"What a way to fuck up!"

Ukiah.

I decided to exit and check out the town.  Not only because of the small town atmosphere where I wanted to get myself a cup of coffee.  There was more.  I wanted to get an idea of why this part of the world was once home to the notorious Jim Jones.

I have hazy recollections of the news report of the cult-suicide in The Hindu, back when I was a teenager curious to understand the world.  I am pretty sure that it was thanks to that cult and the suicide that I came to know about two things: Kool-Aid and Guyana.  Years later, I had a classmate in graduate school who was from Guyana--she was of Indian descent, and I always found it interesting when she introduced herself as an East Indian.  Little did I know about the history behind that usage!

I parked across the courthouse along the main street.  Perhaps because of the background curiosity about Jim Jones, I worried that it was a bad idea.  But, I ventured.  When I saw a building with an interesting cupola, I got excited about the stories that I might discover for myself.  I clicked.

A marker on the side noted that the building is from 1889.  Unlike the long history of the old country, here even a building from 1889 has historic value.  After walking a couple of blocks, I decided to drive around.  Which is when all my troubles began.

A couple of blocks away, a driver reversing the car out of the angled parking space on the street almost rammed into my vehicle.  Phew!

Another couple of blocks later, I came to a stop at the intersection, and then proceeded along.  I heard somebody yelling.  "Hey, asshole!"  Really?  Me an asshole? I merely blog about them ;)

I noticed a man on a bicycle furiously pedaling behind me and yelling at the same time.  I wondered whether I should flee or stop to listen to him.  Stupid me I chose the latter.

I lowered the window.

"You didn't stop at the stop sign, asshole.  You could have hit me or somebody."  He seemed about a decade older than me.

I did stop.  There was another vehicle that came to a stop at the intersection 90 degrees to my right.  I then slowly entered the intersection.  My guess is that this cyclist was hidden from my view by the larger vehicle.

But, I didn't bother explaining all these to him. "Sorry" is all I said as I released my foot off the brake pedal.

"What a way to fuck up" was his parting comment.

Two incidents within a couple of blocks was enough for me.  I decided to leave town before anything really ugly happened.

Maybe Jim Jones' crazy spirit is alive and well in Ukiah!  Make sure you don't drink the Kool-Aid there ;)

On the Latin American Indians. The "East Indians" that is!

In commenting on this post on the multinational existence of my extended family, Chris wonders about the Indian migration to Latin America, which then makes me recall old stories, in a Bill Cosby-like rambling fashion!  Pull up a chair, and get yourself a cup of coffee first.

About this time of the year, 25 years ago, I went to Venezuela with a few other graduate schoolmates, on a three-week study trip.

One of the very few photos from my Venezuela trip

In the initial couple of days, we were guided by a local guy, Carlos.  Right from the first minute of meeting him, I thought to myself that the guy looked Indian.  As in from India.

If I am an idiot now with no social skills, well, I was worse then.  I am guessing that I would have phrased it in the most awkward and politically incorrect way possible when I asked him if he had any Indian connections.

Turned out that he had!

Curiosity was, for once, useful—Carlos’ grandparents were from India. They came to Guyana, from where his father later immigrated to Venezuela, married a local and, hence, Carlos the Venezuelan!

The Guyana connection was especially interesting because a student in our group was from Suriname.  And, yes, she too was an "Indian" whose great-grandparents, I think, had emigrated from India to Guyana, if I correctly recall. Like many of Indian origin from there, she, too, was keen on getting out of the country.

She never said "Indian" but always used the phrase "East Indian."  Understandable--to differentiate from the "Indians" in the Americas and the "West Indians."  What a confusion thanks to Columbus!

I have in my mind this blurry image of her mother and sister cooking a fabulous meal for a whole bunch of us when they were in Los Angeles.  They all settled down later in New York.  The years have taken a toll on my memory and I have absolutely no idea about her name; how sad!

I do remember Trevor, however.

Trevor was from South Africa and, yes, was a product of the Indian dispersion into that country.  Not merely India, but from Tamil Nadu!

The common thread here is, of course, the colonizer--Britain.

So, after recalling those old stories, the nerd in me gets curious.  Would the British connection then have opened up a portal for Indians into Belize?  Are there people of Indian origin in Belize?  Can one get an aaloo paratta there? ;)

The web comes to my rescue:

The "East Indians" as they were referred to, perhaps in order to distinguish them from the original "Maya Indians" that inhabited this part of the world, were first brought to Belize to supplement the African laboring population.  It was not until slavery had been abolished that the first East Indians, between 1870 and 1880 first arrived in Belize. 

 Tada!

East Indian food, a significant aspect of culture, is still very much prevalent in the homes of the contemporary East Indian population, as well as Belizeans as a whole. Today the East Indian community is identified by a distinctively "Indian" appearance, either in hair, or facial features. Although they have adopted many of the social practices, customs and values of the creolized Belizean populace they have given as much in return, so much so that they remain among Belizeans a group that has truly become a dear collaborator, sharing their culture and most notably, their food.

So, any Indian eateries in Belize?  I am awfully curious by now.

Another search and Lonely Planet recommends Sumathi Indian Restaurant!  Meet the chef:

What a fascinating world!

By the way, why does the chef not smile for the photograph?  Not smiling is in the Indian genes?