Before you even think of getting closer, you've got to completely confident of your success. Subtle clues of body language indicate whether approach is possible.

But, just like last call, in the end one of you has got to get up and walk over to the other, and luckily for tourists camels aren't nearly as picky as women.

Deserts and chess

In my last year in college I had the good fortune to live near three tremendously gifted physicists. Occasionally they would put aside quantum field theory and supersymmetry for a game of chess, and I, with little mind for strategy, was only too happy to observe. The intricacies of their plotting was far beyond me, but I could still wonder at the vast complexity spawned by such a simple set of rules.

Real war, as Robert McNamara so aptly pointed out, is far too complicated to ever be understood by a single person-- hence the term 'the fog of war.' Games are fun because they put the excitement and challenge of strategic competition within the bounds of one individual's intellect. In chess, it is possible (but just barely) to see your will and wit acted out on the board. The number of variables has been reduced to a level where the system lacks the unfathomable complexity of reality.

The desert is a similar system. The dominance of a few variables-- sun, wind, water-- marginalizes all the others. It is simplicity and comprehensibility that grant deserts their beauty, the sublime alternation between life, meaning, and emptiness. In even ten minutes sitting alone in a desert you begin to pick up on cause and effect, on the connections between every element. Soon you start to figure out the patterns of life, and it is only a matter of time before you feel you know the rules so well that you are a part of the game.

Crazy coincidence

Last week I got to spend an evening with a college friend- by total coincidence, he phoned a mutual friend the night before he passed through Bikaner. It's a small world.

Conservation

In the coming decades we will undoubtedly witness one of the greatest extinction events in the history of the earth, as humanity's consumptive chickens come home to roost. It is easy to convey the environmental, economic, and moral reasoning behind trying as hard as we can to preserve as much of our world's biodiversity as we can, but how do we go about saving an animal entirely domesticated?

This is not a research question of the NRCC per se, but it is a concern that pervades the Centre. So long as there are remote desert farming communities the camel will remain necessary, but how long will such an existence remain feasible in the face of climate change, economic growth, and urbanization? The camel is extinct in the wild, except for a few thousand feral in Australia. Other than milk and meat production (neither of which is likely to catch on), token military use, and racing in the Gulf, it lacks a major raison d'etre outside of traditional herding. Is it our responsibility to save it?

Where the time is

In case you were wondering where I get the time to write these posts, the simple answer is I have no life.

I enjoy my research and colleagues at the NRCC immensely, and they have done a wonderful job making me feel welcome. But my interactions with most scientists and staff remains formal. Jitu and I get along fantastically, but he is a very busy person and we don't really get the chance to relax. And when I hang out with other Indians, the language barrier is still too large to allow for the fun and jokes that make for good times. For some social release I can turn to the tourists who pass through the guesthouse, but they're usually only around for a day or two.

So there's no real way for me to just waste time chilling. It's something I'm going to miss, for sure, but it also means I'm staying plenty busy with research and writing.

The Thar: Traditional dry farming

Rajasthan is neatly divided in two by the Aravalli hills, to whose east the Thar extends to the Indus in Pakistan. This 'Great Indian' desert has long been the most densely populated arid area of the world, a distinction that represents a fundamentally sustainable approach towards land use and, in recent years, an ecological disaster as the population has exploded over the region's carrying capacity.

Until the advent of large-scale irrigation, the internal combustion engine, and modern health care the residents of the Thar desert had worked out a very stable economic system whose roles and rules were prescribed by a very strict social code. Nomadic castes (such as the oft-mentioned raikas) herded camels, cattle, goats, or sheep across carefully maintained rangelands whose use was carefully regulated by religious authorities. Small farmers relied on rainfall (averaging about 5-10 inches a year) for their small harvest of millet, pulses, and sorghum; the large variation in yield meant that land consolidation was by and large impossible and small villages remained economically independent. In the cities, the ruling and merchant castes found wealth in the taxation of trade, regulating both overland caravans and the access of the small farmers to larger markets.

As this system anticipated aridity, it was much more resistant to temporary environmental change than, say, a riparian culture completely unprepared for the failure of a flood. The entire success of the system, however, depended on the marginal prosperity of farmers, who in turn relied upon scant and erratic rain. The devastation wrought by drought in Bikaner is legendary in city lore.

Here, a typical dry millet farm:

Visit to Sri Kolayat

This past Sunday the remnants of a cold and the joy of my new bike conspired to keep me from doing anything remotely constructive. Knowing a long drive in the desert was in order, I headed along the Jaisalmer highway to check out the nearest natural lake, Sri Kolayat.

Like Pushkar, the lake is full of lotuses and surrounded by temples and bathing stairways or ghats. Unlike Pushkar, there was no trace of any tourist infrastructure- hardly a visitor at all. The drive back was punctuated only by a policeman who insisted I 'pay a fine now' (Indian for bribe) as my registration had not yet arrived. After flourishing my impressive pile of stamped and embossed paperwork to no avail (normally even a whiff of letterhead is enough to open doors), I took down his name and ID before telling him to fuck off in the coarsest Marwari I could muster. In the end, no problem.

One hump or two?

The camel I study is the dromedary, one-humped, or Arabian variety. Its sister species, the Bactrian, two-humped, or Asian camel, is suited more to the chill of the mountainous Central Asia plateau than the arid reaches that have caught my attention. The two are easily hybridized, though children of hybrids are sterile.

The Bactrian has not been the focus of as extensive research as the dromedary, primarily because the regions in which it is found are also home to more efficient pack and draught animals such as the horse, ox, and yak. The dromedary, on the other hand, holds a decisive monopoly on desert environments.

War and peace in Bikaner

War has come often to Bikaner, long famous for its ruthless cavalry whose skills were sharpened by the constant infighting of the Rajput kingdoms. The district holds the distinction of being the only city in India never to have been conquered, a fact that seems odd when its simple Junagarh fort is compared to the imposing castles of nearby Jaisalmer, Jodhpur, and Jaipur.

While many would like to attribute this independence to the ferocity of its warriors (who were the elite of Mughal army) or the blessings of Karni Mata, several more practical factors come to mind. Foremost among these is the city's aridity and isolation, hindering all but the most determined invaders. Even more telling is that Bikaner never faced the Mughals or British in battle. Shrewd political leadership led to defensive pacts with these powers as their influence was waxing, and skilled courtiers kept the state in favor. Indeed, I have even heard Bikaneris refer to their district's opportunistic past with a touch of shame.

Today, Bikaner is home to large detachments of the Indian military. War with Pakistan would entail nuclear exchange, rendering impassable the main road connection between the countries (Delhi-Amritsar-Lahore-Islamabad). The empty Thar provides an easy highway into the heart of Pakistan, and so it is here that Indian offensive might is concentrated.

Accidents

It was with a certain degree of concern that I learned from Jitu that the type of motorcycle accident I had just fallen victim to would occur on a quite regular basis.

I had been driving straight, at constant speed, when some idiot turned into me. My rear tire scooted a few inches and caught, and I kept my balance and continued driving. The other guy waved and smiled.

Apparently, there are simply too many motorbikes on the road, and people 'nudge' each other all the time. Not a matter for concern, supposedly. I guess so, seeing as the exact same thing happened again yesterday.

Deserts and me

I am fascinated by deserts, and have been since I was a child. My romantic side flirts with their aridity, their purity and emptiness, and finds a truth or essence that is missing from the ever ironic world we've created. At the same time there is an analytical beauty to the desert that stems from its raw simplicity, putting its workings just within the realm of comprehension of the scientific mind. Not in the most luxuriant jungle nor in the most resplendent coral reef do these qualities come together; only in the desert do individual variables-- sun, water, plant, ego-- assume large enough roles that their interactions can be fathomed.

The desert is not just a place or environment, nor even, as the cliché goes, a frame of mind. It is a way of viewing life, particularly human life. Turning a desert-tinted lens to our history is like performing a feminist reading of a text or explaining momentum in string theory-- a mere reconsideration of the evidence using different assumptions.

Fare well, Funkmobile

It was with the deepest sorrow that I disassembled my stereo system last night. After a botched mounting attempt in which my foot met a speaker rather than the starter, it seemed prudent to relocate the fragments to my room. In any case, I get enough stares as it is, and really didn't appreciate the extra attention that came from blasting Tower of Power in the middle of the city.

Festivals

Today is Mahatma Gandhi's birthday, a national holiday. Furthermore, the end of Ramadan was delayed by a day because clouds obscured the moon, so it is Eid as well. We are also in the middle of Nauratri, 'nine nights' dedicated to Durga. So it's quite a festive time.

Khyber: Introduction

The Indian subcontinent is completely isolated by land save a small gap in the Hindu Kush mountains of the northwest, the famous Khyber Pass on the Pakistan-Afghanistan border. South Asia's history can be seen in terms of who pased through these gates at what time, invaders sweeping and receding across the region like waves, leaving behind traces of their stock, culture, and religion.

There have only been three migrations in Indian history that did not pass through the Khyber Pass. One (sensu latu) was the periodic arrival of the latest model of hominids, from Homo erectus to modern Homo sapiens' coastal spread eastward 70,000 years ago. The most famous was the influx of the colonial powers, from early Arab trade links to Vasco de Gama to the eventual dominance of the British East India Company. Recently, the South Asian diaspora has led to the emergence of East Indian communities around the world, from centuries-old families of East Africa to half-Indian Guyana to the famous New Jersey suburbs, particularly Edison.

Deshnok, the temple of rats

Last Sunday (before tricking out my bike) I awoke early to head to Deshnok, the famous rat temple of Karni Mata. This goddess (a manifestation of Durga) has been the patron of Bikaner ever since its founder Bika secured her blessing, and the number of times she has saved the city from certain destruction and drought are countless in the region's lore. I was content with some simple sight-seeing.

We arrived around 7:30AM (after a highly gratifying ride along new roads where I could exceed 30mph!) in time to see most of the rats bedding down for the day. Aside from the mandatory bare feet and layers of rat shit, the temple was quite beautiful, with different rooms and adornments added since the first (innermost) simple shrine. We glimpsed a white rat, a symbol of good luck. It is believed that the souls of local villagers are reincarnated only as humans and rats. This is why the pests are tolerated and so lovingly cared for; indeed, stepping on one can only be repaid by the erection of a silver rat statue.

Now we're in the middle of a nine day festival in honour of Durga, and to kick it off every Hindu in Bikaner made the 30km walk to Deshnok over Monday night. We took a jeep with 300kg of bananas to distribute as prasad, enjoying the sights of the pilgrimmage along the way. Among impromtu dance parties outside tuk-tuks sporting massive speakers, parades of Hindu nationalists chanting slogans, and the sheer spectacle of 400,000 people in motion it was a memorable night.

Getting down in the desert:

More wrangling

Here is a short video of a failed attempt to arrest an adult male for measurement.

The Indo-Gangetic plain

Every year, two massive monsoons grace India with lush rainfall before expiring in the towering mountain ranges that isolate the region. First as snow, then as glaciers, then as sediment-rich runoff, this water returns to the subcontinent in three massive rivers: the Ganges, flowing eastwards across the north of India; the Brahmaputra, flowing south to meet the Ganges in Bangladesh; and the Indus, flowing south through the arid reaches of the west. It is the Indus, now the aorta of Pakistan, that granted the region and its native religion their names, as Indus became Hindustan and finally India and Hinduism.


The vast fertile swath created by these three rivers, known as the Indo-Gangetic plain, is today home to over 900 hundred million people. Many live in some of the largest cities on earth-- Islamabad, Karachi, Delhi, Kanpur, Kolkata, Dhaka-- but most reside in the countless small villages typical of South Asian life. Even today, over 60% of Indians draw their primary income from agriculture, even though it only accounts for only 28% of GDP. To a large degree, it is this economic pattern that explains why 300 million Indians live on less than $1 a day, and 750 million on less than $2 a day. Yet it is the ability to support enormous numbers of people that grants India its richness, whether in the earth-shaking armies of the Mughal Empire or the growth of today's IT economy.

First illness

The absolute stupidest thing that some hippy backpacker tourists say is that the water in India is just fine, that it's only our weak western digestive tracks that aren't used to the particular melange of nasty stuff here. So they drink the water, get sick, and somehow rejoice in their moral triumph over their body's inadequacy.

One problem: reliable access to potable water is the greatest problem of the developing world, much of India included. Here's some news to folks thinking about going native: the leading cause of hospitalization in India is diarrhea. The water sucks. Don't drink it, if you can afford to.

When I arrived, I did some research and found out that the water in Bikaner is quite good, so I took my chances and have been drinking it for the past four weeks. So far, so good: I've been laid low with a nasty head cold, but am happy just not to be stuck in the bathroom.

Breeds of Camel: Jaisalmeri

This camel breed emerged around the most isolated of Rajasthan's fort towns, the golden city of Jaisalmer. As in Bikaner, the wealth of the state depended on the taxation of trade. Here, however, the penchant for draught was not so strong, and camels were instead selected for utility as pack animals.

The Jaisalmeri camel is tall and thin, without the large withers and muscles of the Bikaneri. Its coat is very sparse and lightly colored, with no extra facial or body hair. This physique makes it well-suited for racing as well as pack, and the type consistently wins at the famous camel fairs in Pushkar, Jaisalmer, and Bikaner.

Here, a typically Jaisalmeri face:

The Valley of Death

I have spent the past few days following the main herd on its daily wanderings through the 700-hectare NRCC ranch. Ostensibly with the goal of familiarizing myself with 'natural' camel behavior and learning herding techniques from the raikas, I have ended up spending far more time simply wandering through the well-preserved range and enjoying the desert scenery. I am gradually getting used to the Thar, learning the patterns of vegetation growth and where to find the largest groups of miniature antelope.

On Tuesday I hopped an intriguingly barbed-wire fence. Walking in a downwind direction I had no clue what awaited me. Soon I was surrounded by the carcasses of dozens of animals-- cows, camels, dogs, buffalo, everything-- whose decay and reclamation was presided over by massive packs of mangy dogs and enormous congregations of vultures and other large birds. As the stench washed over me and I fingered my walking stick in hopes of never needing to defend myself, I recalled a warning I had ignored several days before.

When an animal dies, dalits (untouchables) are called to remove the corpse. After removing anything of value for later processing, they transport the carcass to a designated spot for disposal. It was this city dumping ground I had strayed into. Surrounded by years of decay, the aroma of death filled my lungs and I focused on getting away safely. It was only later that my thoughts turned to the people whose lives are consumed by such business.

Plan

Time is fast running out before the advent of breeding season and several aspects of my introduction to camelology are not yet complete. This week, I will spend most days in the field with the camel herd observing behavior and learning herding techniques. Next week may hold a sample-gathering and stud-buying trip.

Breeds of Camel: Bikaneri

There are four breeds of camel in India, distinguished as much through historical and geographic separation as by biological difference: Bikaneri, Jaisalmeri, Merwari, and Kacchi. Here, I will describe the Bikaneri.

India is one of the few parts of the world where camels are used as draught animals, and Bikaner, as an isolated city dependent on trade, prefers camels well suited for hitching to a cart. The breed is very large and heavy, with thick appendages and hefty withers. It is much darker than most camel breeds, with profuse facial and neck hair. This gives the animal a rather hilarious appearance. A defining trait of the breed is the distinctive notch or 'shtop' in the snout.

Here, pictures showing the dark coloration, hairy face, and 'shtop' of the Bikaneri camel (contrasted with a Jaisalmeri in the second photo):

History of camel: use for draught

In his fascinating book The Camel and the Wheel (1975), Richard Bulliet of Columbia-Ahmadinejad fame musters an impressive body of camel-knowledge to argue that the efficiency of the camel as a pack animal is largely what drove the disappearance of the wheel from Middle Eastern cultures since Roman times. By coordinating economic, political, social, and, interestingly, camel saddling aspects of Middle Eastern societies, he convincingly shows that the invention of the North Arabian saddle allowed nomadic camel-herders to begin to dominate overland trade routes. This dominance in turn triggered the abandonment of the less-efficient cart. The expansion of Islam reintroduced or solidified the role of the camel across North Africa, the Middle East, and South and Central Asia, and these societies, by and large, discarded the wheel in favor of the more efficient pack camel.

In India, however, cultural familiarity with the wheel was stronger, and even in the most arid, camel-friendly reaches of the Thar desert the cart survived, in all of its oxen-, donkey-, and camel-powered varieties. The camel cart is commonplace on the streets of Bikaner, still used alongside tractors and trucks. The most important selection criteria in the NRCC's complicated method for evaluating the suitability and value of male camels are those related to draught ability. Pack camels, once the lifeline of this desert city, are now only used to transport that most agreeable and easily-loaded commodity: tourists.

Here, a typical camel cart after transporting feed to the main corral. Note the saddle, an Indian pakkra. I took the photo during a sandstorm:

Pimp my Ride, Indian Edition

One of the most noticeable aspects of India is its deafening noise level, which recedes only slightly at night as devotees, drunkards, and dogs take control of the streets. One of the greatest daytime offenders is the tricked-out autorickshaw (tuk-tuk) replete with a custom paint job and massive sound system blaring the latest Hindustani hits to cover up the ominous skips in the two-stroke engine. My masculine sensibilities offended by the presence of wheels badder than mine, I set out to pimp my ride, Indian style.

The six-day workweek affords little time for all-day automotive capers, so yesterday I set out with the limited goal of getting a stereo system installed. This way, my extensive funk collection could grace the streets of Bikaner alongside Punjabi dance tunes and Bollywood anthems. Through Jitu's recommendation, I consulted with Kailash, a mechanic who specialized in the modification of electrical systems.

His plan was simple. We would bypass the battery to feed a small amplifier equipped with a cutoff (so I could plug it into the wall for tailgating) and a switch. The amp would be housed in a box with a mounting for one speaker, with the other fixed in the protective bars in front of my left foot. I would build a small hook up and casing for my iPod.

Our first stop was the Jain Market, where we haggled over the price of the equipment sans warranty. After a brief stop at home to test the system, we headed towards the Modern Market, where mechanics were able to jury-rig the box to my Platina and install the speakers, routing the wiring through the body of the bike.

Returning home, we began the process of final assembly. While I worked on the iPod holder, Kailash and his friend Dharma mounted the electronics and tested the circuits. I noted with apprehension that the method for checking for current involves the tongue.

The system (no specs, for it was built in true hodge-podge Indian style) puts out enough volume to be heard over the engine even at high speeds, but I haven't yet developed the confidence to deploy it in the city. For that, I'm going to wait until I can reliably drive in traffic without stalling out. Til then, and the next project, the Funkmobile will have to wait.

Kailash (l), Dharma (c), and Sonu (r) discuss the electronics in the Vinayak courtyard:

The front speaker. The amp/box assembly. Switch, iPod case, and rear speaker.

Learning to ride

After some initial difficulty with the idea of not having to pedal, I have quickly begun to get comfortable with driving my new motorbike. Coming from a summer of bicycling in New York, I am only moderately intimidated by Bikaner traffic. Worse are the unpredictable and omnipresent cows and the bands of savage roaming dogs who seem to always be able to tell just which riders lack the confidence to give them a sharp kick.

Reproductive cycles

It is most fitting that our Class, Mammalia, is named for an aspect of the female reproductive tract. Especially with regards to the placental mammals (the Theria, which excludes platypuses, echidnas, and kangaroos), the challenges of mating have had a profound impact on our structure, function, and behavior.

Most mammals exhibit an estrous cycle. In this system, ovulation is accompanied by suite of physical and behavioral changes that indicate to males that the female is 'in heat,' or capable of conception. Business proceeds.

Humans are interesting because we have developed the menstrual cycle or 'permanent estrous.' Ovulation is outwardly concealed and conception is possible at any point in the cycle. The only external change is menstruation, the expulsion of an unfertilized ovum. Theoretically, the menstrual cycle evolved along with strong pair-bonding, as males who could not be sure when a female was in heat would be forced to monopolize one female for long periods of time to ensure his paternity.

Camels are also special, as they exhibit induced ovulation or the 'follicular wave.' Follicles are constantly growing and maturing, but ovulation is triggered only by the dirty deed itself. This unique cycle is the greatest obstacle to assisted fertility treatments in camels, for although the males are happy to contribute whenever the opportunity arises, females are quite picky about when they let their eggs out. The evolutionary implications of such as system will be covered in another post.

Here, Dr. Vyas assesses follicle development:

Consecrating the Bajaj

Upon my first homecoming with the new bike I was greeted by my adoptive family and excitedly told to come to the courtyard. There, we blessed the bike in a puja (ritual) befitting such a major purchase, washing it, adorning it with garlands, and painting auspicious symbols on it. Needless to say, it is only in India that one proudly festoons new motorbikes with swastikas.

Before proceeding to work, I stopped at a sweets shop to prepare for the other necessary ritual called for by major life changes. Arriving at the NRCC with two kilos of cashew cake made for a fun morning.

Here, Jitu (l) and Raz (r) perform the rites:

Saddle of camel: early stages

In this day and age many people have had the opportunity to sit atop a camel for a few minutes or days, as tourist operators the world over have realized the appeal these strange animals hold to the Westerner intent on experiencing the Orient. What we don't realize as our thighs chafe, backs ache, and butts get sore is that the piece of wood and cloth separating us from the ugly brute tells us everything we need to know about the history of the camel in that area.

Most of the time, you'll be perched behind the camel's hump, sitting atop the sacrum or pelvic juncture. This method is the easiest to learn and the most comfortable for those without the right callouses, and as such is preferred for first-time riders like tourists or the earliest domesticators.

These were fishermen of coastal Oman who turned to the camel for its milk. When the animal was ridden, it was with a simple mat tied behind the hump. Later, this padding was refined into a full-fledged saddle. Both of these designs are dominant in Somalia and East Africa, where camels were introduced at an early date and are still kept primarily for milk. In Arabia, however, there was to come a more efficient design that would change the role of the camel forever.

Source: Bulliet, R. 1975. The Camel and the Wheel. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

New motorbike

After two weeks of awaiting the proper bureaucratic approval, I have finally acquired my own motorbike. It is a new Bajaj Platina, shiny black, and it gets 60km/l (150mpg). On road price, including accessories, warranty, and insurance, was Rs.37,000, or about $875.

To my parents and family: the meager 100cc engine can barely get me up to 60mph, so recklessness is out of the question (no to mention the state of Indian roads keeps me below 30mph anyway). To friends: it's still got enough kick to make me feel like a badass when I cut loose in the desert, even though in relative terms it would be about as powerful as a Razor scooter if I brought it back to the US. I can't wait to trick it out with a custom paint job and an absurd novelty horn.

Camel pox

There is a small corral isolated from the rest of the facility where those camels requiring medical attention are kept. Right now it is home to several animals who have contracted camel pox. Several months ago the disease swept through the herd, infecting those animals who had not yet been exposed. While the very young usually survive the infection, older camels require much more attention (much like chicken pox in humans). Here, you can see the impending eruption of the pox on an older animal.

Move-in

I've finally moved out of the beautiful, if isolated, NRCC guest house. My new pad is a wonderful apartment in the Purani Ginnani neighborhood, an older area just beyond the fort and the main market. I'm renting a private room (with kitchenette and bathroom) on the top floor of a small homestay guesthouse. The family runs an NGO that sells village artwork and clothing to tourists as a way of supplementing rural incomes.


I was very conscious of the fact that, by moving to a city without an expat community, I was forcing myself to enter completely into an all-Indian social circle. Indeed, that was part of the appeal of Bikaner. Over the past few weeks, however, I have begun to realize that total isolation from Westerners would be a bit much. So living at the guesthouse is a good call- I'll have my privacy when I need it, an Indian family to get to know well, and, occasionally, a fellow native English speaker to talk to.


Here, my room. Shots of the rooftop view on the way.

Passage to India

A friend's letter made me wonder just how it got here. Poking around on the dumptruck internet I ran into this vintage postcard showing the first airmail route between England and India, operated by Imperial Airways (today's British Airways) from 1931 with HP.42 biplanes. What a wonderfully romantic way to get mail when compared to Gmail and FedEx:

The precise route: London-Paris-Marseilles-Brindisi-Athens-Crete-Alexandria-Cairo-Gaza-Ar Rutba-Baghdad-Basra-Kuwait-Bahrain-Sharjah-Muscat-Gwadar-Karachi-Jodhpur.

I, Dung Beetle

For those anxiously awaiting a more comprehensive explanation of the reasoning behind my blog's title, I've finally finished revising its eponymous essay. The original was a fair degree more technical so I've done my best to make this version more accessible. You can read it here.

More delays

My hard drive died today, consigning to memory megabytes of fantastic photos and movies I had hoped to post. Please excuse the delay.

The skinny on the net

I'm finding it extraordinarily difficult to find an internet cafe that can support both the processing needs and the bandwidth requirements of regularly posting multimedia. So I have a big pile of photos and videos (more camel wrangling) that are waiting for a decent connection. In a few days (once again waiting on paperwork...) I will get internet on my laptop through my mobile phone, and then the blog will be graced with copious amounts of new dung.

To my fellow 11 year olds

Every few days, the moaning of the camels and chirping of the birds at the NRC is puncuated by the distinct scream of an Indian Air Force jet making a low flyover. Bikaner, being a major population center near the Pakistan border, is home to a very large military base. The most plush part of town is reserved for high ranking officers and the ubiquitous army trucks are as overbuilt as any others in this country, though lacking the tricked-out religious paint job and novelty horn.

The aircraft in question are MiG-21M's, a 1960's-era Soviet fighter produced under license in India after the type's success in the 1971 Indo-Pakistan War. The 450 remaining in IAF service are due to be replaced by an indigenous design, the HAL Tejas.

Interestingly, despite India's increasing economic and social ties to the West, in addition to its political history as a solid democracy, it still turns to Russia for most of its defence needs. The newest aircraft in the IAF inventory are MiG-29's and locally-produced Su-30's, and considerable fuss has been made over the Indian acquisition of a Russian aircraft carrier.