The faces (of Bangla moviestars, grimacing and toting guns and bloody knives - but we've been throught this before) on the seats of rickshaws glow in an orange pink that matches the hue of "sharuhk khan's" mug dancing above the driver's head. I can't believe it - they dance at the foot of Lombard street where the road sublimely turns like wheelchair ramps only at a worse slope and without handrails. Now they are dancing on the top of church street? Or is it Russian Knob something hill? I can't tell but I swear that I saw Gavin Newsome while they danced around the steps of the city / county building. But we were talking about color.
The red of the bucket, a little less amplified then shahruk's face reflects the jackfruit. Let me describe my lunch feast. Sickly sweet pods with threetimeskidney bean sized pits. A cross between a perfectly ripe mango and a banana? to be honest, the national fruit of Bangladesh sometimes reminds me of Starburst candy. Michele thinks that they taste like Tums, or rolaids, just ask her.
The red bucket of ripe jackfruit is continually replentished by the junior of the workshop technicians. He is the same sweet guy who brings me chai and shingara (like samosa only better) at 10:30 everyday. He waits until I've finished and then takes the tiny glass mug back to be washed. Today he has jackfruit glue all over his fingers. He pulls in the jackfruit body and deposits pods of the shining fruit in the red bucket. After a couple dozen of fruit pods, another technician pours puffed rice into the bucket. His hands are covered with a white substance that requires kerosine to rinse off. When I fake to shake his hand the whole room yells at me not to touch him. But he smiles.
A senior technician then digs his hand in and thoroughly mixes the concoction. We all watch and try not to drool. On our haunches, we are crouched around the bucket bangla style. We all reach our right hands into the mixture and return with a puffy wad. Stuffing the rich ball into our mouths, we all spit out the pit. They rain on the floor like the water falls from the sky and we chew together.
I like all 12 of the seating, positioning and orthotics workshop crew. While consuming mass quantities of Jackfruit and puffed rice, they tease me about my lungie. I should NOT have worn it to work - A big faux pas.
I've heard the lecture before about my choice of work clothes. So I try not to laugh when my boss, Firoz, discusses the merits of the lungie... as a sleeping outfit, not a work one. We continue to savor the rich fruit.
We have made great progress on the portable seating system. We are not quite there yet, but a few minor details away. We took a few hours off and built a keyguard from scrap plexiglass. An award plaque from 2001 was sacrificed. I scraped the 4 year old paint off the surface and washed it in detergent. It is a beautiful keyguard, although I'm starting to regret our use of superglue. I should have paid the 350 taka for a keyboard with Bangla characters... Although not entirely useful for those unfamiliar with english characters, our keyboard and keyguard look pretty.
This cybercafe monitor is on it's last legs - it's contrast has pushed the blogger blue to purple.I pray that allah keeps you all well and functioning, then knock, knock knock knock knock on wood and pray the same for blogger.
