all begins with L

I love India for its many faces, its food, slums, dirt, women and 1% of its men. Of which the rest I have completely resign to abhor. And I am writing this in all soberness.

To that remanining fraction of that last category, fuct all of you.

In all of a traveller’s spirit I declare:

1) I do not want to have sex with you.

2) I do not wish to have a massage, not this evening, not tomorrow not ever. Not by you.

3) It does not cost 450 rupess to get from the train station to the guesthouse. And there is no such thing as baggage charge for cabs.

4) I am not from Korea, not Japan. It is none of your business.

5) I do not know how much women cost in Thailand OR ANYWHERE ELSE for that matter.

I could go on, really. Once I overheard someone asking, “How do you say ‘It’s none of your business’ in Hindi?” Our lovely guesthouse owner replied “Do you want to know how to say ‘its none of your fucking business’ instead?” Govind, of course is a rare species whose sentiments I have for him is total opposite of what i have for the male majority. We love you Govind!

I have learnt that rage sometimes is the only weapon and perhaps the only language comprehended by them raging hormones.

Everyone I met here both local and foreign profess their love for this country in manner which I’d probably never witness in my own. But the notion of love for India from its people sits far apart from that of which that comes from a foreigner.

“101 out of 100 people here are dishonest. But it’s still my India.”–Suketa Mehta, ‘Maximum City’.

Convinced by such patriotism, I am however skeptical about the foreign (i shall refrain from using the word ‘western’) fascination for this country.

“It’s such a beautiful country. I love it here. Such warmth and hospitality.”
I have not been here that long but enough to make me feel cycnical towards such remarks.

India is lovely place for those who has the ticket to leave. Ask any of them love if they would trade a year of their life to be here in this land of contradictions. Unless you’ve hit rock bottom low in your homeland or have plans to embark on some spiritual journey, India is beautiful for as long and you have the option, the money, to escape when needed.

Happy Momma’s Day Mom!

I lost 4 kg over two nights. And I gained it all back within two meals. I will swear by atkinson diet when I get back.

The plot of this trip seems to coincide with the weather temperature as the thermal stat rises; it’s getting hot in here…

I entered Rajastan after a 5 hour bus ride on a government bus looking like a country pumpkin who is seeing a traffic light for the first time. OMG, there’s a pizza hut. Oh look, it’s MacDonalds! And we love Jaipur for having the only Subway in the whole of Rajastan smack right across our gorgeous a/c room. It’s an utter bliss to flip a menu and it reads more than just nan, butter nan or garlic nan with cheese-tomato-onion.

What was formerly known as Mawar which means region of death, my skin feels why it was known as such. We even resort to playing this game called “It’s too hot to… (fill in wtv comes to mind)”. On good days it’s about 42 deg.cel. Yesterday the report reads a scorching fourty-four deg.

I have a train to catch in a fews hour time, a Delhi-Jaisalmer express which will send us under two deg. celcius higher than in this tandoori oven we’re already in. The camel awaits and apparently one will see the city sky line emerge from the desert like that of which you’d find in Aladdin. I am just happy that I had a whole Afgan Chicken last night, chicken pizza and chicken wings for breakfast. I heard there’s beef in Mumbai.

p.s. I’m really sorry if you’re a Hindu and reading this. I tried, I really tried.

I’ve been vegetarian for about seven days straight not by choice. Everything here is either made of cheese, potato, onions or capsicum. I am starting to have dreams of gobbling down a few whole chickens by myself. The cow looks good but I dont want to get lynched.

How now brown cow? Heh.

Benaras

Here is where you see India in raw. The cars make way for the rickshaws. Rickshaws have their own way to eveywhere and everyone makes way for the cow. When they say the old city of Benaras is cramp, I didn’t expect it to have a road slash walkway slash cowdung path of a slightly more than a five foot in breadth. Five steps forward without a glance down, you’ll have your sole blessed with the gobar, the holy manure which keeps India’s crop well nourished and alive.

Burning Ghat

Currently residing beside a river where they burn the dead and have their ashes wash down and their souls back to where they belong. An oxymoron of a place if you ask me. Here lies one of the hottest, busiest, dustiest city ever present where the touts are multi linguist and are perhaps more proficient than half of my varsity population put together.

One can get so mad in here, it’s almost like a test of patience, of sympathy, of all there should be in what is deemed as the holiest place in India. Take that many turns and uturns, one reaches the burning ghats where the trance of chantings and reminder of being dead brings sanity back to life.

I beginnng to understand what I am here for. It is not food, it is not the usual escapade. They say one goes to India to find one self. No, I’m not looking for anything. But I’m beginning to understand…