Being so simple, divorce can sometimes happen accidentally, as in Aftab Ansari’s case. After a nasty marital fight, Mr. Ansari unknowingly muttered the word three times in his sleep. A waking nightmare followed.

His wife, Sohela, heard what was said. Knowing that he hadn’t actually divorced her, but upset nonetheless, she told a friend about it the next day. People in the village gossiped about it, and the matter soon reached local Islamic religious leaders. They decreed that divorce had taken place and tried to separate the couple by force, even though both husband and wife wished to remain together. When the couple defied the ruling, they were threatened.

The case is an extreme example of the tension building in India’s pluralistic democracy over a delicate issue: Where does a religious freedom end and the rule of law begin?

Having given Muslims the right to follow their own religious laws in the Shariat Application Act of 1937 (including polygamy and triple talaq), India’s courts are now rethinking this delegation of authority. Meanwhile, among India’s Muslims, women are becoming educated and starting to demand their rights from a grudging religious establishment.

Islamic courts challenged

Last year, the Supreme Court of India ordered that the Islamic court system, known as Dar-ul Qazas, be examined and possibly dismantled in response to a public-interest lawsuit claiming that the religious courts are subverting the judicial system.

The complaint and continuing inquiry began after a ruling by a village-based Islamic court in a rape case caused a national furor. The court ruled that a woman raped by her father-in-law had effectively divorced her husband by having relations with another man and must marry the rapist. The most powerful Islamic law organization in the country, the All India Muslim Personal Law Board (AIMPLB), supported the decision and even alleged that the woman lied about being raped.

The AIMLB has no legal standing and is simply supposed to advise people on Koranic Law. In practice, though, because it runs most of the Islamic courts, its decisions are highly influential. As the Indian state court system is usually highly inefficient and slow, hiring lawyers and waiting years for a case to be heard is often out of the question for poor Muslims. Islamic courts are a cheap, fast option used for small disputes.

In poor or remote communities, there are no courts at all, and the local cleric or village council — knowledgeable or not of the constitution or Koran — serves as judge and jury. The state and its systems are so distant from these villagers that verdicts announced in the local mosque must be followed.

Such was the Ansari case. Not accepting the judgment and fearing the wrath of religious leaders and their fellow villagers, they had their marriage registered in court.

A legal question

India is the only country in the world where triple talaq divorce is legal; even stricter Islamic countries have abolished it. The Koran specifies that a waiting period of one month is required between each utterance of “talaq” — allowing tempers to cool and consequences to be considered.

It was in the 1800s that a British colonial court allowed a triple talaq all at once without the wife being present. The ruling somehow stuck even after India’s independence in 1947.

“This had become the tradition. Yet how much did the (colonial) council understand Islamic law?” asked Bombay High Court advocate Nilofar Akhtar, who specializes in family law.

Islamic marriage is solemnized with the signing of a “nikahnama,” a marriage contract prescribed in the Koran.

When the AIMPLB drew up a model nikahnama this year, women’s groups were outraged. They had long sought revocation of the triple talaq, as well as making the payment of alimony mandatory and giving women the right to initiate a divorce. None of these is included in the document, which added to the confusion by advising that triple talaq be avoided “at all costs unless circumstances become highly compelling.”

Mrs. Akhtar and other advocates made another version of a model nikahnama, one much more liberal than the AIMPLB’s. “Anyone can draw it up… It is actually a personal document in which you can put numerous stipulations. There is a great difference between the AIMPLB’s nikahnama and mine.”

In a nikahnama, a bride can demand larger “mehr” (a dowry given to her by her husband) and even the right to divorce. However, many Muslim women in India are unaware of these rights. But thanks to a new initiative from the International Federation of Electoral Systems (IFES), a Washington-based non-profit organization, this is slowly changing.

Changing minds

In a house built behind the Sufi shrine at Ajmer in Rajasthan state, 50 Muslim women are learning their Koranic and constitutional rights. K.D. Khan, a lawyer who once ran the famous shrine, urges the women to make sure their daughters approve of the man they will marry and write each daughter’s nikahnama so that she can divorce and get alimony.

“Why aren’t women allowed to give talaq?” Mr. Khan asked a crowd. “They are allowed to get married, aren’t they?” They titter, young girls and old women whispering among themselves.

“These programs are in great demand because few women know these laws, and many are illiterate and have not read the Koran,” said Shagufta Khan, coordinator of the program in Rajasthan.

IFES has conducted more than 70 such sessions in Rajasthan and the southern state of Karnataka. The information sessions are not just for women: IFES has run many for men and Islamic religious judges.

How does the Washington group deal with opposition? IFES contacts all orthodox groups and clergy and provides a syllabus of what will be taught. It also hires activists known to the community. Since nearly all this taught can be found in the Koran or the Indian Constitution, its hard to object to it.

But program director Suraiya Tabbassum knows she can’t push too far. The women “can’t change overnight,” she said. Touchy topics such as polygamy are often avoided in the interest of avoiding discord.

Change may seem slow but Mrs. Tabbassum says it is happening: “I foresee the triple talaq will be out in the near future. Everyone us shouting about that.” In a survey she conducted in India Muslim communities, most male and female respondents agreed that the system of triple talaq could not be justified.

Other signs of equality have come as well, many from the camps themselves and the information women have gleaned there.

Informed that they have the right to ask for the dowry written into their marriage contracts, many women participants went back and asked their husbands to give it to them that very night. Most got jewelry and some, even cash.

Mrs. Tabbassum told of one women who examined her marriage contract to find she had been promised just two cents as mehr. Undeterred, she asked for it immediately and bought herself a couple of tea.

By Erica Lee Nelson. Photographs by Sebastian John.

Published in The Washington Times, 2006.

According to Smithsonian magazine, Esposito used buffalo mozzarella on his groundbreaking pizza, a new ingredient to be melted atop flat bread. Mediratta also added a significant innovation to the pizza art form—chickpeas. As with most new ideas, people scoffed at first. “When I was doing this pizza, everyone put me down and said, ‘We can’t put chickpeas on it; there is no value.’ I said, if you look at an Indian consumer, he eats bhatura, which is a bread, and he eats it with chana. My crust is also a bread. So I just need to put some chana and onion on top of it,” says Mediratta, a former Taj Hotel chef who prefers to eat at roadside dhabas instead of five-star hotels.

He chucked the basil topping of the original “Margherita” pizza in favor of onions, paneer, soft chickpeas, fresh coriander and a sprinkling of masala. It’s now one of the best selling items in Pizza Hut’s vegetarian range. “It’s the consumer who decides what he wants, not us,” says Mediratta.

And that has been one of the greatest lessons for U.S.-based restaurant chains as they entered the Indian market: Indian consumers crave Indian flavors. Give them a chicken burger, but make it with mint sauce. Or a submarine sandwich with spicy potato patties. Keep the international standard of service, cleanliness and food quality. Keep the food’s form and function the same. But a little masala never hurt anyone.

From unsure and sometimes rough beginnings, American food chains are growing fast in India now. Papa John’s just entered and KFC is resurgent. McDonald’s now has 91 restaurants in India and feeds 350,000 people a day. Pizza Hut had 126 restaurants in July and is expanding fast into small towns, as is Subway, with 79 restaurants. In fact, Indian menu options have become standard for American chains here. Says Robby Gulri, a Subway representative in India, “When we first introduced Subway in India, we only had our international selection of subs. In line with customer feedback and popular demand we gradually introduced a variety of Indian subs. These were developed in collaboration with our local vendors and the R&D department at Subway headquarters, in Milford, Connecticut.”

Newcomer Papa John’s didn’t have to suffer the learning curve of early entrants like Pizza Hut and Domino’s Pizza (which, like Subway, both started out with only standard offerings). Papa John’s launched its restaurants with a host of Indian -style pizzas already on the menu. The success of the shift speaks for itself. In India, the top selling McDonald’s product is the McAloo Tikki, a Rs. 20 potato burger with spices, tomato slices and a tangy sauce. But making a bestseller isn’t just about whipping up wonders in the kitchen:

It’s a long, complicated process involving marketing, supply chains, kitchen staff and countless tests of taste and pricing. That new, delicious looking dish advertised in the newspaper often takes more than a year to develop from concept to reality. Fast-food and chain restaurants like McDonald’s and Pizza Hut are all about volumes; therefore, every new offering actually starts in marketing. That department collects customer feedback, runs focus groups, watches sales trends and does its best to find out what customers are craving.

Once a trend is established, marketing consults chefs and other food developers to come up with offerings to reflect it. Samples are then taken to consumers in focus groups, who are not allowed to eat the offerings—yet. They’re simply told about the product, and asked if they would want to buy it. After narrowing the choices from the feedback, an in-house
team rates the selections on taste, presentation and feasibility.

After this, products are again sent to the focus groups, but this time, they get a taste. If the consumers like the taste, then it’s off to the biggest test of all: suppliers. Can the meat suppliers mass produce a kebab that tastes just right and doesn’t cost a fortune? Will the breadsticks crumble before they are delivered? If the suppliers can produce the ingredients, then it’s on to a restaurant test where a branch is chosen to sell and serve the product. Can the kitchen workers prepare it properly? Is the price too high? Can the waiters explain what goes into the item? And, of course, the bottom line: does it sell? Only after all these questions are answered does that hot bite end up on your lunch tray.

Some bright ideas from India have even gone international. In Pizza Hut’s case, the U.S.-based parent introduced a stuffed crust pizza with strips of mozzarella cheese baked into the edges. However, Indians aren’t fans of cheese as much as Americans are, and the pizza didn’t sell well here. Instead, Indian consumers wanted more meat. After playing around with
crust stuffing technology, Mediratta and his team found a way to stuff sausages into the crust instead of cheese. It was a hit. After that, it was just a matter of time before other countries picked up the same feature, and sausage crust pizza went worldwide.

Innovations aren’t limited to the food either. When McDonald’s started its delivery service, a feature of many of its branches in Asian countries, it came upon a problem for its Chandni Chowk branch in New Delhi. “As a model, we use specially modified and branded scooters for delivery,” says Pawanjit Singh, who heads the delivery division for McDonald’s India. “But looking at the traffic congestion in Chandni Chowk, we felt that scooters would not allow us to deliver the orders in time. We finally decided upon bicycles.” Men on bikes take up less space and can zip through the crowded streets much faster. This is important, considering the walled city is said to hold an estimated one million people. And if it’s terribly crowded — say, at 5:30 p.m. on a weekday — the delivery men have even been known to walk to nearby destinations. It’s the only branch of McDonald’s worldwide to have this unique form of delivery.

But how much Indian flavor is too much? When do you stop catering to local tastes and start diluting your core product? It’s a delicate balance that marketers and chefs have to handle every time they work on a new menu offering. Says Mediratta, “Our consumer research shows that people say they want an international concept but with an Indian heart. They don’t want butter chicken; for that they can go to other places. When they come here they still want an international pizza, so we have to be very careful when we do the balancing on our menu.” For that reason, he’s decided not to tamper with his core ingredients: crust, cheese and sauce.

In addition to finding the right food elements, the other assets of chain restaurants play a huge role in keeping the brand international. The staff speak English and are trained in customer service; the ambience is clean and well-lit with a modern feel; and the ingredients are all prepared in hygienic conditions identical to the requirements in the United States. Surprise visits are made at least once a month to each franchise by an undercover customer, and if standards are not met, the restaurant will be penalized or even shut down.

One integral feature of all the Indian branches of American brands is vegetarian offerings. Workers in different parts of the kitchen keep the meat-based products strictly separated. This scrupulous behavior was learned the hard way. KFC was plagued by allegations of animal rights abuses in its chicken sourcing, and McDonald’s received a lot of flak over an allegation of small amounts of beef in the oil used to cook vegetarian products, which the company denied.

Arvind Mediratta, marketing director of Yum Foods India, spoke of the trouble first experienced by the company’s brands. “When KFC came in, the political environment was not very conducive to the entry of multinationals. There was a lot of hue and cry raised by politicians saying that KFC is junk food. They said, ‘We don’t need multinationals to serve us chicken. We have our own tandoori chicken.’ While there was so much heat on KFC, we moved the focus to Pizza Hut.”

Much has happened since 1995 when KFC first launched. Foreign direct investment rules have been liberalized, the average salary has risen and the Indian government is now wooing multinational companies, not shunning them. All these factors were motivations to relaunch KFC in metros like New Delhi and Calcutta. And KFC has re-launched with a new menu that’s pretty radical for a restaurant known for its chicken. Its vegetarian range includes a chana burger and Indian thalis. Says Arvind Mediratta, “When we talk about the KFC brand, we’re not talking about chicken; our positioning is around taste.”

Though it’s too early to gauge the success of the vegetarian menu, price will obviously play a part in KFC’s sales. Ten years ago, it sold two pieces of chicken for Rs. 60 and saw customers balk at the amount. Today KFC is selling two pieces for Rs. 5 more, and catering to a whole new income bracket. American restaurant chains have all been getting aggressive
in pricing in recent years. Many began with prices that reflected those in the West and their products were regarded as a luxury. Now McDonald’s has a Rs. 20 menu, Subway has Rs. 50 sandwiches and Pizza Hut has a meal package of ice cream, pizza and soup for Rs. 75. All reported a significant boost in sales since introducing lower pricing.

And as they make their food affordable to a whole new section of customers, they are also helping Indian farmers and suppliers become more efficient and knowledgeable. Processed food is still quite new and underdeveloped here, and it’s not uncommon for Indian vendors for American chains to be sent on exchange programs to the United States or Europe to learn new processes and recipes.

Neerja Bharat of McDonald’s recalls the company’s Indian launch in the early 1990s and the extensive search for good suppliers. “India had no technical know-how and expertise on how to grow lettuce,” she says. “We needed lettuce that would crunch when you bite it.” It took McDonald’s six years to get the lettuce right, along with other key food components. The company finally settled on farming it in Ooty, Tamil Nadu, and taught the vendors advanced drip irrigation methods. The vendors now plan on exporting lettuce to McDonald’s in other countries as well.

Pizza Hut had similar problems with pepperoni when the Indian government banned its import. Sanjiv Mediratta knew he had to arrange something, as customers were clamoring for the Italian sausage. After interviewing many vendors, he settled on a small pork slaughterhouse called Farm Suzanne, in Chennai. The owners were already catering to other packaged food makers, but were still not up to international standards. Plus, they had no idea how to make pepperoni.

So Yum Foods brought one of its vendors from Australia to teach pepperoni processes and seasoning. Every window in the plant had to be shut, the building had to be kept at 10 degrees Celsius at all times, and lots of new equipment was needed. These were all expensive for a small vendor to handle, but Farm Suzanne did it. It now produces authentic Indian-made pepperoni in perfectly uniform slices that taste just like the international stuff. Pepperoni lovers can now breathe easy; Pizza Hut will be reintroducing the signature dish soon.

And what of customers from America or Europe who are searching for a familiar taste from home? Vijay Kadian, manager of a Pizza Hut in Gurgaon, outside New Delhi, says that Western customers in the business hub regularly order the local pizzas. “They are visiting a brand like Pizza Hut but they are in India, and want a taste of Indian food as well. They order the Indian pizzas.” But, he admits, “without the green chilies.”

By Erica Lee Nelson

Published in SPAN, 2006

These are New York City’s culinary warriors, the famed street vendors who often start their days at 4 a.m. in order to serve the lunchtime hordes.

Street vendors are sometimes looked down upon as serving cheap, unsanitary food. Yet, in the United States, the profession is beginning to gain respect from celebrity chefs, the national press, advocacy organizations and everyday people looking for healthy, fast food that fits their budgets.

Street food is celebrated with special events in San Francisco and Los Angeles in California, but the New York City Vendy Awards are arguably the best-known; the Oscars of street food. The fifth annual Vendy competition took place on September 26, 2009 in Flushing Meadows Park, the site of the 1964 World’s Fair.

South Asian vendors have been regular finalists for the awards and have once taken home the top prize. Thiru “Dosa Man” Kumar from Jaffna, Sri Lanka, won the 2007 Vendy Award. Bangladeshi chef Meru Sikder’s Biryani Cart took the People’s Choice Award (considered by some to be the most important prize) in 2008.

South Asian vendors have been regular finalists and have once taken home the top prize.

Thomas DeGeest, center, of Wafels and Dinges in New York City.

Beyond the Biryani Cart’s second try at the award, South Asian flavors dominated in some totally unexpected food offerings this year. An ice cream cart offered toasted, curried coconut as a topping, and another vendor handed out curry and apple flavored cookies.

The event not only offers great exposure for the vendors, but serves as a fundraiser for the Street Vendor Project, affiliated with the international movement StreetNet, headquartered in South Africa. India’s own branch, the Patna, Bihar-based National Alliance of Street Vendors of India, is also part of the network.

These organizations work as street vendor advocates with local governments in order to make legal processes, such as the distribution of permits, work more effectively. Plus, since many vendors in the United States are immigrants, they often need help navigating the legal requirements needed to set up shop on the city streets. That’s where the project’s founder, Sean Basinski, comes in.

“Every day [we] go out on the streets to talk to vendors,” he says. “We go to court to fight for their rights, and we organize meetings where vendors can fight for their own rights.”

Basinski used to run a burrito cart before he went to law school. That experience laid the foundation for what has become his life’s work.

“I never did it with the intention that we would be here today,” he says. “I just wanted to make a few bucks and I liked the idea of being my own boss.”

That same allure is what drove 2009 finalist Sikder to open up his own cart. After coming to the United States in 1993 and working as a banquet chef in a hotel for many years, Sikder says he always dreamed of opening his own restaurant in New York City. The start-up costs were too high, though, so he started to think about alternatives. He’s had the cart for seven years now, and has never looked back.

Since winning the People’s Choice Award in 2008, he says his business increased 40 percent. He already owns another cart right next to his original, and is planning to expand further next year.

“It’s the land of opportunity in America. My first job was pumping gas!” he says with a smile.

Of course, there are many successful vending businesses that don’t make it to the awards.

Balwant Singh, an immigrant from Phagwara, Punjab, has been running a successful Indian food cart on Park Avenue in Manhattan, New York City for the past six years. A full meal is cheap even for street food—just $5.

He holds an official permit for his location and doesn’t move around, which makes his daily business easier. “In India, the police often chase you,” he says. “Here, there is no hassle. I have an I.D. and I can park in peace.”

As to the spice factor, Singh reports that he keeps it moderate to please the general American palate, but adds, “I keep extra chilies for Indians.”

Americans are becoming much more comfortable with the hygiene levels of street vendors, especially in light of the strict health inspections they are subject to.

Hilary Sadoo, a long-time New York resident, doesn’t mind the spice at all. She frequents Sammy’s Halal cart, which, after winning the 2006 Vendy Award, has been able to expand to multiple locations across the city.

Sadoo believes that Americans are becoming much more comfortable with the hygiene levels of street vendors, especially in light of the strict health inspections they are subject to.

“The fear is subsiding I think,” she says. “The food is probably actually fresher than a restaurant because it’s all out in the open and there’s a high turnover85. My mother came here from Minnesota, and was terrified of street food until I gave her some. And then she said, ‘I could eat this every day.’ ”

Jehangir Mehta, one of the award judges, is a chef originally from Mumbai who has become a celebrity in the United States, thanks to his appearance on the TV show Iron Chef. He loves street food, but is careful to eat only at select outlets in India because of hygiene. Mostly, he says, eating well and staying healthy is a matter of what your body is accustomed to.

Mehta was also impressed that small, immigrant-run businesses were receiving so much attention.

“People are looking beyond where this man came from85. They are looking to what that person can do. It’s so nice to see we are living in a culture like that.”

Illustrating the sheer popular appeal of his spicy, juicy kathi rolls, Sikder took home the People’s Choice Award for the second year in a row. But the top prize went to Fernando and Jolanda Martinez’s Country Boys cart, which specializes in traditional Mexican food.

Fernando, an immigrant who struggled to speak English, thanked the crowd while a band played, cameras flashed and TV reporters thrust microphones toward him. “We are so happy to know that people love our food,” he said.

Balwant Singh, owner of Indian food cart at 53th and Park Avenue, New York City

From left, Sayeed Khorsheed, Amad Ismail, Garry Jendy, Patrick Almaliki, and Ruben Villaviceinco have lunch at Rafiqis at 52nd and Park Avenue in New York City.

Mohammed Rahman serves lunch-goers at his street cart Kwik Meal in New York City.

Thiru Kumar, also known as the "Dosa Man" wheels his food cart on Washington Square Park at Sullivan St. in New York City.

The staff at 53rd and 6th prepare to serve food for customers in New York City.

Patrons line up for food at 53rd and 6th in New York City.

Tourists have street food in New York City

Oleg Voss, left, and Jared Greenhouse, right, pose for a photograph at their truck Schnitzel & Things during the Vendy Awards in New York City.

Meru Sikdar serves biryani during the Vendy Awards 2009 in New York city.

Patrons stand in line at the Country Boys/Martinez Taco Truck run by Fernando & Jolanda Martinez during the Vendy Awards 2009 in New York City.

Erin Zimmer, center, talks to Bryan Petroff of Big Gay Ice Cream Truck at the Vendy Awards 2009 in New York City.

A band performs during the Vendy Awards in New York City

Fernando and Jolanda Martinez of Country Boys/Martinez Taco Truck hold the Vendy Awards Trophy after they won at the Vendy Awards 2009 in New York City.

A street vendor sells kabobs in Times Square, New York City.

Celebrity chef Bobby Flay tries kathi rolls by Meru Sikdar during a the filiming of a television program associated with the Vendy Awards in New York city.

Chicken cooks at Sammy's Halal food cart near Washington Square Park in New York City.

Falafel sandwiches made by Freddy Zeidaies at the Vendy Awards 2009 in New York City.

By Erica Lee Nelson; Photographs by Sebastian John

“”Let’s try Indian food for dinner!”

You’ll hear these words more often now from average Americans. Even small towns like Eureka in California (population 42,000) have Indian restaurants-two, in fact. These bastions of spice are considered exotic and different, except for the fact that most of them are the same. Every restaurant has naan, chicken tikka masala and saag paneer on the menu, and those are what the customers usually order. Most of the other dishes are a mishmash of North Indian and Pakistani cuisine, with little representation of anything south of New Delhi. While tasty for sure, the offerings need an update.

Indian food in America is now at an interesting evolutionary stage. Having gained wider acceptance, it is still seen as mostly buffet food, says Vikas Khanna, executive chef at Purnima restaurant in New York. This is because curries are generally meant to be shared, not presented with fancy garnishes on individual plates, which is the image Americans seek from a nice restaurant.

By using new kinds of ingredients, like asparagus, to take a south Indian dish like uttapam into the spotlight of Washington, D.C.’s theater district, or fusing the two countries’ cuisines to please traditional diners in tony neighborhoods of Manhattan, Indian American chefs and hosts are working to expand the concept of Indian food. Culinary visionaries are doing amazing work across the country.

From busboy to owner

When 55-year-old Avtar Walia began his career 30 years ago as a busboy, he wondered why Indian food was not rated in the same category as French, Italian and Japanese as an ethnic cuisine. He soon found out: nearly every dish was created from exactly the same blend of spice-curry powder. “I have asked, ‘Do you know exactly what curry means?’ ” says Walia. Most people think it is some kind of spice, and know nothing else about it, he says.

Walia wanted to open a restaurant where the food was authentic but trendy. So he opened Tamarind in one of Manhattan’s richest neighborhoods, where he made sure that the dishes were made with fresh ingredients, and, most importantly, presented well.

“Good plating makes food look appealing, and it makes people want to eat,” says Walia.

When Tamarind started, he roped in Raji Jallepalli-Reiss as his executive chef, to design the menu. She had run her own restaurant in Memphis, Tennessee, and has been credited with originating the fusion of Indian and French cuisines before her death from cancer in 2002.

Walia did not stop at the menu. He got Wid Chapman, a senior faculty member of the Parsons School of Design in New York City, to design Tamarind’s interior as simple but elegant. He brought in custom-made, silver-plated platters from Rajasthan to use as dishes, and created intimate private booths for celebrity clientele.

For him, a well-trained chef who can deliver consistent dishes is the most important element. Indian food, though behind other regional cuisines, “is catching on like wildfire,” he says, noting that many American customers know the exact differences between rogan josh and jalfrezzi, and expect their food to be just as spicy as they have tasted in India.

Chilli Garlic Calamari at Rasika in Washington DC

Conquering the capital

Ashok Bajaj’s American restaurant, The Oval Room, is one of U.S. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice’s favorite restaurants in Washington, D.C. Conveniently located just a short walk from the White House, The Oval Room is across the street from Bajaj’s flagship business, The Bombay Club. Open for 20 years, it was one of the first fine-dining Indian restaurants in the United States.

Opening The Bombay Club was not easy, Bajaj says. Though he had run successful Indian restaurants in London prior to coming to America in 1988, he had to convince his first landlord that an Indian restaurant wouldn’t ruin the building with bad smells. They thought, “It’s going to stink,” he says. Finally, Bajaj took the extreme step of flying the landlord to London so he could experience the potential of high-end Indian food. Only then did he get the space. Now he owns six Washington eateries, including a caviar bar and the more modern Indian restaurant, Rasika.

“You’ve got to get away from the perception of ghee, heavy cream and oils,” Bajaj warns.

His philosophy of spices is that though they should not be eliminated, they should also not overpower the food. He noticed when he first arrived that everyone would talk about how tasty the Indian sauces were, and not the food itself. “I want them to taste the main ingredient,” he says.

Though Bajaj likes to stick with local, fresh ingredients, there is one thing he gets from India: Kashmiri chillies. Nothing can match their color, sweetness and spiciness, so he has them specially flown in. His main chefs are Indian, too, and he tries to maintain authenticity in the food despite using novel ingredients like asparagus. And the love of Indian cuisine spills over to his other establishments: The Oval Room featured a lobster vindaloo this Valentine’s Day.

Catering for celebrities

Vikas Khanna, a rising star in the swirling world of New York restaurants, is also an object of desire. He talks, rather embarrassed, about a photo shoot he recently did with his shirt off for a “sexiest man” feature in People magazine.

The 36-year-old chef has been featured on a popular American TV show, Kitchen Nightmares, where he swooped in with celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay to save an ailing Indian restaurant in Manhattan. Now he works there as an executive chef, and spends his spare time managing special banquets for celebrities like Salman Rushdie, setting up charity fundraisers and writing cookbooks.

Khanna has some off-the-wall ideas. He makes tandoori peaches, chocolate idli soufflé and paan flavored kulfi. But don’t call his food fusion: “Indian food itself is so fusion,” he says, having so many influences over the centuries. Trained in classical French cooking, he tries to create “a little surprise element” by keeping the ingredients traditional but using different methods to prepare the dishes. He’s not shy about boasting of the time he floored magazine food critics by using a French method of stuffing the skin of chicken (while leaving the whole thing intact) with masala and mushrooms, then cooking it in a tandoor.

Khanna’s fingers, spotted with knife scars, are tribute to his perseverance. Due to a childhood accident, his left eye has a clot that hinders his eyesight, so he’s constantly cutting his fingers as he cooks. A foundation he started, Sakiv (South Asian Kid’s Infinite Vision) creates awareness about vision disorders in children and sponsors Braille libraries across the world.

Before he came to the United States in 2001, Khanna ran a successful family catering business in Amritsar, Punjab, for many years, and also worked at some of India’s best hotels including the Leela Group in Mumbai, Maharashtra. In New York, he worked as a dishwasher before climbing up the ladder to be an executive chef. The main obstacle for the average Indian restaurant, he says, is fear. “All my life I’ll be categorizing myself as Indian,” but that doesn’t mean he can’t get out of a comfort zone and try new dishes and new
ways of thinking about the food.

Fusion comes full circle

Even though he now runs Tabla, arguably the most famous Indian fusion restaurant in America, Floyd Cardoz never thought he would come to the United States. A Goan who grew up in Mumbai and trained in Switzerland, he dreamed of going to Australia.

“I came purely by chance,” he says, after filling out a form incorrectly in his bid to emigrate to Australia. As he waited for the confusion to be rectified, the U.S. visa his brother had sponsored for him came through, and he found himself in New York in 1988 for his sibling’s wedding. He gave himself a few months and a hard deadline: If he had no job by that date, he would go back to India. Cardoz ended up being hired the day before he would have flown home.

After first working in some traditional Indian restaurants, he took a demotion and entered a French-Asian fusion restaurant as a salad chef to learn new techniques and how to blend cuisines. “I always wanted to do this,” he says, remembering how he once created a curry for his father with rosemary and Riesling wine added to it.

Now as executive chef and co-owner of Tabla, which he opened in 1998 with restaurateur Danny Meyer, he marries east and west, like traditional American crab cakes laced with Indian spices and served with pappadams. Or steamed red snapper with a lime-jaggery glaze. Traditional Indian breads are served at the beginning of the meal, just as in traditional American eating, and his staff is well-educated to explain every dish to newcomers-a key to acceptance and success, he says. “If you have good service, you can make the food taste better,” says Cardoz, 47. “Translating is important.”

He says the toughest skill to teach trainee American chefs is how to cook the spices and “coax the flavors out,” something not so common in Western cooking.

Dad’s food for the masses

Maya Kaimal’s father is an Indian physicist with a passion for cooking. “He approached cooking like he approached physics,” she says, and would consider a dish a failure unless he could replicate perfectly from a recipe.

Little did Kaimal, a former photo editor now based in Woodstock in New York state, know that she would eventually turn her father’s favorite pastime into her own successful business. After being laid off from a food magazine in 2002, Kaimal, 42, started her own line of fresh, refrigerated curry bases and chutneys that are sold in supermarkets across the United States. Just add meat and vegetables to her tamarind curry, and you can have fresh, home-style South Indian tastes half a world away from Kerala.

But it wasn’t easy. When she set out to make Indian food that reflected her own experience, she had to learn about manufacturing, packing and running a business from a knowledge base of zero. First, she perfected her recipes at home. As she gathered knowledge at food conventions, she slowly started scaling them up to three liters, 37 liters, and beyond. Then she hit a proverbial wall: onions.

“Onions were a real challenge.…Western equipment is not made for Indian food,” Kaimal says, laughing as her twin daughters played outside her living room. Browning onions, a key step in Indian cooking, no matter the region, was a big problem when done on a large scale. Most American equipment in food processing plants consists of large kettles, and onions need a flat surface with lots of contact with heat.

Luckily, she ended up meeting a plant manager who was ready to take on the challenge. After much experimentation and some equipment modification, the plant now browns onions for about nine hours on a large stove surface when making Kaimal’s products. It’s labor intensive, but worth it to get that authentic taste, Kaimal says.

Her line includes both North Indian curries such as korma, and South Indian flavors she remembers from her childhood. Her bestsellers reflect that range: coconut and tikka curry flavors are the most popular. As she has found, “There is a huge appetite for Indian food among Americans. They’ll eat what you give them, they’ll eat so much more.”

Maya Kaimal in Woodstock, NY

Grilled lamb and chickpeat at Purnima in New York City

Apple Jalebi at Rasika in Washington DC

Ashok Bajaj

Vikas Khanna

Avtar Walia

Text and photographs by Sebastian John

This hidden corner of California is best seen by car, and driving the six-hour trip from the nearest international airport in San Francisco is a treat in itself. You ditch the city, meander through valleys of wineries and follow the mountains. Driving North, the slopes get greener and the air gets cleaner. Eventually, the highway grows dark; you have to turn on your headlights in the middle of the day. You’re surrounded on all sides by dense, tall forest, blocking out the sunlight and making the air cool. Traffic is sparse and everything seems quiet. Now you know you’re inside Humboldt County, popularly known as ‘The Redwood Empire’.

I spent my childhood in the area, and like most country kids who run off to the big city, I’m constantly looking back. Whenever I return, I run around like the city-slicker tourist I have become, soaking in all the natural delight before I get back to pavement and honking horns.   But taking my husband to see the area for the first time made it all the more special and new. Trees stand everywhere, “dominating the landscape”, he commented in the car. I laughed; I had always thought of them as friendly things, or at least silent witnesses. To unfamiliar eyes though, they can tower, swallow – even intimidate. Some find them downright spooky. But he was right, no matter what you think of them, the trees are impossible to ignore.

Humboldt County is the only place in the world the giant redwood species can grow, besides a smaller variety that is found in parts of Japan. Most visitors’ first brush with them comes just past Benbow Lake at the Avenue Of The Giants, a 33-mile-long park bordering Highway 101. Tourist traps abound here, serving up greasy burgers and fake ‘hobbit’ caves. However, it’s worth a stop to see a living tree so large that you can drive your car through it. Once the camera and the kids have been satiated, head to Founders Grove, a flat, short hike which serves as a great introduction to the forest.   The Dyerville Giant, the world’s former tallest tree at 372 feet, has fallen, but it can now be viewed now as a gigantic log with a towering root system jutting up three stories into the air. Keep an eye out for fire damaged hollow-trunked trees that you can walk inside and rare, white Trillium flowers in the underbrush.

There’s many other hikes around The Avenue Of The Giants, but if you’re pressed for time, head farther North. Though the larger towns of Arcata and Eureka have fine dining and bed and breakfast inns, it’s best to give nature her due and camp inside the forest for at least one night. There are lots of safe, clean campgrounds to choose from, all run by the government with rangers on duty. The best time for this, of course, is the summer. Winter and Spring here is rainy and foggy – a great habitat for redwoods, but bad for sleeping bags.   One place most popular with the locals is Swimmer’s Delight, just off 101 on the impossibly winding Highway 36. The stars stand out at night, and crickets sing you to sleep. You’ll wake up with the shafts of sunlight peaking through the tree canopy, and can take an invigorating jump off fallen redwood logs into the cool waters of the Van Duzen River.

Unfortunately, we arrived in the chilly weather of early Spring. Stuck in civilization, we made the best of it by visiting the tiny town of Ferndale. Many a Hollywood movie has been filmed here because the entire town looks like a movie set – like it was trapped in time. The main part of town is made up of restored Victorian Houses built in the 1800s, and the jewel of them all, the fairy-tale inspiring Gingerbread Mansion, is well worth a visit.

Ferndale is also the home of the Kinetic Sculpture Race, a world-famous and incredibly silly event that features teams racing on land, sand and sea with moving, bicycle-powered art sculptures. My mother has photos of me as child covered in mud, helping the race organizers make a slippery hillside even more treacherous to confound the racers and heighten the challenge.   “Sounds crazy,” my husband said, and I couldn’t argue. There are no fancy nightclubs or designer clothing shops around, so people make their own amusement. At various times of the year, local towns hold flying saucer and tractor decoration contests, ‘penny scrambles’ which throw thousands of dollars of money on the streets for children to pick up, games where firemen compete to see who can unwind a hose the fastest, and summer parades where residents dress up like animals and woodland spirits to dance in the streets. Kooky as it all is, it’s what gives the area its charm and makes it so unlike other parts of the United States.

“It’s so laid back here,” he said as we walk past residents chatting at the old-fashioned post office. “I never imagined the US could be like this.”

Heading north from Ferndale you’ll reach Eureka, the largest town in the area. It’s flat and not much to look at, but there’s small historical quarter near the bay that has a buzz about it. The best restaurants, shopping and hotels are all near here. For a taste of California’s fresh fusion cuisine, go to Hurricane Kate’s. Gourmet dinners and a 30-page wine list can be found at 301 Restaurant, and surprisingly authentic Chinese food is available at Gonsea.   Live theatre shows are on most weekends at The Redwood Curtain and The North Coast Repertory. Also, every first Saturday of the month, the area turns into a virtual carnival for ‘Arts Alive’. The art galleries open their doors late into the night and kick-off new shows while bands and jugglers perform on the street corners.

Beer to lovers are sure to have a ball too. The area boasts some famous micro-breweries, where beer is made in small batches and hand-crafted. The best is the Lost Coast Brewery, again in old town Eureka. Great White, with a mysteriously light citrus flavour, is everyone’s favorite. If you’re looking for something darker, try Downtown Brown or Eight Ball Stout. Golden Angel Cellars near the docks in Eureka also demands a stop. They specialise in a sweet, thick wine made of fermented honey called ‘mead’.

But for a history lesson as well as a meal, hop over three island bridges to the other side of Humboldt Bay and you’ll find signs for the Samoa Cookhouse. Logging was the mainstay of the local economy even before the founding of California, but over-logging and cheap lumber exports from abroad have caused it to decline. Yet the Samoa Cookhouse relives the heyday of redwood timber, when falling a tree the size of the semi-truck was a regular occurrence. The food is served like it was in the 1800s when huge hungry men came back from the forests — any amount of anything you want is brought to your table in three courses. Their roasts and gravy are nothing special, but the exuberance of the place and the historical museum inside the dining area make it a treat.

Even though the woods are the big draw here, most visitors don’t realize that it boasts of a breath-taking coastline as well. The highway will take you down to windy, rocky beaches watched over by craggy cliffs and stands of trees. The tiny town of Trinidad has the best views, as well as the best smoked salmon around at Katy’s Smokehouse. At the beach you’ll find a giant rock jutting into the ocean called Trinidad Head. We had a great leisurely hike up to the top for a picnic of salmon and local cheeses, and marveled at the power of the Pacific Ocean when flutes of sea water crashed against the rocks and splashed up six feet in the air.   North of Trinidad lies an authentic Native American villages in Patrick’s Point Park, built by a local tribe using ancient techniques of wood-splitting.

Further North still is the Fern Canyon, a great day trek with tough and easy trails to choose from. After meandering through a forest, you’ll come to a narrow canyon covered with soft green ferns on all sides. If you think it looks like a prehistoric forest from the movie screen, you’d be right — Steven Spielberg filmed Jurassic Park II here, and parts of Star Wars trilogy were also filmed nearby.

A real life adventure, however, awaits east of Trinidad on Highway 299 in the town of Willow Creek. Get a look at the emerald green Trinity River and get in a boat, because the best way to see the woods is from the river zooming down some really impressive white water rapids. Bigfoot Rafting Company runs exciting day trips for $79 a person, which includes a lunch stop on the river.   The rapids all have names and legends attached to them, and the animated guides are happy to relate them. Hell’s Hole? A giant waterfall, the biggest rapid on the route. Martha’s Moonwave? A stretch of whitewater that legends say is the final resting place of a distraught Native American princess who threw herself into the river.

Rafting trips are also good for wildlife spotting — otters, beavers, turtles, deer, elk, bears, eagles and other critters make their homes near the river. How do you woo the beasties? The best strategy is so full-proof, it even works back in my big city apartment. Stop, sit, be still, be silent. The forest will come to you.  

FYI: All over the area, you’ll see naked hillsides without any trees, the aftermath of clear-cut logging. It’s a good reminder of just how precious these trees really are – only 3 percent of the most ancient redwoods (called ‘old growth’) are left, and many legal battles between environmentalists and the timber industry are fought for the rights of the remaining forests. Some local activists try to stop the logging by climbing up trees set to be chopped down. A famous ‘tree-sitter’, Julia Butterfly Hill, lived in the branches of an old growth redwood for two years!

Fact File Getting there: Arcata has a tiny airport with small planes arriving from Oregon, Washington and San Francisco. However, flights are infrequent and often expensive. It’s best to fly into San Francisco and rent a car. The drive time to Humboldt County is about six hours on twisty mountain roads, so be alert.   Climate Weather is best from May to September. Expect mildly sunny and foggy days. Winters are cold with frequent rain. If camping, bring a tents, pads, sleeping bags, mosquito repellent and flashlights (these can also be rented from local outdoor stores). Most campgrounds have firewood for sale. Find campgrounds info at http://www.co.humboldt.ca.us/ and click on the Parks link.

By Erica Lee Nelson

Published in India Today Travel Plus, 2006.

Palna’s general secretary, Aruna V. Kumar, remembers when it was not so busy. A few decades ago, the adoption scene in India was inactive and one-sided at best. Raising children not born in the family was considered unacceptable by most Indians, and even though some Indians wanted to adopt, most orphaned children went abroad. But 1984 brought the country’s first adoption regulations, and by 1989 a quota system was introduced that required 25 percent of all orphaned children to be adopted within India. Since then, a social revolution has taken place, and more orphaned and abandoned children have a waiting list of parents who want to take them home.

According to the Central Adoption Resource Agency (CARA) 1,707 children were adopted in India last year. (This figure does not include agencies not registered with CARA, but with state governments for domestic adoptions only. Because of the large number of such agencies, CARA estimates the actual domestic figure is two to three times as high.) In addition, 1,021 children were cleared for foreign and nonresident Indian families to adopt.

Kumar smiles when she identifies the most visible indicator of progress: Hindi television serials no longer consider the topic unmentionable. “It is used as a ridiculous, sensational plot device,” Kumar says, “but at least it is being discussed in the open.”

It’s not that adoption didn’t take place in India before. In the epic Mahabharata, the archer Karna was adopted by Adhiratha and Radha and raised as their own son. Many childless couples adopted children from other family members. However, children from outside the family were generally looked on as risky, and if an adoption did take place, it was kept secret for fear of disapproval.

The extent to which that has changed is illustrated by Shivani, one of the first single mothers to adopt in northern India. Shivani, who uses only one name, adopted her daughter, Yamini, in the late 1990s. Shivani’s father accepted her choice and her friends were supportive, but her mother was concerned. When Shivani initially approached adoption agencies in New Delhi, they told her they would give preference to waiting couples. She then traveled to Chennai, where, she had heard from friends, adoptions were more liberal. She was welcomed by the agencies. However, a social worker encouraged her to go back to New Delhi and push her case. So she returned, and after six months the same agency that initially rejected her gave her a girl.

And when the baby came home? “The pediatrician said, ‘Let there not be too many visitors. Let the baby get to know your face,’” Shivani recalls. Yet, she just couldn’t keep people away.

And once everyone saw her new daughter, all the concerns just melted away. “It was all excitement and joy.” But for every acceptance, stigmas remain elsewhere. Though encouraged to tell children the truth about their adoption, some parents still keep it a secret. Says Kumar, “By not telling, you risk the child hearing it from someone else….Children have felt it is a huge betrayal.”

Shivani was truthful with Yamini, who she says is “absolutely cool with adoption.” Though there were awkward questions posed by her classmates, Shivani or Yamini would explain the situation, and the other children understood. Shivani always knew that she wanted to adopt, but many parents do not consider it until they find they cannot have a biological child.

Leila Baig, who heads an adoption coordinating agency in New Delhi, says: “Unfortunately, many parents have waited out 10-12 years of infertility when they come to us.” Baig
counsels couples that infertility is not their fault and that there is no shame in adoption. Her survey of 500 families showed that only 5 percent of them adopt babies just because they think it’s a good idea.

Most Indian families want a healthy child who shares the same physical traits as their own family. And it is in this area that foreign adoption plays an important role. Social workers say most Indian parents do not want older children or those with extremely dark complexions or children with special needs, such as physical, emotional or mental disabilities.

Also, the Hindu Adoption and Maintenance Act of 1956 allows only one child of each sex to be legally adopted from a family; the rest of the siblings must be taken under guardianship. This makes it difficult to keep together sisters and brothers. A child eligible for adoption who is not taken by Indian parents after a certain amount of time, usually six months, can be cleared for foreign adoption. The United States receives the largest share of Indian children.One agency that has been in India for 25 years helping special needs children is Americans for International Aid and Adoption.

Since the agency began, parents like Johanna and Tom Overstreet have been welcoming these children into their homes in the United States. The Overstreets are in the process of adopting four-year-old Chetan, who has hemophilia. They have three biological children and one adopted child from Sierra Leone, who is also considered a special needs child because he lived through that country’s long civil war.

To get ready for Chetan’s arrival, Johanna is poring over adoption books, as well as keeping in touch with the doctors who will treat him. They have sent care packages and are keeping a collage of Chetan’s photos in their livingroom so that the other children can become familiar with their new brother. Many people look at adopting special needs children as an act of charity, but Mrs. Overstreet feels differently. “We aren’t afraid of children with special needs.…I think we are the ones who are blessed. We didn’t enter adoption to rescue a child or be praised. We did this because we love children.”

A trained nurse who now stays home with her children, Mrs. Overstreet had always wanted to adopt from India, but feared that India’s adoption process would be cumbersome. Instead, she found it “easy to understand and easy to handle.” In fact, CARA is working to establish a fast-track clearance process just for special needs children so that they get into family care quickly.

Challenges from special needs aside, children adopted internationally also experience a degree of culture shock. But Leiden University in the Netherlands, which analyzed 50 years of adoption data from across the world, found adopted children were only slightly more likely than non-adopted children to have behavioral problems, such as anxiety and aggression. The study found they were less likely to have behavioral problems than children adopted within their own country.

International adoptions are set to become easier, safer and more transparent when the Hague Adoption Convention is implemented in India, the United States and other countries. The treaty, signed by 66 nations, is designed to facilitate ethical adoptions and develop uniform procedures for all signatories on international adoptions. In doing so, it helps prevent child trafficking and exploitation. It includes standards for authorizing adoption agencies and procedures for making children available for international adoption and will aid in immigration and naturalization.

The United States, which signed the convention, is expected to ratify it soon. Considering that India, like the United States, has different adoption regulations in every state, the convention will do a great deal to create more uniform procedures throughout the country.

Differences abound in India’s domestic adoption scene. The demand for boys still remains significantly higher in northern India, but that’s balanced by the southern states, where girls are more in demand, according to CARA chairperson Aloma Lobo. Also, across the country, more girls are available because more girls are abandoned. But even that situation has improved. Says Baig, “Earlier we would say that close to 80 percent of the children in institutions were girls; now that’s closer to 60 percent.”

There are also different rules for different religions. According to the Hindu Adoption and Maintenance Act, only Hindus, Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists can adopt legally. Adoptions by Indian Christians and Muslims, as well as foreigners, come under the Guardians and Wards Act of 1890 and are classified as guardianship, which officially ends when the child reaches 18.

This distinction can affect a child’s inheritance rights, so adoption workers recommend parents in such cases deposit money in the child’s name immediately. This added monetary worry, and the frustration of not being able to fully adopt under the law, has not deterred Christians and Muslims from parenting orphaned children in increasing numbers, says Meena Kuruvilla, project coordinator for Kerala’s adoption coordinating agency. She assures the prospective parents that the religion and upbringing of the child is up to them after they become guardians, but she feels a uniform adoption law would better protect the rights of the children. “There should be a bill so that a child can be ours if we want it,” agreed Baig, a Christian.

The Human Rights Law Network, a legal group in New Delhi, is working on public interest litigation in the Supreme Court that aims to liberalize adoption laws. The waiting time for a child differs from state to state. Parents in New Delhi wait an average of three to four years for boys and one to one-and-a-half years for girls. However, in Maharashtra, the most progressive state for adoption, the courts move faster and the waiting time is often reduced.

While the city of New Delhi has 10 adoption agencies, the populous states of Rajasthan and Bihar have none. Because of a well-meaning law to prevent child trafficking, which bans children from crossing state lines for adoption purposes, orphans and abandoned children in those states end up spending their lives in institutions, says Baig. Some illegal adoptions are probably taking place there, but Baig would love to see a legal infrastructure in place to better meet the needs of children and families. Besides being within the law and giving inheritance rights, legal adoption gives parents access to a child’s medical information so they can make an informed choice.

Another huge swath of the country with little adoption infrastructure is the Northeast, where many children have been orphaned by a wave of HIV/AIDS-related parental deaths. However, even there, one can find success stories, like that of Laishram Dhiraj Singh’s family in Manipur. They found their daughter at the Missionaries of Charity, which has branches across the country, even in the most under-served areas. The process took just three months. The family’s experience motivated three other couples they know to adopt.

And as more families adopt, more examples will inspire. S. Jaishree and G. Nataraj, a South Indian couple living in New Delhi, decided to adopt their daughter, Gauri, after spending time with a friend’s adopted child. “Her daughter cleared up any doubts in our minds,” Jaishree says.

They applied in January and found the required home study by a social worker friendly and easy. (Home studies check to see whether the prospective parents are stable and capable of child rearing.) After some delays with agencies, they were advised in May to approach their local coordinating agency directly. They did, and as soon as they said they had no preference for a light complexion, Gauri came to their home within a week. When she arrived, like most new parents, they had quite a bit of learning to do. Nataraj says, “We were on the phone asking, ‘How do you fold a nappy?’ ‘How do you use a bottle?’ It’s been fun.”

Delighted with her new baby, Jaishree acknowledges that adoption is a tough decision for some families. “The most difficult part is knowing your own mind,” she says. “The rest is just destiny.”

By Erica Lee Nelson

Published in SPAN, 2004.

BANGKOK – My most vivid memory of the steamy street cart vendors in Bangkok is red – flaming red chilies in nearly every dish, popping out of salads, underneath the chunk of chicken, slivered or whole or split down the middle. They sneak up on you, at first bite warm, then hot, then building to a crescendo just as you’ve been foolish enough to take another spoonful.

Thankfully though, the pepper is not cruel. A flash of heat, a bead of sweat and it’s all over, leaving you free to soldier on to another spicy delicacy down the road. Of course, arriving in Bangkok in late April didn’t help. One of the days I spent there proved to be the hottest of the year. But the weather wasn’t deterring any Thai people from chowing down, so it certainly wasn’t going to stop me.

Although I knew of Bangkok’s famous street food, I hadn’t grasped the breadth of it. Barring the purchase of western palette pleasers such as espresso coffee and fancy ice creams, a traveler could easily never set foot inside a restaurant during their entire stay here – and they certainly wouldn’t be missing out on any of the good eats.

My first taste of pavement cuisine came the morning after I arrived on a late night flight. After sleeping in far too late, my husband and I went to the famous mall, MBK Centre, to meet an old friend. Stepping out from the AC sky train to the sultry heat was a shock to the system. As we hiked down the steps I saw my first fruit cart and was drawn to the cool pink pieces of watermelon.

Pineapple, watermelon, papaya, rose apple, mango, musk melon and other varieties are all kept in clean plastic cases on ice, and removed immediately, chopped into pieces and slid into a baggy with a long wooden toothpick. You spear the fruit with the toothpick, pay 10 baht, and walk away with the tastiest and healthiest snacks imaginable. If this was the standard of street food, I was hooked.

That night, my friend took me to a bar in the old city of Banglamphu for a party. The place was full of art, Thais playing pool, expats getting drunk and booming alternative music. Over a few glasses of the local brew Sang Som (rice whiskey, which tastes more like rum), I extracted the street-eat knowledge of local David Osan.

It’s hard to give any definitive recommendations on street food, simply because there is so much of it and so many varieties. “Everyone has their favorite place, there is not place that’s number one” David told me. Looking for the most diverse clientele and cheap prices? Head to the streets between the World Trade Centre and the Watergate Hotel. And what about high-end sidewalk fare for the affluent, after-party crowd? Try Sukumvhit’s Soi 38.

“But c’mon” I press him. “If you had to pick one favorite what would it be?” He ponders. He says he can’t. Then he launches into a list of favorites, dish by dish, and my head is swimming in too much humidity and rice whiskey to keep up. Yet from the haze I wake up to the next morning, one piece of advice stands out. Just opposite the Trimitr temple in Chinatown, there’s a little street and a little shop that has the best Khao Moo Daeng (crunchy pork with rice) in the city. Having been enamoured of pork since birth (I once broke a stint of vegetarianism after smelling too much bacon frying), my quest was clear: I must find this place. Little did I know how many delicious distractions would confront me on the way.

I planned my day and hoped to end it at the temple. Then I was off, shuffling down the road to breakfast. I stuck to the common sense rule that applies all over the world – eat at places which are crowded with locals – and sat down at the blue plastic tables of the first street cart I saw. There was one thing on the menu that morning, so despite language barriers, ordering was easy. Crispy fried basil and chicken over noodles, with or without egg.

The Thai know what to do with eggs. You’ll often see them in huge steel pots, being hard-boiled in mysterious and yummy soups. But the most sinful way to eat one is fried, Thai style, which really means deep fried. Think one whole cup of oil for one egg. It comes out crispy on the edges and almost flaky inside. Add a runny yolk to break over the spunky little basil leaves and marinated chicken, and having noodles for breakfast doesn’t seem so strange anymore.

This breakfast bomb gave me the energy for a typical tourist day of gawking at temples and fighting with tuk-tuk drivers. At last, we decided to take a boat down the river to Chinatown, from the pier just below the graceful Rama 8 Bridge. The heat was pressing down, our spirits low – in short, we needed a cold beer.

Luckily, in Bangkok, street drinking is almost a popular as street eating, and the cops don’t seem to mind. Right in front of the pier, just beside a hulking banyan tree stood our saviour, Maew, proprietess a charming little bamboo bar and grill. Her beer is cheap by Bangkok standards – just 55 baht – and the atmosphere can’t be beat. It’s shaded by the tree, cooled by the river breeze, and you can watch non-stop boxing action as hordes of kids and local Muay Thai champions practice in an outdoor ring nearby.

But what pushed me over the moon was Maew’s food. She cooks it in the kitchen of her house next door and brings it out to the tables. It takes a while, but it’s worth it. I ordered the classic Thai lemongrass soup, thom yam. Thai food is blessedly fragrant, and this glassy yellow broth was a virtual bouquet. Of course, lemon was there, as was a fishy undertone. And was that jasmine, something floral among the red peppers and tart thai ginger, galangal?

Though certainly spicy, the taste lived up to the smell. It was light, brimming with prawns, squid and chicken. After finishing it, I knew I shouldn’t give up the chance to try another dish. I ordered another standard, pad thai, those slightly sweet, skinny flat rice noodles loved around the world. I was not disappointed. The sugar was subtle, the bean sprouts fresh, with liberal doses of egg, crushed peanuts and fresh coriander. Needless to say, I was far too full to make it to Chinatown that night.

The next day my husband and I met a Thai friend for dinner. Though we ate in Soanboom restaurant behind MBK Centre, it must be recommended as most of its food is cooked on the street outside. Seafood is its speciality, but it was the only place I found which offered whole pigs roasted over a flaming pit on the sidewalk. Our friend was a great fan of street food, and not just for the taste. “They are the cleanest places,” he said. “On the street, there are so many eyes watching them. In a restaurant, back in the kitchen, they could be serving you someone else’s leftovers for dinner!”

It is true that most Thai street vendors would put a Delhi dhabbawallah to shame. I never saw any vendor work on a new dish without cleaning the wok, and every surface was wiped clean. In all my eating adventures, I never once felt sick.

And adventures there were. Roasted insects are popular snacks in Thailand, and can be found all over the city. I bought some grasshoppers , but ended up gagging before I could get their spiky little legs in my mouth. However, the small white worms for sale are much less daunting, and they taste like extra crunchy french fries. As our Thai friend said of them, “They come from inside the bamboo. You can’t grow them, you have to find them.You are lucky to open up a bamboo stalk and just find two. That’s why they are so expensive. But they’re good, they’re jungle food.”

He also told us about attempts to curb the street dining culture. Many vendors, he said, used to be open all night, but new social zoning laws are forcing to people to close around 1 or 2 a.m. In fact, local journalists reported that a political group was trying to pass a law to ban any kind of food from being served in the streets.

I was shocked. The smiling ladies serving up steaming soups on every corner seemed integral to the culture of the place, not to mention a major economic force. If they stop the street food, they will seriously erode part of the charm of Thailand. Fortunately, on the epic eating tour I embarked on the next day, business looked unfettered and booming.

The street vendors near the Watergate hotel along Th Ratchadamri street are nearly restaurants, with seating for at least 30 people and waiters to take your order. Most of the patrons were young office workers enjoying a beer and a bite after work. After a series of lackluster raw papaya salads (som tham), I was ready for the real thing. I got it. We sat down and got the slippery, crunchy masterpiece delivered straight from the traditional wooden bowl it’s prepared in.

I was surprised at how sweet it was. Like most Thai food, it was a study in harmonious contradictions. One good dose of cabbage and (you guessed it) bright red pepper balanced out the sugar. The husband had the soft and subtle barbequed serpent fish, which like most fish in Thailand, is served whole and on a stick. Its flaky, pungent white flesh came off easily from the bone, with just salt for flavouring.

Earlier in the day, we had wandered around the massive Chatuchak market looking for deals, but also getting hungry. We tried a unique fish dish you’ll see all around the city. It’s a flat white gourami fish that’s rubbed with salt and spices, split in two, and left to dry in the sun for some time. Then it’s fried and served. Though sun-dried, the flesh still held a lot of moisture, and it wasn’t tough to chew.

An even stronger fish taste came from a sort of Thai casserole, hummo. This was probably the only thing that disappointed. Sort of like a coagulated tom yam soup over fish parts and vegetables, with some sort of yogurt on top. Definitely not for the faint of taste bud.

But the best flavour of Chatuchak Market came in the form of heaping bowls of fresh cabbage, basil, pickled spinach and bean sprouts at the tables of a soup hawker. The fresh green vegetables beckoned us on the freakishly hot day, and we sat down to the most basic and widespread street food of all – broth and rice noodle soup, kuaytiaw naam. This one came with chunks of chicken and balls of tofu. The broth was meaty and simple. Garnished with a bit of the typical ‘mouse dropping’ dried red chilis, a hint of sugar, soy sauce and heaping helpings of fresh greens, and you have a satisfying soup and salad all in one bowl.

We found the same sort of street soup in radically different avatar later that night in Chinatown. After 7 p.m., Th Charoen Krung street – the Disneyland of cart cuisine – opens its movable feast to the world. Neon signs scream in mandarin and Chinese, hordes of people pass by and flames leap six feet in the air as expert chefs toss up seafood and exotic greens.

We stumbled upon a place open early at the eastern end of the street. Everyone was eating just one thing – pepper soup. This one had pork and beef and liver in it, and that wasn’t the only change. It sung on the tastebuds with a fiery shot of black pepper and vinegar, and the rice noodles weren’t typical at all. Each noodle was thick and short and rolled up around itself; they looked like slender floating seashells.

For the heat sufferers, the best treat is Ruam Mit, a kind of desert cereal made with muticoloured pieces of gelatin, sweet beans, corn, vermicelli noodles and tapioca on ice, all covered with sweet condensed milk. The stalls are everywhere, and the cold milky soup that emerges never fails to satisfy sweaty urban trekkers.

But what of my search for the perfect pork and rice? After enjoying giant barbeque prawns from the popular Lek & Rut seafood stall, my stomach had given up. I thought I could eat no more. So we trekked Trimitr temple not for food, but for a taxi. Curiosity got the best of me though, and the walk reinvigorated my appetite. The pork quest was back on.

After wandering around for a good 15 minutes through machinist shops and dark alleyways, we still had not found it. Then, in the distance, I saw a fluorescent light. Could this be it? We were caught in a downpour. I didn’t care.

After a bit of language-induced confusion, we sat down and got our order. Rice covered in the typical brown sauce you see in any Asian restaurant in any town in any continent, slightly thickened, dark and salty. It was all these things, but it was also on a rain drenched sidewalk being served off the flat bed of broken down pickup truck, while a bunch of Thai teenagers got smashing drunk on the floor of the neighborhood bakery next door. This brown sauce was transcendental.

The kind of pork it’s served with is pretty unique: crispy on the outside, a generous layer of crunchy fat and then the soft chewy white meat. There was chunks of that and some darker, meaty cut. The sauce was sweetened from some mysterious source, possibly palm sugar. Salty with pork and soy flavour. Tangy and a little fishy in parts. Subtle. Awesome. I wanted to lick the plate. At 35 baht, you couldn’t hope to ask for a better deal.

There were many other tasty and strange memories: crunching on fried crab kebabs with the ‘escorts’ of Nana entertainment complex. Delicate coconut cream kunam sai-sai in steamed banana leaves. Chewy sweet gelatin balls in the amulet market of Ratanakosin. The most memorable dishes were always the simplest though: like plain roasted bananas on a stick on the docks by Waat Pho temple. Puffy Chinese fry bread for two baht each on Charoen Krung road. And at a very down market little stall with tattered-looking kebabs came a little masterpiece. Slightly dry and crunchy, incredibly sticky white rice pressed into balls and dipped into a salty vinegar sauce. It was simple, satisfying and unforgettable, and you’ll never see it in a fancy restaurant.

The moral? When you eat on the street, don’t attempt to transcend the surroundings. Don’t wish for an AC. Relish the heat from the pavement, the heat from the peppers, the strange smells and simple pleasures. Your stomach, and your wallet, will thank you.

By Erica Lee Nelson,

Published in India Today Travel Plus, 2005.

Toonz Animation is India’s first digital ink and paint studio and is hoping to grab a good slice of the $35-billion global animation market. The other major animation studios here — Pentafour, Crest etc. — have focused on 3D animation, used for special effects in films. Toonz, on the other hand, follows the classical cell animation technique — where every single frame is painstakingly drawn by hand. And then, the frames are individually scanned, digitised and sequenced to form a complete 2D animation story.

To understand the difference, consider this. If you were looking to create special effects of the type you saw in, say, The Matrix, you would probably go to Pentafour. But if you wanted something like Walt Disney’s The Lion King, you would go to Toonz.

The technique it follows isn’t the only thing that makes Toonz different from other animation studios. It’s also the way it was set up. In the late 90s, the Canada-based $3-billion Chandaria group had set up an electronic components firm called Technomate Marketing Services in India. G.A. Menon, chairman, Technomate, thought that India could be a good base for setting up an animation studio. He persuaded animation expert Bill Dennis to head the project. (Dennis worked with Walt Disney Feature Animation for 20 years before taking over as the president of Fil-Cartoons, a subsidiary of Turner Broadcasting, and later as CEO of RMUSL in Mumbai.

With $2 million from the Chandarias and a hand-picked team, Dennis set up a state-of-the-art animation studio in Kerala in 1998. His A-team included commercial director K. Subra, ex-head of Animata Studios of Singapore, studio manager Cathy Peza, who had worked with Dennis in Fil Cartoons, and Tom Tilbury, formerly of Cambridge Animation. (The rest is local talent though.)

But why Kerala? Dennis gives three reasons. “The right environment,” he explains pointing out that Kerala offers excellent infrastructure and a serene environment. Second, Keralites have a talent for drawing and can be easily trained. They understand English and western humour better than people in other Asian countries. That’s a definite advantage when your clients are western studios. (Two-thirds of the 270 employees hail from Kerala.) And finally, the cost of operation is very low in Kerala.

In two short years, Toonz has created a name for itself. It bagged the first prize at the World Animation Celebrations at Los Angeles last year for a short film ‘Stone Crusher’, which was made for UNICEF. And now, it is building a reputation for creating animation films based on Indian mythology. In fact, it is this that Dennis thinks will set Toonz apart from other animation players in India. While its rivals are almost entirely contract workers — that is, both storyline and animation brief is given by the client — Toonz is trying to develop Indian stories and Indian characters.

It is focusing on the development and production of original animated TV series and feature films based on the rich treasure of Indian mythology. “Till now, the world only saw western characters because animation was monopolised by the West. The distinction between cartoons based on Indian stories is that they have a moral and a lesson. Therefore, they have a market not only in India but also abroad,” says Dennis. Six films including ‘Tikoo’ and ‘Clever Barber’, an old tale from Assam have been produced. Toonz has roped in Academy Award nominee Ishu Patel to help create a 70-minute animation feature film on the Taj Mahal and to explore other themes. Kerala-based Zachariah Maharaj is working on an animation film based on Tenali Rama, the 16th century master of humour from Andhra Pradesh.

Not that Toonz is ignoring contract work. “It is the bread and butter of any animation studio,” points out Dennis. And Toonz is hoping to grab a big share of the $350-500 million contract work that comes to Asian studios annually.

Today, China, Korea, Taiwan and the Philippines grab the largest chunk of animation contracts given out by major studios in the US, but Dennis claims that Toonz can offer better quality animation at rates that are 25-40% less than other Asian studios. Says Dennis: “The cost of making a full-length animated film in the US is $100-175 million. We can make it at $15-25 million.”

Toonz is currently producing ten, 30-minute Turtle Island series, for Canada-based Mimosa Productions, and recently signed a deal with Rainbow Animation in Italy to make many 30-minute episodes of its series, Tommy and Oscar. Other clients include Cartoon Network and Doordarshan.

In its first financial year, Toonz managed to pick up business worth Rs 70 crore ($1.49 million). Dennis says that we should break even this month. Now, he is trying to persuade Walt Disney to give a chunk of its animation work to Toonz. Nothing has been tied up yet but some senior Disney officials recently came down to check out the Toonz infrastructure and work. If Dennis succeeds in roping in Disney, Toonz could get a ticket to the big time. And God’s Own Country could also become an animation paradise.

By Sebastian John

Published in Businessworld, 2001.

He bought lots of packaged, processed food at big supermarkets and fast food restaurants. Eating that kind of food led him to be diagnosed with high cholesterol, high blood pressure and diabetes. Now 57 and a retired federal employee, he eats more fruits and vegetables and they all come from within 320 kilometers of where he lives in Alexandria, Virginia, just outside Washington, D.C.

How does he get it? From a farmers’ market, where small, local farms sell fruits, vegetables, cheese, meat, flowers and loads of other products in small, temporary booths, usually once a week. Though some farmers hire people to sell their goods, most truck it in directly from the soil and sell it themselves.

Meyer and his wife, Sharada, spend about $60 a week shopping at local farmers’ markets in Virginia, hand-picking fresh tomatoes, potatoes, green leaves and meat and talking to the
farmers about the quality of the crop. With his new diet and exercise program, Meyer says, “My blood pressure is totally down. My doctors are amazed.”

According to a study started in 1994 by Tufts University in Massachusetts, the average American sources his or her diet from that same long distance—2,100 kilometers away. It’s not the mileage itself, say environmentalists and some health experts. It’s that the farther the food travels, the less fresh it is and the more fuel is used to transport it.

But many people like the Meyers are changing their ways, going to local farmers’ markets to handpick fresher produce. The U.S. Department of Agriculture says that as of 2006 there were 4,385 organized farmers’ markets in the country, up from to 2,410 a decade earlier.

In New York City, farmers’ markets are big business. Big-name restaurants, chefs and Hollywood celebrities shop for food grown within a 290-kilometer radius of the metropolis. Mot Filipowski, senior market manager at Greenmarket in Union Square remembers all the stars he has seen: Anthony Bourdain of the Travel Channel, movie producer Peter Hoffman and actress Uma Thurman. “The list goes on and on,” he says.

Filipowski says that people come for a variety of reasons: some want to support local farmers, some want organic food, and some long for types of vegetables they can’t find anywhere else. Still others come to chat with the sellers and meet friends, a social benefit they can’t get at a supermarket.

Neil M. Zimmerman is a research physicist at the National Institute of Standards and Technology who volunteers some weekends at Adams Morgan Farmers’ Market in Washington, D.C. to socialize and help provide healthy food for low-income people. He believes that farming with fewer pesticides does less damage to the earth, but he also loves the taste.

Pointing to a basket of strange, lumpy looking tomatoes made from old seed breeds, he says, “Those really ugly heirloom tomatoes, those taste like tomatoes. Tomatoes in a
supermarket don’t have any taste because they’re picked before they’re ripe and they’ve been bred to travel well…They’re bred for looks so they still look
good on the shelves.”

But are farmers’ markets and smaller farms sustainable in today’s global marketplace? “Their popularity with consumers is growing, and buyers enjoy fresh, locally grown products,” says Lloyd Day, a marketing expert for the U.S. Department of Agriculture. A 2006 department survey showed that 25 percent of the vendors interviewed said they relied on farmers’ markets as their sole source of farm-based income. Average sales at individual farmers’ markets in 2005 totaled about $245,000; average annual sales per vendor totaled $7,108.

Michael Tabor, a former U.S. government employee, has been selling fruits and vegetables at Adams Morgan Farmers’ Market in Washington, D.C. since 1974. He says the popularity of farmers’ markets has really grown in the last two years, as just a couple of years ago he was worried that he would have to close down. Tabor got interested in farming after volunteering on a farm in Israel after leaving his government job. “I never knew I had an inclination towards farming,” he says. He bought his farm as an investment property in 1971, but ended up farming full-time.

Tabor says that he does not really make a lot of money at what he does; he also sells to local cooperative markets and a college. However, Tabor keeps his prices down on purpose. At many farmers’ markets, the food can be more expensive than at supermarkets. For example, at the nearby DuPont Circle farmers’ market, tomatoes are generally more than $2 per kilogram. He seeks to provide healthy, affordable food for the poorer people in the neighborhood who rely on the Women, Infants and Children program for Farmers’ Markets. It’s a government subsidized program that helps low-income people with free vouchers for food they buy at the markets. Revenues from the program provide an average of $17,696 a year at those markets that accept the vouchers.

A success story is illustrated by Lana Edelman’s fruit and vegetable business, which has been operating at farmers’ markets in Virginia and Maryland since 1972. She says she makes $500 to $1,000 at each of the seven markets her family visits each week. Edelman’s husband and two of her four sons are involved in the business. Some farmers hire staff and rely on volunteers to work on the farm and sell at booths. Edelman’s sales have increased by about 50 percent in the last few years, since she started catering to ethnic populations that want special kinds of produce. Her farm focuses on African products like special hot chillies, but she alsogrows three types of eggplant: French, African and Thai.

So how different is the American farmers’ market from the traditional Indian bhajiwalla? Smita Nordwall, a former journalist who grew up in India, and now runs her own business selling jams and jellies at farmers’ markets, thinks that the core idea of freshness is not that different. “In both cases there is no involvement of cold storage and long transport,” she says. “The difference is that the bhajiwallas are technically the middle men, while here many farmers take the opportunity to sell directly.”

However, she points out that in the United States, farmers have their own trucks and can bring the produce into town, and the city also provides them a place to sell it, usually for a small fee. But in India, with weak road infrastructure, it takes people much longer to travel the distances from farm to town. No matter where the produce is sold, Nordwall says, “The question is: are you doing fair trade with the farmer? …You pay a premium price for your meat or wine. Why can’t you pay (a fair price) for your vegetables when that is what you are going to be eating the most?”

Nordwall’s jams do cost more than those in the supermarkets, but they also come in unique flavors like a combination of blueberry, orange and vanilla or a spicy, sweet jelly made of peppers. Wayne Miller, who manages a farm and sells mostly chillies in Union Square Greenmarket in New York City, says that although he does make a living, farming is “one of the hardest things out there to make a dime with.” Finding a niche, like chillies, is important.

Though newly popular, farmers’ markets are certainly not new. Just ask any of the Amish farmers who live in rural southern Pennsylvania.

Drive down any road around Lancaster County and you’ll seestout, white farmhouses advertising “apples, corn, peaches” and little girls selling onions and baked fruit pies in their front yards. The Amish are members of a very traditional Christian sect who wear 18thcentury style clothing, live mainly off farming and shun modern conveniences such as cars and televisions. The Lancaster Central Market, housed in a vast, brick building in the center of town, has been functioning since the 1730s. Inside you’ll find spices, meats, homemade soups, baked goods, even art. Tourists drive in from the cities just to get the special products.

In the United States, known for its large-scale, corporate-oriented farming, it’s clear that there is room for other choices. Small-scale crops and family farms are making a comeback.

By Sebastian John

Published in SPAN,  2007.

This is “Little India,” and like the Chinatowns and Little Italys that came before it, it is the expression of an immigrant culture that is finally establishing itself in the melting pot of America. According to the 2000 U.S. Census, Edison’s population of about a 100,000 was 17.5 percent Indian American. That is the highest percentage of any municipality in the United States, and growing. Edison’s mayor, Jun Choi, estimates that Indians and Indian Americans now make up one-third of the city.

It has come a long way from the small grocery store and video shop outpost that residents remember from the 1980s. Now the Indian section of Oak Tree Road stretches for about three kilometers and boasts a designer clothing mall with brands like Ritu Beri’s. Patrons of all races and skin colors shop for bangles and halal meat.

The 40-minute train ride to New York City from the Edison Metro Center station is the biggest reason for the Indian diaspora in Edison. With cheaper home prices and the added bonus of backyards, Indians working in New York flocked to the town throughout the 1990s and the last decade.

Indian-centric businesses are flourishing, and not just the dosa and chicken tikka restaurants. You can buy cricket bats, learn Bollywood dancing and try on wedding saris within a 48-kilometer radius. Big Indian companies like Infosys, Birlasoft and Ranbaxy have offices in the area, a sign of prosperity that is not immediately apparent on Oak Tree Road.

Pradip Kothari, owner of a travel agency and an activist for the Indian community, helped see it through the worst times in the early 1990s, when local prejudices against proliferating Indian American businesses led to his brand new agency office being burned by vandals. Other businesses were destroyed, too, and the community was afraid. Kothari knew that something must be done. “We come in this country like everyone else and want to have the American dream,” says Kothari, 61, who arrived in the United States in 1970 and had just moved to Edison at the time the trouble started. First, he helped to get the businesses together and set up a night watch program, which became so strong they started chasing some vandals down so they could be arrested. The community also brought their grievances to the courts and established a successful Navaratri festival for the Gujarati population, attracting thousands of attendees each year.

Though Kothari acknowledges that some tensions remain, he believes the local community has largely embraced the Indians. For instance, Dr. Sudanshu Prasad, an Indian American physician, is a township council member, and Kaizen Technologies, an Indian American-owned firm with offices in both countries, was just named business of the year by the Edison Chamber of Commerce.

“The Indian community has brought in a wealth of diversity to the township of Edison,” says Mayor Choi. “The community has several prominent doctors…as well as a large number of professionals in the information technology and finance industries. The increased global trade between our country and India has been partly responsible for the rapid growth of the Indian community in Edison. It will continue to bring more technology-based business to Edison and, consequently, enrich our economy as well.”

Kumar Balani publishes Biz India magazine, based in nearby East Brunswick, which details success stories of Indian business people in the United States and dishes out investment advice. When pitching to advertisers, Balani has a powerful set of figures behind him. First, he says that the Indian population in New Jersey grew from 170,000 in 2000 to about 270,000 in 2007, according to his research. Also, according to the Indian American Center for Political Awareness, almost 40 percent of all Indians in the United States have a master’s, doctorate or other professional degree (five times the national average) and a 2003 study by Merrill Lynch found that one in every 26 Indians in the United States is a millionaire. When he relates these figures to non-Indian advertisers, Balani says that 99 percent of them respond, “‘Wow! Really?’ So we ask them, ‘Is this a market you want to get into?’” His business is growing as more advertisers answer “yes”-from 5,000 copies in the paper’s first run in 2002 to 30,000 now.

Other businesses are growing as well. Mahendra Bohra, 31, is a co-founder of Dreamcricket, which is expanding its Brown and Willis cricket gear brand. It’s a long way from when he made his own Web site, dreamcricket.com, as a hobby when he graduated in 2000 from Syracuse University in New York state. Taking inspiration from the American pastime of fantasy football-in which fans create their own “team” of players from actual football teams and compete on line based on those players’ real-life performances during games-he created a fantasy cricket game. Soon, however, he and his friends realized they could turn this passion into something more.

Now, New Jersey residents can play cricket year-round in the indoor cricket pitch at the store Bohra and his pals set up in Hillsborough, near Edison. It features $8,000 worth of automatic pitching machines with 25 variations of speed and movement. In addition to running cricket news and the on-line game, Dreamcricket also sells DVDs of World Cups and other famous matches. Bohra, who came from Bombay to attend university in the United States in the 1990s, lives in Princeton, New Jersey, from where he helps run the business. Cricket products are sold on line and out of stores in New Jersey and Fremont, California. Though Bohra and most of his friends in the company still have their day jobs (he works for a technology firm), he believes Dreamcricket will turn into a full-time commitment as America gets more familiar with cricket as a sport.

Atul Huckoo has similar hopes for the Edison Cricket Club, which made it to the statewide cricket play-offs in 2007. A Kashmiri who lived in the United States as a child and returned in 1999 after other stops around the world, Huckoo, 47, directs advertising sales for a syndicated television network, Imaginasian TV, which has programming from India, China and South Korea. Though he used to play cricket, he now spends his spare time managing the club and has roped in sponsors such as Emirates Airlines, which provides general funding, and Kingfisher, which provides free beer. “We either celebrate with chilled beer or drown our sorrows in it,” he says, laughing.

The cricket league for the entire state of New Jersey started in 1994 with 32 teams and has grown to 44. With sponsors, Huckoo has attracted better players, and with support from the city authorities, he has access to a general purpose field large enough to play the game properly, instead of the baseball fields used earlier.

With so many South Asians around, interest in cricket is high and Edison has movie theaters that show India-Pakistan matches. Huckoo realizes it is a challenge to get average Americans interested in the game. Though they don’t usually watch the matches, non-Indians do walk past when a game is on, stop to look and ask questions. Huckoo tries his best to answer, he says, but, “It’s difficult for Americans to grasp how six to seven hours are dedicated to the game.” The shorter Twenty20 form would bring wider popularity, he thinks.

Volunteers of the Edison Swaminarayan temple in nearby Iselin are also familiar with answering lots of questions. Neighbors ask about Hinduism during the annual fundraiser for local hospitals and during the Diwali feast, when temple members invite their non-Hindu friends. The fundraiser, in which volunteers pledge to walk a certain distance in exchange for donations, “allows us and the community to explore one another and understand one another,” says Siddharth Dubal, a second-generation Indian American and a lawyer.

Another second-generation Indian American, college freshman Vinay Limbachia, answers questions about reincarnation in his role as a leader in the Hindu Student Council at nearby Rutgers University. “There are some misconceptions, but they are few and far between,” he says. He recently organized a discussion of monotheism versus polytheism on campus. Limbachia started attending the temple’s religious and Gujarati language classes in his early teens. “I became a more aware individual. I felt like I was part of something bigger,” he says. “I’m proud to say I can at least write my name [in Gujarati] now.”

Limbachia sees more second- and third-generation Indian Americans becoming involved in the temple, and he’s always pushing for more members of his student organization. One of his biggest dreams is to return to India; but first, he’s got to brush up on his Gujarati.

By Sebastian John

Published in SPAN, 2008.