Tuesday July 17'2012
5:30pm
Today I think I may have unknowingly made a hindu priest give up his seat on the metro. I don't know what came over me. The mild feminist in me just took over. I was all, bitch please old man ladies only. Respect your feminine inferior and let me have the one out of two seats I'm allowed on this repulsively sexist transit system. No fanny you standy. No vaginy no hiney. But the moment my sorry hiney did touch the seat I was like, Oh shit Chels, you did not just take a seat from an old man. Then the man sitting beside him said something about the left hand cleanses the right hand, and since I had no idea what the hell he was talking about I assumed it was something wise and profound... and priestly (not Jason Priestley. Thats l-e-y not l-y. Priestly is a word, I looked it up) I'm sure everyone around me thought I was an ungrateful, disrespecting little white girl, fair enough. At one point I considered shouting out "I'm american!" But I didn't. Instead, the minute another woman came on board I offered up my jaded seat in hopes that I would correct my poor karma. Doubt it worked though. Pretty sure priest man put some kind of hex on me. They do that here, they will curse you. Now I'll probably die from the black plague or have my first born son be made a human sacrifice, which I deserve, let's be honest. I literally dwelled over this the entire train ride to work. And to make matters worse, the woman I gave my seat to left three stops later and Mukesh insisted I sit in the cursed seat. He even used my name so now it's just a matter of time before the witnesses of my debauchery find out where I live (how many white Chelsea's live in Delhi, 2?) and have a mob of angry hindus come after me with pitch forks, or whatever agricultural tool they use here. Perhaps a chaff cutter...
I saw a cow today! Where does this leave my Indian wild life count you ask? Well let me tell you:
Cat (kitten too)
chipmunks
lizard
monkey
goat
cow
parrot
dogs. so many dogs.
Dogs here are like pigeons or seagulls back home. They are everywhere. Like everywhere. I now believe that my task in life is not to invent a human transportation device (though it is still a marvellous idea) but instead to establish an overseas adoption facility for dogs in India. I will ban breeding lame fancy dogs in North America and force people to adopt India's mediocre looking ones. If we can assist in the mass production of asian and black babies by adopting them, why not do the same for dogs. Take a load of India's back. I know right, not just a pretty face.
And you can totally tell the difference between stray dogs and rich pet dogs. It's like humans here; the wealthy puppies are all fat and pudgy, and the homeless puppies are pratically see through. It's an accurate comparison.
Friday July 20'2012
1:00pm
A lot of changes are going down around here. Too many changes. I am not a fan of change. In fact, I loath change. My freedom filled shower has now been caged with depressing glass walls. The best part of waking up is not folgers in your cup, but the exhilarating feeling of cold water splashing all over an open bathroom. The fact that I could do the buffalo in circles around the entire bathroom when I showered brought sincere joy to my mornings. That joy is now crushed by the repressive ways of western civilization. I weep.
Stupid change #2. Mukesh is now only my part time bodyguard. I am being shared by two men now, and not in a good way. The first time it picked me up ('it' has a name but in my attempt to protest this horrible change I refuse to use it) I was mortified thinking I had lost Mukesh forever. All it said was I am with you, Mukesh is with Chelsea now. Huh? Chelsea, the other teacher. I am Chelsea (stupid head). Oh, who's the other teacher? Ellen, are we walking or what (reject)?
This cannot be. Mukesh was my Kevin Costner. This hack wouldn't even pass for Whitney's son in the movie. First of all, he looks like an infant with a potbelly (I could take him, drunk, and standing on one leg). Second of all, pretty sure he got lost several times just getting me to the metro station (where I had to tell him he was heading for the wrong train, no the yellow line is this way. And so on and so forth) Then to top it all off he kept trying to sell me jazz shoes. I missed Mukesh and our silent affection for one another. It just blabs about the same thing over and over. Hush now chauffeur, quiet time (no way on god's dry and garbage ridden earth can you call that man a body guard) But my faith was restored when two days later, Mukesh was waiting for me downstairs all pretty in his token bright yellow polo and gold hoop earrings. Like a 21st century chain smoking genie. So now I have 'it', who escorts me, follows me in the mornings, and Mukesh to protect me in the evenings. Which he does so well. He even makes sure I am walking on the inside of him when we're on the street, my dad would be proud. I walk myself to and from the Patel Nagar studio now because it's only five minutes from home, but not when Mukesh is responsible for me. When my class finished last night, there he was. Mukesh you didn't have to wait for me. I could have walked home myself. No no, you alone. I'm fine Mukesh, really. No, I am your bodyguard. No alone. God I've missed this man. So we walked in mutual silence. Beautiful, sweet silence. We've even mastered our goodbye hug. Not gonna lie, it was awkward at first, heads were knocked, timing was off. But now we've got it down. Handshake with the right hand, lean to our left for the hug, double back pat and recover to neutral stance.
Now that I have been here for over two weeks, I feel I am ready to be honest about something. I have been toilet paper free for 11 days...and I love it. Not only is it as exhilarating as my open shower (rest in peace) but I feel I am doing my part to save the trees. Don't freak out, it's not a left hand pooper scooper situation by any means (I am open to new things but come on now). There is a hose beside the toilet. Like pressure washing your asshole. It's kinda fun. Possibly really fun. I believe I can truly call myself an Indian now.
But watch, with all this freaking change I'll wake up to find a toilet paper holder being installed in my self loathing Indian bathroom.
5:30pm
Today I think I may have unknowingly made a hindu priest give up his seat on the metro. I don't know what came over me. The mild feminist in me just took over. I was all, bitch please old man ladies only. Respect your feminine inferior and let me have the one out of two seats I'm allowed on this repulsively sexist transit system. No fanny you standy. No vaginy no hiney. But the moment my sorry hiney did touch the seat I was like, Oh shit Chels, you did not just take a seat from an old man. Then the man sitting beside him said something about the left hand cleanses the right hand, and since I had no idea what the hell he was talking about I assumed it was something wise and profound... and priestly (not Jason Priestley. Thats l-e-y not l-y. Priestly is a word, I looked it up) I'm sure everyone around me thought I was an ungrateful, disrespecting little white girl, fair enough. At one point I considered shouting out "I'm american!" But I didn't. Instead, the minute another woman came on board I offered up my jaded seat in hopes that I would correct my poor karma. Doubt it worked though. Pretty sure priest man put some kind of hex on me. They do that here, they will curse you. Now I'll probably die from the black plague or have my first born son be made a human sacrifice, which I deserve, let's be honest. I literally dwelled over this the entire train ride to work. And to make matters worse, the woman I gave my seat to left three stops later and Mukesh insisted I sit in the cursed seat. He even used my name so now it's just a matter of time before the witnesses of my debauchery find out where I live (how many white Chelsea's live in Delhi, 2?) and have a mob of angry hindus come after me with pitch forks, or whatever agricultural tool they use here. Perhaps a chaff cutter...
I saw a cow today! Where does this leave my Indian wild life count you ask? Well let me tell you:
Cat (kitten too)
chipmunks
lizard
monkey
goat
cow
parrot
dogs. so many dogs.
Dogs here are like pigeons or seagulls back home. They are everywhere. Like everywhere. I now believe that my task in life is not to invent a human transportation device (though it is still a marvellous idea) but instead to establish an overseas adoption facility for dogs in India. I will ban breeding lame fancy dogs in North America and force people to adopt India's mediocre looking ones. If we can assist in the mass production of asian and black babies by adopting them, why not do the same for dogs. Take a load of India's back. I know right, not just a pretty face.
And you can totally tell the difference between stray dogs and rich pet dogs. It's like humans here; the wealthy puppies are all fat and pudgy, and the homeless puppies are pratically see through. It's an accurate comparison.
Friday July 20'2012
1:00pm
A lot of changes are going down around here. Too many changes. I am not a fan of change. In fact, I loath change. My freedom filled shower has now been caged with depressing glass walls. The best part of waking up is not folgers in your cup, but the exhilarating feeling of cold water splashing all over an open bathroom. The fact that I could do the buffalo in circles around the entire bathroom when I showered brought sincere joy to my mornings. That joy is now crushed by the repressive ways of western civilization. I weep.
Stupid change #2. Mukesh is now only my part time bodyguard. I am being shared by two men now, and not in a good way. The first time it picked me up ('it' has a name but in my attempt to protest this horrible change I refuse to use it) I was mortified thinking I had lost Mukesh forever. All it said was I am with you, Mukesh is with Chelsea now. Huh? Chelsea, the other teacher. I am Chelsea (stupid head). Oh, who's the other teacher? Ellen, are we walking or what (reject)?
This cannot be. Mukesh was my Kevin Costner. This hack wouldn't even pass for Whitney's son in the movie. First of all, he looks like an infant with a potbelly (I could take him, drunk, and standing on one leg). Second of all, pretty sure he got lost several times just getting me to the metro station (where I had to tell him he was heading for the wrong train, no the yellow line is this way. And so on and so forth) Then to top it all off he kept trying to sell me jazz shoes. I missed Mukesh and our silent affection for one another. It just blabs about the same thing over and over. Hush now chauffeur, quiet time (no way on god's dry and garbage ridden earth can you call that man a body guard) But my faith was restored when two days later, Mukesh was waiting for me downstairs all pretty in his token bright yellow polo and gold hoop earrings. Like a 21st century chain smoking genie. So now I have 'it', who escorts me, follows me in the mornings, and Mukesh to protect me in the evenings. Which he does so well. He even makes sure I am walking on the inside of him when we're on the street, my dad would be proud. I walk myself to and from the Patel Nagar studio now because it's only five minutes from home, but not when Mukesh is responsible for me. When my class finished last night, there he was. Mukesh you didn't have to wait for me. I could have walked home myself. No no, you alone. I'm fine Mukesh, really. No, I am your bodyguard. No alone. God I've missed this man. So we walked in mutual silence. Beautiful, sweet silence. We've even mastered our goodbye hug. Not gonna lie, it was awkward at first, heads were knocked, timing was off. But now we've got it down. Handshake with the right hand, lean to our left for the hug, double back pat and recover to neutral stance.
Now that I have been here for over two weeks, I feel I am ready to be honest about something. I have been toilet paper free for 11 days...and I love it. Not only is it as exhilarating as my open shower (rest in peace) but I feel I am doing my part to save the trees. Don't freak out, it's not a left hand pooper scooper situation by any means (I am open to new things but come on now). There is a hose beside the toilet. Like pressure washing your asshole. It's kinda fun. Possibly really fun. I believe I can truly call myself an Indian now.
But watch, with all this freaking change I'll wake up to find a toilet paper holder being installed in my self loathing Indian bathroom.
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