Today was Sunday, the day of rest, celebrated more literally and erratically in India than most other countries. There was nothing religious about it that I could see. It was simply a day where nobody did a damn thing but drink and sleep, which was too bad for us 'cause we were on the prowl for some new food to try and something interesting to do. But nothing was cookin'. Not even our go-to tea hang out on the corner. As I walked by it, our new friend Acter popped his head out the back seat window of his car. He was glossy eyed and full of joy. "Come inside" he said. "Today we are drinking." I laughed my ass off at him as if I'd known him for years. "No thanks, my friend. I'm going for water first."
"Have that also. We have everything in here." He passed a cold bottle out to me and I drank it Indian style (the bottle must never touch the lips). I thanked him and told him we were going for breakfast and he wished me good luck and rolled up the tinted window.
After we located a restaurant that was open we called up our couchsurfing friend contact Ashish, who was supposed to show us around town for the day. But after three calls and no response it was now almost noon, so we took to walking down streets we hadn't ventured yet. We eventually found the famous mission and resting place of Mother Theresa, which was both educational and honourable. The lady lived and worked in the heat of a depraved city for over 47 years without a fan. Every time I'm about to complain about the weather I remind myself of that.
On our way back to Sudder Street, I took a different road to myself and ran into "Maaah", the deaf guy who worked at the corner tea shop. He was so excited to see me he started screaming. We ended up sharing 2 big Kingfisher beers and communicating through hand signs and by drawing in the dirt. We walked back to the corner tea spot to find Acter and Danni, the tea shop cook, completely passed out on the makeshift benches of flat stone. A young stray dog came up and began licking Acter's face until it was coated in a thin layer of clear slime. Shortly after, the Swedish couple from the previous night arrived and "Maaah" invited us to go smoke his chillum, so we did. It was then that a cat scratched my leg and I freaked out a bit, but I was in too good of a mood for the worry to last. Jon found me on the street and told me that he'd finally got in touch with Ashish and we were on our way to meet him. We caught a cab to the south side and he picked us up at a mall and then made two stops - one for beer, one for food. We took it back to his house and hung out side on his rooftop lounge, complete with trippy Indian tunes, and a full moon lighting everything. Ashish struck me as a well-read cat, who had travelled and fallen in love with his own country. He was proud of it for his own discovered reasons, not from being brainwashed. There is a glaring difference that I respect between that and patriotism. He seemed smarter than most other Indians I'd met so far.
We drank and ate and learned a lot, then smoked some fine charas before he took us home by way of the scenic route.
Despite how tired I was, I stayed up and and chatted with a threesome of Swedes in the common area of the guest house. One of them was a girl with a perfect tan, wearing nothing but a long tank-top, no bra. As we traded advice and travel stories about Thailand and India I pondered which one of the ugly dimwits was her boyfriend. Then he stood up, passed me a poorly rolled joint and introduced himself, shaking my hand with the same familiar grip and eye contact that I used to give motherfuckers for 6 years. I miss being so lucky, and knowing it.
"Have that also. We have everything in here." He passed a cold bottle out to me and I drank it Indian style (the bottle must never touch the lips). I thanked him and told him we were going for breakfast and he wished me good luck and rolled up the tinted window.
After we located a restaurant that was open we called up our couchsurfing friend contact Ashish, who was supposed to show us around town for the day. But after three calls and no response it was now almost noon, so we took to walking down streets we hadn't ventured yet. We eventually found the famous mission and resting place of Mother Theresa, which was both educational and honourable. The lady lived and worked in the heat of a depraved city for over 47 years without a fan. Every time I'm about to complain about the weather I remind myself of that.
On our way back to Sudder Street, I took a different road to myself and ran into "Maaah", the deaf guy who worked at the corner tea shop. He was so excited to see me he started screaming. We ended up sharing 2 big Kingfisher beers and communicating through hand signs and by drawing in the dirt. We walked back to the corner tea spot to find Acter and Danni, the tea shop cook, completely passed out on the makeshift benches of flat stone. A young stray dog came up and began licking Acter's face until it was coated in a thin layer of clear slime. Shortly after, the Swedish couple from the previous night arrived and "Maaah" invited us to go smoke his chillum, so we did. It was then that a cat scratched my leg and I freaked out a bit, but I was in too good of a mood for the worry to last. Jon found me on the street and told me that he'd finally got in touch with Ashish and we were on our way to meet him. We caught a cab to the south side and he picked us up at a mall and then made two stops - one for beer, one for food. We took it back to his house and hung out side on his rooftop lounge, complete with trippy Indian tunes, and a full moon lighting everything. Ashish struck me as a well-read cat, who had travelled and fallen in love with his own country. He was proud of it for his own discovered reasons, not from being brainwashed. There is a glaring difference that I respect between that and patriotism. He seemed smarter than most other Indians I'd met so far.
We drank and ate and learned a lot, then smoked some fine charas before he took us home by way of the scenic route.
Despite how tired I was, I stayed up and and chatted with a threesome of Swedes in the common area of the guest house. One of them was a girl with a perfect tan, wearing nothing but a long tank-top, no bra. As we traded advice and travel stories about Thailand and India I pondered which one of the ugly dimwits was her boyfriend. Then he stood up, passed me a poorly rolled joint and introduced himself, shaking my hand with the same familiar grip and eye contact that I used to give motherfuckers for 6 years. I miss being so lucky, and knowing it.
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