Holi Coloured Powder Batman!

Surveying my state of colorful disrepair post-Holi.

Um, oh, huh, ah, OM, hmmm

Our favorite sahib contemplates the logos, finding the mezzanine of Charminar conducive to divine wonderment.

Things I like/dislike about India

Like:

-Prismatic substances wherever the eye wanders (cloth, food, art, so on)

-Music (melismas, meend, drones - spiritually gratifying)

-Victuals (salubrious and seasoned, but I do miss simple American cuisine)

-Yoga (mind over matter, consciousness over mind)

-Traditional garb (as opposed to label laden kitsch)

Dislike:

-Interacting with beggars (their persistency and the language barrier is disquieting)

-Stifling pollution (a direct effrontery towards Mother Earth)

-Auto rickshaw drivers who try to cheat you into paying them more (lack of integrity knows no nationality)

-Temperature (often times it approximates Hell more than paradise)

-Bureaucracy (and you thought the U.S. was bad)

This list will be updated as more comes to mind...

Bit of a pain in the gulliver

I thought I had eluded it.  Shows what I know.  What hubris must have driven me to assume that just because I was almost a month into the trip and healthy as a horse that I was impervious to illness!

The Delhi belly prays on such ignorant complacency.

Surely enough, after my sitar lesson two days ago my tummy was rumbling, the harbinger of unpleasantries.  Yesterday it was mostly nausea.  The feeling that someone was tap dancing on my stomach in stilettos.  Woke up twice in the night to get some water and down a Tylernol.  This morning my body ached like an ancient rocking chair, exhumed from an attic, and put to use.  My eyes throbbed as though some cruel daemon was continually tapping on them with a hammer.  My forehead could've doubled as a hot plate.

But I've survived and hopefully I'm stronger for it.

Hustle, bustle, and thus this epistle

Today was my first foray into Indian public transit.  Various needs and desires brought a small group together with the common goal of traveling to the City Center Mall.  I decided to tag along thinking it would be nice to get off campus and perhaps procure some rubbing alcohol for my fingertips.  Should we arrange a taxi for the afternoon?  Nahhh, too expensive.  Auto rickshaws?  Eh, the exhilaration of bumping and grinding with Death is beginning to wear off. How about the bus?  Only ten rupees you say?

So it was decided.  Now, while in terms of essence the buses of India and America may be the same, in manifestation they differ significantly.  The Western gentry - those with cars - are generally loath to ride public buses and shudder at the suggestion.  Cleanliness is an oft cited objection.  Perhaps at bottom there is a reluctance of the gentry to mingle with proles; but I am not so bold as to assert this sans the "perhaps".  Regardless, the buses of America are luxury vehicles in comparison to those of India.

Imagine a twenty year old bus.  Now subject it to fifty years of heavy usage.  Fill it to capacity with sweaty Indian men.  Add more sweaty Indian men.  At the helm appoint a dubious captain who carries out his duties in an astoundingly perfunctory manner.  The difficulty of getting in the bus is similar to that of getting in a trendy New York club.  Alighting the vehicle calls for a willingness and readiness to tuck and roll.  Yes, it only cost ten rupees, but we took an auto rickshaw back to campus.

Supped at McDonalds for the first time in years.  No necessity of the belly ended this abstention, I was just interested in what Indian McDonalds was like.  Cleaner than its U.S. counterpart, much cleaner than the bus.  I ordered a McVeggie sandwich.  Essentially a veggie burger, natch.  The fries must have been seasoned with a salt lick, and I'm sure they took several hours off of my life.  I believe the meal was supposed to cost 107 rupees but the change I received evinced a transaction of 117 rupees.  I chose not to contest, it's equivalent to approximately a dime and they did give me change for a five hundred rupee bill.

The quest for rubbing alcohol was unsuccessful.  Oh well, I was getting tired of the current layer of skin on my fingertips anyways.  Returned to the Tagore International House just in time for dinner, but the McDonalds and stress from over-stimulation left me ambivalent to consumption.  Tomorrow I'll be venturing to the Ramoji Film City...

Genuflect, naif, lest you anger the gods!

I gaze with reverential awe at Hanuman, who famously led a monkey army in the defeat of the mythical king of flesh-eating demons, Ravana.  I too aspire to such greatness.  Mayhap one day it will be I who is enshrined in stone, the source of inspiration for a fledgling hero and the raison d'etre of a photograph.  Mayhap indeed...

Strike a Mudra

Resembling Buddha with the coiffure of Tiny Tim