Accidents. . .

I’m starting to keep a running mental tally of the silly mistakes I’ve made here. Nothing big, yet, but lots of little accidents that make me look like something of an American ditz. For example, on my very first night in the country, I don’t know if I was tired or if I just wasn’t thinking, but I started pouring the milk for my tea into the sugar bowl. I caught myself after a few drops, but the expression on Maxine’s face was priceless. She was almost frozen and just looking at me, as though saying something about what I was doing might spook me into doing something even nuttier.

The list of things I’ve done wrong is endless and to be expected, after all, my list of firsts is also growing by the minute:
first bucket bath
first mass bucket laundry (buckets are big here)
first several meals of rice, sauce, and vegetables, eaten entirely with my right hand
first ride on an Indian motorcycle (my ride home from school)
first lizard running across my bed
first time trying to speak Marathi and using the masculine form very incorrectly
etc.

I’m expected and expecting to do everything wrong at first, but it’s those things that shouldn’t be new that will come back as funny stories at the end of my stay. Yesterday, I put my dessert on top of my dinner, thinking it was a garnish, and then asked about the delicious looking “circles” on the stove. They were the dog’s food.