a friend’s sacrifice. part II.

This is part II of a three part series. If you have not read part I, you may be confused.

When I last left off, we had just arrived at the camel site. Up until this point, I was really looking forward to the safari as I thought it would be a wonderful and exciting new experience. I pictured myself majestically trotting around the desert, Lawrence of Arabia style, looking very formidable while I maneuvered my steadfast camel with great ease.

But when I actually saw the camels up close- thence began my reservations. It suddenly occurred to me: camels are really big.

I looked upon the large animal with fright. It’s four enormous legs. Its giant, yellow teeth. Its snot covered nose. This was no friendly pony at the petting zoo. This was an untamed, brutish beast from hell. I gulped- this was the devil the rickshaw driver was talking about.

On top of that, my ten personal and very sacred commandments once again came to mind. I found myself in conflict:

The thing about animals is, they are animals. I don’t particularly trust them. They act on instinct. They are not reasonable creatures like you and me. If a person gets angry and wants to kill me, I can always rationalize with them:

But if a lion gets angry with me:

Only get in the ring with an opponent you know you can beat. That’s my logic. Paranoid you say? Go talk to Christopher Reeve, Steve Irwin, or Captain Hook and ask them what they think. Oh wait, you can’t…because they have all been murdered by animals.

Thus, my complete lack of faith in animals and the fact that I was recently cursed to hell by a rickshaw driver made getting on this camel seem like the worst idea ever. But once again, not being completely insane, the rational part of my brain started working.

I climbed on top of the sitting camel. As it stood up, I felt like I was being pushed up high into the sky by hydraulic gears. The camel moved a few feet forward and I held on like it was the great earthquake of 1982 (????).

Gerald sensed my fear, “You should name your camel. Then it will be like a pet.”

A pet!!?? A pet is fluffy and sweet. A pet can be controlled with a leash and collar. A pet is a hamster, not a enormous beast with a tongue the size of a skateboard.

Instead of expressing my opinions I just mouthed: “Good idea.” I looked at the camel. What would be an appropriate title for this aggressive beast that could not be reasoned with? I needed something fierce:

“I shall call her Beyonce Giselle Knowles.”

The camel guide waved his arms for us to get moving. Beyonce Giselle Knowles and I trotted forth. But as it turned out, she was not the fierce and wild beast I had previously thought. She was quite the lackluster camel. Slow as a rock. Each step forward was grudgingly taken, and it seemed to me that Beyonce shared the same enthusiasm about carrying me around as I had about riding her. Within five minutes we were already way behind everyone else.

The camel guide yelled from afar, “KICK! KICK.”

Kick Beyonce? No way. Don’t get me wrong- I’m no animal rights activist. I have no problem hitting things when the situation calls for some good old beatin’. But I sure did not want to irritate the large creature that my safety rested in. Would you smack the pilot flying your plane for not going fast enough? Nate.

“KICK! KICK!” I pretended I couldn’t hear him. The camel guide waited for me. When I reached him he took a stick and whipped Beyonce right in her butt as hard as he could.

WHACK. Beyonce farted and sped off. We raced forward passing the other camels left and right. She kept on farting. We kept on racing along. With each fart we rocketed forward. The effects were astonishing. Farting was to Beyonce as eating spinach was to Popeye.

Soon enough, we were leading the pack.

It didn’t smell so great, but it felt great. I was the leader of the camel brigade and my noble steed, Beyonce, was the alpha camel. I could feel her confidence as we headed the pack. She could feel mine. Her farts had not only acted as rocket fuel, but also as the adhesive that formed our friendship. Together we confidently trotted along as the best in the safari. No two things were more connected in the entire universe than we; it was the perfect camel and rider symbiosis. I was one with her and she was one with me.

I became:

It was a glorious day for the both of us as we navigated through the desert landscape with our heads held so very high and the wind flowing through our hair. Eventually we reached the spot where we would be spending the night. Beyonce knelt down and let me off. I patted her on the head and smirked at the thought of the rickshaw driver:

You are not the devil, Beyonce Giselle Knowles. You are my friend. My best friend foreva.

[end part II, final part coming I'm not sure when]

Happy Holidays!

a friend’s sacrifice. part I.

It’s typical to work six days a week in India, which has been an internal struggle for me as it goes squarely against my  ten personal and very sacred commandments.

After tweaking out about that the last few months, I reached my point and decided to ask for the Saturday off. And what was I to do with my first full free weekend? Go on a camel safari, of course.

So on Friday night, my coworker (Gerald) and I took an overnight bus to get to the desert. We arrived very early on Saturday morning- so early it was still dark out. We had arranged for our camel safari guide to pick us up at the bus stop, but he was running late so we had to wait outside for a bit.

While we were waiting, a rickshaw driver approached Gerald.

“You want rickshaw?”

“No thank you. We have a ride.”

The rickshaw driver looked at me:

“Madame, you need a rickshaw?”

As I have started doing when I want to avoid conversation- I put on my German accent and made what I thought was a very convincing German looking face:

I used all the German words I could think of.

My performance worked. The driver stopped talking to me and  looked back at Gerald,

“You take my rickshaw. Only twenty rupees.”

Gerald was getting annoyed: “Sir. We__do__not__ need__ a__ ride.”

After hearing these stern words from my coworker, the rickshaw driver’s face turned stone cold:

Gerald just smirked and looked the other way. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly freaked the f*ck out.

I have an uncanny ability to instantly recall scary movies at the worst possible moments. If I am alone in the woods- I’ll start thinking of The Blair Witch Project. Babysitting? Halloween. During a storm? Twister. Going to a chocolate factory? Willy Wonka. Flying on Air Force One? Air Force One. I’m quite good at escalating my own fear.

After this rickshaw driver damned us, I suddenly started thinking of the movie Drag Me to Hell, in which the lead character is cursed by some disgruntled old lady and then, who-woulda-thunk-it, gets dragged to hell. And because all movies are exactly like real life, I became convinced something really bad would happen as the rickshaw driver had promised.

As I am only slightly crazy and neurotic, the rational part of my eventually brain chimed in:

Shortly after reassuring myself that I wasn’t going to meet the devil in the middle of the Thar Desert, our camel guide arrived. We hopped in the jeep with some other tourists to drive out to wherever the camels were, but not before making a pit stop. Our camel guide smiled and looked at us,

“Many of the young tourists like to buy Dhung before going on the camel safari! You can buy here!”

He pointed at a little shanty with the words, Government Authorized Dhung written in sharpie on the most unauthorized door I’ve ever seen.

All I knew about dhung was what I had heard from some Canadian tourists a few weeks earlier.  Dhung was a drug that was legal to sell and buy in some cities in India. It was strong and it lasted all day. I tried to imagine what it would be like to go on a camel safari and take some  powerful mystery drug from a shanty on the middle of desert highway.

“No thank you.” Daren the D.A.R.E. Lion would be very proud.

We continued on in the jeep and ten minutes later arrived at the camel site.

[end part I]

the best gift eva.

At least once a week my two friends and I get together to grab dinner and chat about anything interesting that has happened since we last met. They often have stories to tell that revolve around their daily commute to work on the public bus. This commute, in addition to upping their weekly expenses, has provided them with an endless amount of amusing experiences that they kindly share with me during our get-togethers. Their weekly tales from the city bus are wide and varied; an act of kindness from a stranger; a broken down bus; a particular odor that was so repulsive, so revolting, so out-of-this world that it could not possibly have been from earth- that it must have seeped up from the depths of hell- “oh wait, actually it’s coming from that man over there holding a decomposing chicken.”

If ever fresh out of anything to write about, my P.O.A will be to hop on ye old city bus for a few hours and soak in the experience. I’m pretty confident a mere afternoon on the bus would afford me with enough posts for a month or so. And this certainly isn’t confined to India. It’s not just an India public transport thing, it’s a global public transportation thing. Everyone from every corner of the world has an amusing public transportation story because public transportation, my friends, is so much more than just a ride, it’s an adventure.

This post is about an experience my friends, Midge and Reiko, had on the bus that they shared with me during our weekly gathering. Please note, those are not their real names (though I  do wish I had two friends named Midge and Reiko. Especially Midge.) What follows is my visual and textual reinterpretation of their adventure, which I have titled:

Midge and Reiko got on their usual bus to work. The bus was very crowded as always, but Reiko managed to grab the last available seat. Midge found some standing space right beside Reiko.

A young woman seated next to Reiko was holding her baby. It was a cute little bugger, and Reiko, being the naturally friendly person she is, smiled kindly at the baby as she wiggled its little bugger toes. People got on and off. The conductor yelled in Hindi. The bus sped through town. And Midge and Reiko chatted about…I dunno…deep sea diving. All was going as usual on this seemingly average commute.

*note: bus was much more crowded than drawing appears*

The bus rides in our city are always bumpy. Not REALLY bumpy, but bumpy enough to make a little, tiny baby a bit nauseous. And with each bump on this bus ride, Reiko noticed that the baby sitting next to her was getting a little more purple— a little more visibly sick— a little more barfy.

“Oh no. This baby is gonna vom all over me.”

She tried to scoot away, but the bus was way too crowded. There was nowhere to run. And then the moment came that Reiko knew was coming.

But something extraordinary happened. Something remarkable. The mother of the baby exhibited superhuman reflexes and nabbed the baby’s vom before it splashed all over Reiko.

Midge and Reiko were stunned. Both were completely astonished at the phenomenal display of ninja-like prowess that occurred right before their very eyes. But more than that, they were filled with the utmost gratitude for the mother that had seized the projectile vomit milliseconds before reaching Reiko’s face.

However, what seemed like a vom crisis narrowly averted, suddenly and unexpectedly took a turn for the worse as everyone slowly began to think—

What was this woman going to do with the baby vomit resting in her hand?

Naturally, one would think the first and obvious place to dispose of the baby vom would be out the window.

However, it seemed like the mother had another option in mind. As she sat there, holding her baby’s vom in her hand, her eyes slowly shifted to the floor— right where Reiko’s feet were.

Reiko and Midge saw where the woman’s gaze had landed. Her intended baby vom disposal target became very clear.

“The window. THE WINDOW. THROW__IT__OUT__THE__WINNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW”

Midge shouted and pleaded, hoping the woman would realize the window was a much more suitable place to dispose of the spew. But she had made her choice. Her hand, right over Reiko’s uncovered feet, slowly began to rotate. The baby vom was about to fall. Reiko, too horrified at what was about to happen, was frozen in a panic- unable to do anything.

Procession of events:

Adding to the horrors that had just happened, were the smiles from all the bystanders, who apparently thought the whole situation was just cute and dandy. At this point Midge screamed,

“STOP THE BUS.“

I imagine they just stood there for a while, wherever they were, trying to internalize what had just happened. That a woman, without thinking it the least bit rude or utterly unhygienic, deliberately dropped her baby’s spew all over a stranger’s foot.

Fifteen minutes later.

That’s the end of that story. But maybe we can put a positive spin on it. Everything is relative. While baby vomit in America is something not so great, in India, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe baby vom is considered a blessing from god, maybe in India it’s….the best gift eva?

Could this crazy woman on the bus actually have been extremely kind? This baby vomit might have been a wonderful gift to Reiko- a foot perfume of some sorts. Perhaps that is why all the Indians stood with such grand smiles upon their faces, brought out by witnessing such an enormous act of generosity as the woman gave her oh-so-precious and valuable baby vomit to a stranger.

This leads me to two conclusions. The first is that I think there is a great gap in the world of knowledge. Someone needs to undertake some serious, extensive academic research on the cultural significance of baby vom, not just in India, but across the globe.

So I call upon you, academics and liberal hippie students!  Now is your time! Grab your pens, grab your moleskine notebooks, grab your North Face backpacks and head overseas to study the cultural significance of baby spew.  Just think of the cultural insights we can learn!!!

FRANCE:

MEXICO:

KOREA:

Second, maybe I should start wearing sneakers when I’m on the bus.

toad.

On my way to and from work I have to cross a really busy street- and when I say really busy, I mean Frogger level 100 busy. Traversing this road is near impossible and very dangerous. Even after two months of crossing it every day, my heart still pounds as I try to make my way to the other side alive. Let me make this very clear:

This. Road. Freaks. The. Shit. Out. Of. Me.

Sometimes I just stand there for twenty minutes, watching rickshaws and scooters whiz by, trying to muster the courage to step forward. And as I stand there completely intimidated by the chaos in front of me, everyone else just walks across like it’s no big deal, like it’s a piece of cake. But this is no piece of cake; this is, as I have come to call it:

I can say with great confidence that if I do die in India, it will be here, on this road.

As I was heading home one night, I found the street to be particularly busy. It must have been an auspicious day for driving because it seemed like everyone in the entire country was out on this road. The flow of cars, scooters, and rickshaws was unending. There was no break in the traffic for anyone to make it across fast enough without getting hit. Not even Usain Bolt could get across that night without losing a leg or two. I stood there helplessly wondering how I was going to get across. I longingly looked up at the sky— no helicopter evacuation in sight. Fudge.  Using my own personally developed system of danger classification, I evaluated my predicament to determine exactly how risky it would be to cross- DANGER LEVEL FIVE! I was terrified.

I took my position next to the road and began my futile attempt to cross safely. While I was waiting, what was possibly the oldest lady in the entire world came up next to me.

This adorable, extremely elderly old lady was also waiting to cross The Road of Certain Death.

I thought, “There is no way this old lady can get across this road. Not tonight.” And as I looked at her, an intense sense of moral obligation ran through my body.  It was my duty, my responsibility to ensure this helpless old lady made it safely across the road:

So I gathered all the courage I had and did what I had seen some Indians do before- I simply walked out into the road and stuck my hand out:

And it worked!  I didn’t die! The traffic stopped and I triumphantly motioned for the old lady to start crossing.  However, this was only a momentary stoppage and the traffic quickly resumed before either of us had completely crossed the road. We were stuck in the middle of The Road of Certain Death, surrounded by the mayhem of Indian traffic on both sides. It was only a matter of time before we got hit.

I panicked.

Immediately, under this life-threatening situation, I became a mental mess and quickly transformed into self-survival mode.  All notions of chivalry and duty flew out the window. This was life or death. This was Darwin’s survival of the fittest. This was every woman for herself. I needed to get outta there. Fast. No time for the old lady.

Meanwhile, as I was freaking out in my head and going through a complete and total moral collapse, this little old lady somehow, completely unnoticed, managed to cross the street. I looked by my side and realized she was gone. And it became clear to me- I WAS GOING TO DIE ALONE.

So what happened? As you have probably deduced, I made it out alive. After a minute or two, I managed to cross the rest of the street and return home. Though slightly traumatized, the incident has left me physically unscathed and with a newfound appreciation for every precious moment of life. (Not really.)

As it is with most testing events in life, there was much to be learned from this experience. I’ve certainly learned a lot from this incident- about myself and about life. I want to pass on this knowledge to you in the hope that it will somehow help you in the future. Number one. I have the moral fortitude of a toad— If you are drowning, if your head is on fire, if you are about to be run over by a pack of wildebeests … if you are in any dire situation- look at me for help, then turn around 180 degrees in the opposite direction and actually get your help over there. Despite having been in the safety patrol in elementary school, it has become quite evident I do not have the composure for such emergencies.  Number two. Never, ever try to do anything nice for anyone. Especially old people. You might get yourself killed.

*note: while putting this post online, I got bit by approximately 47 mosquitoes. Let me know risking malaria is worth it: share the love, leave a comment.