BeastMaster Rahul

"Is it getting hot in here or did someone just fart?" I ask no one in particular.

"I just opened the dahl," offers Priyamvatha. Rahul rocks spasmodically with contagious laughter.

"I love the options presented," he gasps, "It's either getting hot in here, or someone farted."

"Or someone opened the dahl. It's the perfect ephemism" I point out between staccato snickers. The three of us are reduced to howling, contractions of stomach muscle writhing on the futons in the IndiCorps meeting room. No service work is possible in this condition. Sadly, Priyamvatha had selflessly prepared the dahl with my dysfunctional digestion in mind and now I have artlessly compared its odor to the passing of gas. But it is impossible to avoid the fact: the dahl does smell like vegan flatulence--a curious woodsy aroma with a troubling undercurrent of bean.

Later at lunch, over the maligned dahl, Rahul becomes philosophical about the application of animals married to labour-saving devices. He envisions a village where a large turning mechanism is powered by water buffalo and villagers can "plug" various components in to do work like clothes washing or flour grinding. After lunch a walk to the juice stand past a street project allows Rahul to expand on his animal plan. "You see, there is no reason for these people to be breaking up the road with pick axes. Even with India's limited resources, better solutions could be found. Elephants could be outfitted with spiked shoes and led back and forth to do the same work in a fraction of the time." Rahul's invocation of Elephants in spiked heels brings to mind the scene from Fantasia of hippos in tutus. Not wanting to be left out of the fun I offer up my own scheme over a chilled juice cocktail.

"Snakes could be jerry-rigged with head shovels. Earth moving projects could simply take advantage of their natural tendency to slither about. There is simply no reason all that slithering should go to waste."

Rahul and Priyamvatha are amused, but not sold on my idea. I try again. "Bats could be outfitted with girdles of some sort such that when they discharge guano a small battery would be attached and be charged in the descent to the ground. Maybe it would power a small LED that would then alert people where not to step. Getting bats in diapers could be a challenge though." Again amusement, but no buyers.

On the way back to the office I jump in to help the street workers scoop dirt into wok-shaped bowls and then transfer the contents to a tractor-pulled wagon. Where are my shovel-equipped slitherers when you need them? As is usually the case in construction projects of this sort, migrant tribals have been employed. The women veil themselves when passing in my proximity in an attempt to maintain their modesty in the company of a ferengi (outsider). On construction sites in India, I have noticed time and time again that the women do more than their fair share of the labor. Not only do they help shovel, but they alone are charged with carrying the dirt atop their heads to the wagon while the men chat idly. This is true when bricks or stones need to be transported as well. Who needs Rahul's elephants when there are adamantine-necked women around? Rahul learns the workers are paid 70 rupees a day for their back-breaking labor and generously buys a round of cold drinks for all. When the one-man earth moving project that is me starts to flag in the intense heat, one of the men takes note and replaces my jumbo-sized wok with a junior-sized one. I'm no woman after all.