In the state of Meghalaya, Khasi priests have an ancient tradition that involves breaking an egg and calling a person’s name to the gods to determine their fortune. The egg is dropped on the ground, facing the East. The person’s fate is predicted by factors such as how far the egg spreads, whether the yolk is intact, or whether the shell covers the yolk.
I think of this at breakfast, watching the hired help scramble eggs into something called “rumble tumble” and toast. Pamu sits at the table reading his newspaper, as a stray cat wanders in through the open door. I look at Pamu, but he just glances at the cat and shrugs. The cat meanders around the room, gives us a bored look, then saunters out the open door. Two children come to the door begging for food and Sarah quietly gives them something to eat.
Later that morning, I visit another regional Shillong landmark, Elephant Falls, with Pamu’s sister-in-law. On our way to the falls, the streets are bumper to bumper with black or gray vehicles with 1960s-style, unfiltered exhaust pipes. The chauffeur cracks the front windows and I watch the smoke stream in front of the headlights like clouds of fog. After being in traffic for several minutes, my sinuses are aching, and I have to reach for a scarf to cover my nose and mouth.
A dump truck passes us on the right, its bumper simply reading, GOOD LUCK.
