Masala

I've landed in Delhi and am thoroughly enjoying the sauna-esque climate and stomach-on-the-edge-of-a-nervous-breakdown. Aaahhh, Delhi Belly. How I have missed thee.

To compensate for the verbosity of the last post, Knitcrit proudly presents a series of recent India photos with minimal commentary:

First, lest the knitblog police force me to change my blog name to Critknit due to lack of knitting content, there's been some heel-turning on sock number one:






















Pomatomus is still surprisingly easy and still fun. Knitters: does anyone know anything about a slightly-larger-than-lace-pattern-size hole on one side of the patterned part of foot? It happened right about the time I stopped the side decreases for the gusset. I really don't think I made a mistake. Anyway, I'm choosing to ignore it. Socks go in shoes, right?

English-language newspapers here continue with their hard-hitting coverage of the issues that matter most:






















This chicken DARES you to eat her:























Anyone else think this product is vaguely pornographic or do I just have a smutty mind?

















Just in case your body isn't producing enough on its own:






















Doesn't this make you never want to eat a popsicle again?

















Possibly only two regular blog readers will understand this, but still, check it out! I found the dargah in Mysore that has haziri - though there they call it tawaf karna. I was thrilled to find this - it's a good story, actually, but we're favoring pictures this time, so here's the sign that tipped me off:























Dedicated and clever readers: Normally I can deduce intention behind slightly ill-chosen Indian English words, but in this case, I admit to being totally baffled. Probably these helmets are actually made in China, home of the truly inexplicable English word choice, but still - any ideas on the intention behind branding a helmet as "deletion?"























Like many young men on the street in Mysore, these helmet sellers were cheery and possibly a little drunk. Photo concept theirs, photographer me:

















My new gold earrings! I love them!






















Shanidev street shrine - possibly Knitcrit's new post-dissertation project since the Unani thing appears to be tanking hard:






















And finally, even with a month and a half to go, I am still absolutely confident in naming this the best photo from this trip to India:

Mother India

This just in from the English edition of the Deccan Chronicle:

















No, this is not a story about my exploits in Chennai, thank you very much - if you enlarge the photo and read the story, you'll be given not only the actual full name of the poor girl who was attacked by a new-ish friend after drinking late into the night at one of Chennai's swank hotel bars, but half of her address in Chennai, as well. This so that every man in the city can stalk her, one supposes, since as a drunken debased white chick she's really just asking for it.

Appreciate, also, the random photo of the endangered species turtle accompanying the story. It's a curious fact that English-language Indian newspapers often feature grotesque or otherwise weird-ass photos that have absolutely nothing to do with adjacent stories. Eerily, however, in this case the photo caption "cynosure of all eyes" fits pretty well with the newspaper story - nothing like a titillating story about a debased white chick to sell newspapers.

Of course, this attitude towards the white chick is old, old news to an old India hand like myself; studying yoga here in Mysore for the month at the Astanga Yoga Mothership, however, is completely new to me and it has inspired the mother of all blog posts on white spiritual seeker culture in India - a culture I have observed from afar for many years and in which I am now immersed and possibly drowning. For now, suffice to say that after this month I will feel absolutely, perfectly, and completely entitled to my witheringly scornful opinion of skinny, vegan, Sanksrit-chanting, scooter driving, Om-tattooed trustafarians. Coming soon.

And yes, there has been knitting. I haven't turned the heel yet, so it's probably premature to say so, but these Pomatomus socks aren't all that difficult...


















And finally, a poster for one of Bollywood's less fine recent features. Too good not to share, and sort of on topic in a Blogger labels sort of way:

<-- "She is Eagerly Waiting for you..."




















I bet this debased white chick doesn't have to worry about getting attacked on the way home from the bar.

Some for the road

I am of course generally worried about getting everything done before we leave for India on Monday. Specifically, though, I was worried that I'd manage to complete all the thankless tasks but I wouldn't quite make it to Knitty City in time to get yarn for my summer knitting projects. Chalk one up for Professor Slacker - my grades are still not submitted, but my knitting needles will be very well-dressed for summer.

Gender-neutral jewel tone superwash goodness from Dream In Color, purchased to make Elizabeth Zimmerman's ever-popular Baby Surprise Jacket - also meant to be surprise for an occasional reader of this blog, so no more on this project for now:
















For me, two skeins of Shi Bui's superwash merino in the romantically named Color 1675 - it's slightly variegated and manages to be cheery and earthy at the same time (it's a bit brighter in the photos than in real life). This will become Cookie A's Pomatomus, inshallah, unless pattern sends me off the deep end, in which case it will become the slightly less challenging Monkey, also by Cookie A.

















And finally, because billions of hip young knitters can't be wrong, I'll be knitting my first pair of Jaywalkers with this pretty self-striping yarn - superwash merino, of course.
















Now that I have yarn for said projects, I can get back to worrying about whether or not I'll get everything graded in time. Just so long as there's something to give me insomnia.
















Also coming to India: the wedding shawls. They're not done yet. The new unrealistic goal is finishing both of them before our first anniversary. And then I will never knit lace again.

Attention TSA: not letting me take knitting needles on the plane will actually be much more dangerous for passengers than just letting me get started on my new socks. (Alert readers will note that I have used the words "TSA" "dangerous" "knitting needles" and "inshallah" in the same post. Let's see what happens next.)