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.