Food and livelihoods

By Sarah Abboud

The million-dollar question: “Where are we”

Since I have arrived in India, I have found myself constantly asking myself the question,“where am I?” Now, when I ask this question, it usually means one of two things. One, I’m completely lost and I have no idea where I am geographically (which is typical because I have no sense of direction whatsoever). Two, I know where I am geographically, but the ambience of where I am at that moment is the farthest thing from a developing country as it gets. This may sound silly, but I find that an integral lesson of being here is learning to adjust to the dramatic transitions that you experience everyday. At first, this was a struggle for me (hence why this is my first blog…three weeks after arriving). Now that I am becoming increasingly more adjusted to life here, I have found a deep appreciation for this transition. I mean really, how many people can say they feel like they are at home in a quaint little coffee shop one moment and then in the streets of India the next? It’s pretty neat.

While I have had many of these “where am I” moments since I have arrived in Bangalore, I had an especially memorable one this past Saturday. Erika and I are on this kick where we wake up at 7am on the weekends so we don’t struggle as badly when Monday morning rolls around for work. This particular Saturday, we decided that we were going to get up, walk a few kilometers to a French restaurant (la Patesserie) where we could get a good, non-Indian breakfast (which we got by the way in the form of yummy French toast) and then head to a big market close to where we live and grab some fresh food for dinner. As we were sitting at la Patesserie, I made the comment that it didn’t even feel like we were in India. There was French music playing in the background, the sun was shining, we weren’t sweating, and we couldn’t hear the incessant honking from the traveling cars and auto rickshaws on the streets. Needless to say, it was very relaxing to be off of the crazy streets of Bangalore. What may have been even better was the feeling that we were at home, even for just a moment. After getting our fill of tea, French toast, and a little peace and quiet, we decided to head to Russell Market, which being foodie that I am made me very excited.

The streets are filled with food vendors, typically fruits and vegetables, on a daily basis here.

So, seeing fresh produce is not something that I am not used to. I like to give the “fruit lady” (who sets up shop by where we are staying) business. She is so friendly, ALWAYS smiling, and does not rip us off, which is something that I cannot say holds true with other fruit vendors that I have encountered thus far. Anyways, we get to Russell Market, and there is not one or two produce vendors, but hundreds of them! I was in food heaven. I began scoping my options, pointing at things that looked good, and stopping by to inquire about prices. BIG MISTAKE. I made one comment about an avocado at the entrance, the next vendor asks me to buy his, then the next asks for me to look at his produce. “This very good,” he says. I learned to shut my mouth and keep walking. Even then, I heard “what you want” about every five paces. After I made my way through the produce, I went into the seafood area, which was an experience in itself (it deserves its own blog post). As Erika and I were walking through Russell Market, we were constantly asking the question, “where do you think all of this comes from?” This led me to wonder where the thousands of mangos, cucumbers, and tomatoes (which are obviously mass-produced) come from. Do the local mango farmers have the ability to produce that many mangos on a regular basis? Not to mention the fish, where do they come from? Not the local lakes, that is for sure and we are far from the coast.

The question that goes much deeper however is, “how did I affect people’s livelihoods by buying my produce at Russell Market rather than a local street vendor?” I am not sure of where the produce even comes from at Russell Market, let alone who is producing it and who is receiving money and if whoever they are, are they getting money they deserve for their hard work? Would I be doing a greater service to those who work hard for a living by buying my guacamole ingredients from a vendor on the side of the road? This is a difficult question, because no matter what, the question of where the food comes from is always present. Prior to my experiences with GSE, I don’t think these questions would hold such importance in my daily activities. Now, having the experience of being submerged into this culture, I find that the little things that I did not think about when I would shop in a Wal-Mart produce section, come to mind all the time here. I hope to dig a little deeper into this topic of food and livelihoods and interview my favorite “fruit lady” and see what it truly means to be a produce vendor in Bangalore, India.