India.Aried

I am still in India. I am excited about this sometimes. Usually not when there isn't a fan on my face. I spent more time on the beach in the last two weeks than I did for all of college, and I went to school at UC-Santa Barabara: college kids die there every year from getting too close to the beach cliffs when they are wasted. My roommates and I once saved a kids life, he was running straight off the cliff like a pop-punk music video and we all kind of regretted grabbing him.

In India the tourist beaches are like other worlds situated closely, in fact, immediately against, as if in support of each other, the real India. The real India is full of Indians and food places with excessive dishes but no silverware. The streets are the bathrooms and wireless internet is under no high demand. Traffic pulses and dirt spills, etc. The tourist beaches have omelettes and some restaurants even have magazines to read. French press coffee is often available and so are board shorts. Everyone wears clothing they purchased in the last two weeks and they tell each other they know it looks silly but it's so darn comfortable. Everyone not trying to take money from you is white, perhaps Russian, perhaps Icelandic, probably French. There are no buses, just beaches, and backpacks, and tanning lotions. Indians put oil in their hair, we rub it on our body.

On my way to the airport with Jenn two weeks ago, at the beginning of this vacation, we shared our auto with an Indian man, or rather he shared it with us. He imparted many words of wisdom upon us, as English-speaking Indian men interested in sharing their auto with white people are inclined to do. I forget most of it, but one thing stuck, "In your country you kiss in public and pee in private, in our country we kiss in private and pee in public."

Take your pick.