Why You Should Be Glad You're Not My Mother

Just today I got an email from my muzzah, where after telling me about the details of her life (which always make me feel comforted/homesick), she wondered in passing whether she should be more worried about me traveling alone in India, or about me bicycle touring alone in Australia. This question made me laugh and demanded an answer. While I was writing it, I realized that what I was writing was good blog material. So here's my reply to my Muzzah, and why you really should be glad you aren't her ;)

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Muzzah!!!!

To answer your question about which place you should worry about most I have to say, without even having to stop and think about it because the answer is so obvious, that you should have worried a bajillion times more about India than Australia. I feel fine telling you this now, because I'm leaving in two days, so I figure now it's safe to tell you. Also it'll make you feel much better about Australia by seeing how much it pales in comparison.

OK, so India is like the most dangerous place I've ever been to. Ever. And that includes all of the middle of nowhere places that dad has taken me to without so much as a bandaid in the way of first-aid.

Let me explain why:

The roads are absolutely insane. There are no rules that anybody follows; even the "drive on the left side of the road" rule is completely optional.

Every road (even the ones where a car can barely squeeze through) has at least four "lanes" in that 2 women with bundles of wood on their heads, 1 bicycle, two mopeds, an autorickshaw, and a truck can and do all pass each other at the same time.

The key is to pass while honking your horn, so that they don't try to pass the person in front of them at the same time. Of course, this doesn't always work. It quite depends on the assertiveness and timbre of your honking. If your horn is of the door-bell buzzer variety which so commonly adorns mopeds, a car has a 50% chance of ignoring you, whereas a pedestrian or cyclist will immediately jump out of the way. For some reason, though, while a car, which is higher up on the hierarchy of the road than a moped, has a 50% probability of paying attention to your presence, a fellow moped-driver, hearing the dulcet tones of a brother or sister mopedist, will 100% always ignore it. Don't ask why; some things are best left unquestioned.

There are no speed limits. This is because nearly all of the hodgepodge of vehicles have different sized motors. Basically, everybody just goes as fast as their engines will let them. On my moped (which I got for while I was fasting, and since I've already paid for it I'm not going back to my bicycle) the highest speed I can get it to go is 50 km/h.

This may not seem very fast to you, but while I'm driving, I do well over 90% of the passing. Only the maniacs go faster than me. Most people go along at an average speed of 30 km/h on their good days. I'd like to think that it's because they're appalled by the unsafe conditions of the road and that they're just more responsible drivers than me, but I know the truth. They would go faster if they could. Fortunately they're too poor to get more powerful engines (yes, I say fortunately, because if you saw how crazily these people drive, you'd be wanting them to only be able to go in sheep-drawn carts with square tires. Just so that they couldn't go any faster.)

Then there's the whole thing that there are cows, goats, dogs, chickens, mongooses (mongeese?) peacocks (I just found out that these peacocks are wild, making them a lot cooler than they were when I thought they were just pets) and an assortment of other stupid animals that I sometimes think, when I've just nearly died to avoid one, are just stupid enough that maybe they deserve to be eaten.

The peacocks being the exception, of course. They're so loud that they deserve to be eaten. Screw stupidity. It's mating season for them right now, and while that does mean brilliant plumage (which they shed for most of the year), it also means them squawking like a jackal's gnawing on their leg.

And the jackals? Well, the jackals I like. Mainly because they're shy, meaning that they don't try to get themselves run over by my compassionate soul, and I hear that they eat mongooses, which are quite possibly the ugliest animals on this earth. Now, I'm sure you're thinking "But that doesn't mean that they deserve to be killed! Just because something's ugly doesn't mean it doesn't deserve life!" But don't you worry; I quite agree.

Tentatively.

And it is only this tentative grasp on basic morality that keeps me from speeding up when I see them crossing the #$@$% road. But every time they do that, my esteem of the noble jackals goes up.

Moving on, there's another reason why India is bloody dangerous and, now that it's over, I can safely say,

"Never let your daughter under the age of 20 travel there alone."

No. Let me rephrase that.

"Never let your daughter, sister, aunt, wife, or female relative or even acquaintance who you care mildly about travel alone in India unless she is an ugly old hag with a 20L jug of pepper spray and a black belt in karate, kung fu, and cussing."

I say this because Indian men have this idea that all Western women are sluts, and that back home in our rich countries we sleep with a different man every night (who we're not married to *gasps!*) and that since we're such sluts, we won't mind (nay, we'll even enjoy) being sexually molested, harassed, and assaulted.

EVERY SINGLE GIRL I HAVE EVER TALKED TO IN INDIA HAS BEEN MOLESTED IN SOME WAY.

I exaggerate not.

In fact, I'm sugar-coating it.

You see, I've gotten off lucky. I've been catcalled at, leered at, and followed for short distances by more men than I can count; I've been groped by 3 men (including one boy of around 15 years of age who was on his bicycle and just reached out for a grab while passing by in the opposite direction); and that's about it.

I've had it easy.

Here are some of the stories of some of my friends.

On her second day in India, one, who shall remain nameless, was offered some yoga lessons in the woods. She said yes, thinking that since this was Auroville, she was safe. He took the keys of her motorbike, drove her into some deserted woods, and proceeded to rip all of her clothes off, telling her the entire time to stop playing coy, that Western women do this all of the time with men they don't know.

She managed to escape without being raped, and when she told people (rather bravely, I thought) they said that the man was well-known in Auroville (to those who'd been there for awhile, that is, and he always goes for the newbies, so it's not much help) and they once tried to get rid of him but the law wouldn't help them. This figures, because the general mindset of the Indian men here is that Western women are asking for it and are only facing the consequences of their lifestyle choices.

Now I say this because not only has this man been doing this for years (not once or twice, but very very frequently), but my friend actually told one of her Indian male friends, and the friend and went to confront the sexual predator and when he came back he scolded my friend for leading the man on!

*screams wordlessly in fury*

Then there's another friend who was stalked by this guy, who she'd met a year before and become pen pals with. She'd come to visit him (among the other multitudes of her Indian friends) and when she realized that he seemed to be getting the wrong impression, she told him that she just liked him as a friend and that what with the cultural differences it would never have worked out anyhow and did he understand?

He said "Yes, yes. Of course."

He then proceeded to send her over 50 text messages a day, asking how she was, did she get out of the shower OK? has she been eating her veggies? Does she want to meet him at the restaurant at 5:00 instead of 6:00? etc etc etc.

My friend asked me what she should do, because she didn't actually want to talk to this guy anymore. He was being super possessive and wasn't leaving her alone. I told her to be firm and harsh, because no matter how she worded it, you can't tell someone that you don't want to ever be in their presence again without hurting their feelings.

She did and he took that as a message to try harder. Eventually she just turned off her phone so he couldn't leave any messages. The day after this she got a call from one of his friends telling her that he was in the hospital for attempted suicide.

As far as she's kept me updated, this guy is still sending her gigabytes of messages and making her phone all but useless.

Then there's another friend, who was bicycling along at night, and this Indian guy on a motorbike came up alongside her wanking. Looking straight at her, and going the same speed as her. She couldn't very well outpace him, being on a bicycle, and she couldn't very well stop, so she just tried to ignore him.

He started bringing his bike closer and closer to hers, and she kept on edging farther and farther away, until finally she was run off the road.

Fortunately he drove off after that. Can you imagine what might have happened if he'd gotten off his bike to "join her"? *shudders*

And while these are the more extreme cases, the fact remains that every single woman (regardless of age or relative beauty) has been sexually assaulted in India. It's just that sort of place.

Which is why if any girl in my family ever suggests going off to India, they will not go with my blessing unless they're going with a male consort (even a boy child will serve to protect them against unwanted sexual advances in this painfully sexist country).

Australia on the other hand, has wide roads with lanes, enforced speed limits, and mostly people who obey traffic regulations. Australia is a first world country with first world views on the equality of the sexes. Australia's got a lot of poisonous creatures (including platypi!) but they have first world medical facilities, so it's OK.

Australia's going to be fiiiiiiine.

So don't worry.

Instead, just think of all of the worrying you should have been doing whilst I was in India. ;)

Lurve ya tons and tons, o mother o' mine,
Bisous,
Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who's Sad and Glad that She's Leaving India

Toilets Solve Melancholy! Read all About it!

As my departure date from India looms near I'm pondering my life here and the thought of leaving it with a very melancholy outlook.

No more will I be able to buy my exquisitely sweet but tiny bananas for Rs 1 ($0.02) apiece. No more will I be able watch an Indian villiagewoman walk sedately down the side of the road in her bright multi-coloured sari with a pitcher of water balanced on her head. And I can just say good-bye to my beloved sambar and iddly in the mornings.

(I just have to note here, that you may have noticed that I’ve spent way more time complimenting Indian food than I ever had French food. This is because I frankly think that Indian food is underappreciated worldwide. Not that I don’t think French food is good (which it is) it’s just I love Indian food way way more and I really don’t understand why more people don’t know about it)

As I was becoming overcome with the despair of being deprived of my favourite foods of all time, I decided to pull myself out of my funk by thinking of all of the things that I don’t like about India and that wouldn't happen Singapore (which is my next stop by the way) once I got there.

Here’s what I thought of:

Toilet Paper.

Aaaaaaaaah. Now this is a great example of one of those little things in life you take for granted, but when it’s not there, you notice it a lot. Like when somebody knowingly uses the last bit of toilet paper off the roll and leaves it to the next person to replace it cause they’re too lazy. That somebody’s usually me, but let’s forget about that right now. I’ve been sufficiently punished, you might say.

In India nobody ever does this.

That’s rather considerate and industrious of them you might say.

WRONG!

They don’t ever forget to replace the toilet paper roll because they don’t use toilet paper!

None whatsoever.

Nada.

How do they wipe themselves, then? you ask? Water. Next to their “toilets” (which are squatholes, basically. The picture on the right shows a typical one that smells even worse than it looks (like death having one of its moods). And yes, those little silver ovals are designed for you to stand on) they always have either a tap with a bucket underneath, or, if you’re in a relatively fancy place, a funky hose with a nozzle that reminds me of the thing that hooks up to my old kitchen sink that makes it easier to wash dishes.

After they’ve done their business, they. . . splash themselves clean. They’ll also touch themselves (*giggles immaturely*) to get rid of the more stubborn bits. Always with their left hand, because they eat with their right hand (no cutlery here) so as to avoid poisoning themselves.

Then they “flush” the toilet by filling the bucket once more and washing out the entire thing, and continue on their way, letting their privates dry in time. It’s hot enough down here for that to work, but I feel sympathy for those poor blokes up in the Himalayas right now.

I, being the intrepid explorer that I am, decided to try it.

It’s fine when you pee, because you don’t have to do anything other than a few quick splashes. But when it comes time to poo. . . well, I’m sure you don’t wanna know.

And now I carry a roll of toilet paper with me at all times. 'Nough said.

OK, so that took a longer time to explain than I’d thought (whoever thought that toilets could be such a rich topic? Of course, I have an intern architect friend who’s assignment was to design toilets, so you’d be surprised. Maybe we should take some more time to appreciate the toilets who take our crap so stoically every once in awhile.) so I’ll just end with two notes:

Note #1 – I haven’t had a hot shower in almost six months, now. India doesn’t seem to believe in heated water. So cold showers all the way!

Note #2 – I’m really starting to look forward to leaving. ;)

Luff y’all tons and tons,

Bisous,

Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who Just Drew A Mural on Her Wall With Her Roomie

Oh my God! An ACTUAL Blog Update

OK, so I just realized that my last actual blog update was before Christmas, so I decided to have pity on you guys and do another one. (I'd give you pictures, but the @!#% computer is being a bum, and unless I want to spend 36:54:12 amount of time waiting for the stupid pictures to process, you're not going to get any.)

I think that since so much has happened since I last wrote, I'll just give you a little summary of some of my friends (in the comfort that haven't told any of them about this blog ;P)

Friend #1 - BooYeon (aka Chicken Soup, aka Wednes, aka Pabo, aka Krazy Korean, aka Kenyan)

BooYeon is my room-mate, she doesn't speak very good English, and she's nutters. I think that's why we get along so well, because with her level of English and my level of Korean (I can officially call you crazy, stupid, and delicious in Korean. I can also say "I'm so clever" and "Don't speak Korean!") we can hardly have deep philosophical discussions.

She actually acts like an anime character (in fact, exactly like the one at the beginning of the update. If you don't recognize this character, just thank your lucky stars that you're not a nerd like me. Muzzah, ask Stump to explain.). She swings her arms back and forth while she walks, jumps up and down, and goes "Waaaaah!" (crying) if you poke her juuust right. . . >:)

Every day we playfight (in two memorable days we had a banana peel war all over the hostel (the cows ate them up, later) and another day a hairspray war) and bug each other, and I sometimes give her English lessons in exchange for tea.

We're going to Singapore together (because she needs to renew my visa and I need to leave India *cries*) and I'm going to meet her dad. That'll be cool, although she says that he won't like me (Because I'm Canadian. But that's an inside joke, so don't be offended :P) so now I'm nervous. She might be staying long enough for you (Dad and Stump) to meet her. That would be neat, because then the two worlds that I seem to be living in would overlap. . . weeeeird. . .

Friend #2 - David (aka Uncle David, aka Thur, aka Bobbysoxer, aka American)

David is an Indian on the outside and an American on the inside, although he'll deny his Americanness indignantly (and can you blame him?) He was an orphan in India and was adopted before he can remember by an American couple. Since his parents wanted to give him the choice and he's far too liberal to do anything to associate himself with Bush, he never got an American passport. So he's still Indian.

Of course, I call him American just to bug him.

He's my "intellectual friend" although half of the time, we're bugging BooYeon together (we also mess with her mind. For example, we've (OK, I've) taught her words like pug-fugly and biallistic, and the like).

OK, so those are my two best friends over here. I shall proceed to give you mini-summaries of my other friends

Johannes: this guy is skinny (but still muscular) Swarzenegger. For real! You know Arnie's deep grumbly German accent? Johannes talks exactly like that! It's hilarious. I get him to say "I'll be back" on a regular basis because it makes me feel happy inside.

Carmen: she's my Canadian friend. She got sexually assaulted (badly. Every Western girl gets sexually assaulted in India if you stay longer than a week, but hers was really bad. And on her second day here, which is especially horrible) and had a bike crash and injured both wrists in her first week in India. Damn, if I were her, I would have left right away!

Johanna: she's my German friend. She's really nice, but I don't think she's grasped the cultural differences of India quite yet. For example, she was all confused about why this Indian guy-friend of hers was totally getting the wrong idea and asking her to marry him. I asked her if she was doing anything in particular that she was doing that could be confusing him. She said no. It was only later that Carmen told me that she kissed him.

Crazyhead!

Doesn't she know that even eye contact is considered flirting over here. Eye contact of any sort, not just the bat-bat-eyelashes-eye-contact sort. Even the please-get-onto-your-side-of-the-road-you-stupid-truck-driver eye contact is flirtatious. Kissing is basically the same as sayinig "Marry me now, baby!"

Graar. . .

Steve: an Irish dude who's actually gone right now. But he's really fun and once, without me even asking him, he did the Lucky Charms voice. After that, I can die happy.

Krishna: an Indian on the outside, German on the inside girl (kinda like David) who laughs nearly as much/as loudly/as weirdly as moiself. Scary, I know, but true.

Leelee: an American genius. She started university when she was fifteen!!! She's a scientist (at the age of 23) and is going on to study to become a doctor when she goes back to the States. . . I feel unaccomplished. . .

Valentine: a Frenchie, she's the one who cut my hair and while we don't have much in common aside from BooYeon and finding the horns of autorickshaws hilarious , we get along pretty well.

And und so weite (I've learnt some German! That means "and so on and so forth". . .actually, no! I just looked it up on altavista.com/tr and it says it means "and in such a way widens". . . eh???? Weeeeeird. . . )

Anyhoo, and so on and so forth. I have other friends, but I started writing their little summaries and I realized I had nothing of interest/funny to say about them. So you just won't hear about them.

So love ya lots,

Bisous,
Namaste,

Lentil,

The Girl Who Just Cooked a Delicious Lentil Masala When She Woke Up (In a Tank Top and at 11:00 Am!!!! *cackles*)