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: