"Anam ti na rah?"

"Did you eat?"

I get asked this by multiple people, at every possible time of day. Everyone is extremely concerned about my getting enough food, and whether said food is nearly good enough. Please note that this has absolutely nothing to do with the nut allergy disaster of my first day; most folks here don't know about that, and if they do, they're not quite sure what to make of it. Also, it's not at all as if I'm left to my own devices, or that I'm eating street food: a posse of extremely friendly women manning the hospital canteen serve me hot, freshly made food for every single meal I'd care to come by. (This includes tea, which happens every day at 4 sharp.)

Rather, there is just a general, overriding concern for guests' stomachs. The first few phrases I was taught in Telugu included "My name is", "Fine, thank you", and "I ate." The last is incredibly important, but often ignored. I tried it last night, having planned to just have some fruit and biscuits later in my apartment, but Lakshmi of the kitchen staff was not dissuaded - she continued knocking on my window, saying "Dinner!" loudly, making eating motions and waggling her head disapprovingly until I agreed to come have my chapatis. (I know, rough life.)

Meal-ing itself is also a bit of an event. The kitchen ladies watch like cheerful, extremely obliging hawks. I'm still trying to find an adequate balance between seeming appreciative of the food without making it seem like a request for more. There was a bit of a snowball effect yesterday when the ladies got into an argument about whether the rice-curd combo was better with sugar or with salt; samples were heaped upon my plate as I tried to avoid picking sides, until I finally went with the age-old stomach-holding symbol for "Please no more rice or I will explode". (Also, for the record, sugar is WAY better.)

So, obviously, I'm jumping on board. Theresa, my apartment mate, has agreed to teach me to cook some Indian dishes. She was reluctant at first, arguing that she didn't know anything fancy, until I convinced her that, to me, spicy sauteed vegetables count as fancy. Plus, if there's one thing Theresa likes, it's haggling for produce. She is a force to be reckoned with. The woman somehow worked out a deal that we get a free watermelon every night from this truck by the side of the road in exchange for my American flashlight when I leave. Such a deal.

So she's warming up to the idea. Tonight we did the zesty vegetable dish, and we're planning a future filled with biriyanis (spicy Hyderabadi rice dish), vadas (some sort of ginger lentil spice balls!), a coconut upo (don't even know what this is) and other curries. Probably will be trying to smuggle mad spices back through customs.