(Source: vigneshram)
| — | Rahul |
I have honey coming from my lungs every morning. As a nonsmoker I am unsure how to cope with this. Do I preform Last Rites on myself, can one even do that? Do I chug the cough syrup with codeine I can get over the counter or do I become like one of those bizarre Chinese/Japanese people with the face masks on. I GET THE MASKS NOW, SORRY FOR LAUGHING.
I had my frist Indian train ride today. It reminded me of what I imigned a ride to Auschwitz felt like. 136 people shoved in a train car that is designed to hold only 60. Except in Inida, there is dancing and hand cymbls and loud singing, even at 5am. WTF.
I am somehow back in DELHI, but catch a 3pm train to Sagauli which is at the border to Nepal. The train ride is 15hrs over night. I am sure even my wildest dreams cannot prepare me for what lies ahead.
I loved Jaipur, The pink city best. I loved the camels, dressed up and down, blocking traffic and being larger than I thought a camel was. What sort of inner city childhood did i have? Not to know about camels? :) I loved the elephants and their pink freckles, I said a prayer for each one that they are treated nicely b/c their eyes are strangely human.
I am a freak show celebrity in this country. Little girls want their picture taken with me and i just want to blend in, yeah right.
The monkeys continue to terrify and amazing me. I want so badly to touch one but completely get why I cant. I GET IT, TRUST ME.
Amber (Amer) was a beautiful walled city that hasn’t had rained in 5 years, the entire lake is gone. It was still very lovely.There was a festival to KALI the day I was there and everyone was out in their finest, praying for some destruction. We all know without a bit of that we can’t have anything new.
I went to a Indian carnival/them park type thing one night, despite it being date night for most people, I enjoyed my self. I saw a traditional dance where a lady takes pins out of a cup of tea with her eyes. No joke, shit is hardcore in this country.
I am doing but best but will be relived to cross into Nepal. I need some mom hugs and home cooked meals. Alina’s family is waiting for me, that is very nice to know.
This country has climbed into my pours and lungs. Despit it being loud, smelly and over all terrifying, I am in Love.
I am in love with the way the chaos flows and the Hindi Hip-hop blares. I love the cows, monkeys, and dogs that run around, even when they scare the shit out of me.
I love the reckless driving, even when I feel it may be my last care ride.
I love how this country really grabs you and shakes you, It teaches you lessons you didnt even know you needed to learn.
I love men behind curtains with hash and ladies with the sweetest chai on earth.
I love and fear this Country.
Random shot.
I am constantly saying, “I am a grown-up.” A therapist would claim I say it to reassure myself but in fact, I say it because no one in my family has heard the news.
I am 26 years old. I have paid rent consecutively for over five years, I have credit cards (and debt), a car, utilities and I am old enough to rent a car, yet, being an only child and the oldest of cousins still in high school makes all of that seem like silly childs play.
My mother loves me. I know this because she still wants to feed me and shelter me, even after adolescence and that nervous breakdown I had in 2007 and again this year in 2009.
Being an only child is not something most people understand. My “grown up” friends do not understand why I still have my own copy of my mother’s ATM card in my wallet. “Just in case, whatever shut up!” Or, why I get to live in the apartment above her house but my wicked stepsiblings do not.
My mother once told me she loved my “white skin” and that when I get tattoos she feels in on her heart. That is how much she loves me.
I have not had health care since October 2008, making my general well being and safety a MAJOR concern for my mother. She is constantly urging me to go to the doctors and offering to pay. She is convinced I have a disease I am not treating.
When I announced to my family that I planned to take a few months and travel through India and Nepal, I thought my mother was going to die.
She has always been supportive of any bizarre thing I have tried to undertake and I am grateful to her for that. She supported the shaving of my head at 17, dog grooming school and the other time I announced I was going to travel for a few months.
This time was different, this time she knew where Nepal was and what sort of diseases lurked in the countries soil, water, and on its doorknobs. Not to mention, or blame Slumdog Millionaire, but that film did not help my case that India was not over the edge of Earth.
I lived in Nepal for several months when I was 20 years old. It was not something that I planned and I did not offer much notice. I got this great Idea and three weeks later, I got on a plane.
Newsflash, I lived. I was not imprisoned, raped, murdered or robbed. My mother is willing to agree to that but only that.
She loves to remind me that I came home and a week later developed a full fledge case of Hepatitis A. “There was shit in your mouth Jessica. You drank and ate someone else’ poop.”
“At least they were vegetarian, which somehow makes it better for me.”
You aren’t funny.”
I also had hookworm, “Remember having to give the stool sample? You won’t be running through rivers this time will you?”
No, I guess I will not be and shit drinking did not make the itinerary either.
There are no required vaccinations to go to India or Nepal. NONE. My mother however, thinks there are at least four, along with a couple of month’s worth of malaria pills, and an altitude sickness prescription.
I found three examples why none of the vaccination were necessary and prayed the discussion was over. It was not.
“What days do you have off next week?”
“Why?” I was not willing to give up more information than I had to.
“I found a travel doctor in Voorhees and I am making you an appointment. Tuesday or Thursday?”
“I think my Google searches have made me a travel doctor, how much is this coasting?”
“Do not worry about it, I am paying for it.”
This continues until I finally relented, it was just easier. I agreed to speak with the doctor hear what he had to say but I did not promise to get any shots.
“Thursday.” I unwillingly say.
A few days later, we were sitting the yard and I asked what time my appointment was.
“Oh, at 2 and listen to how nice this is, the nurse called me back after I made the appointment and encouraged me to come with you. She said parents are often more nervous than they have to be. Is that not the nicest thing you have ever heard? How thoughtful.” She declares.
“Does this woman even know how old I am?” I ask, hearing Sara laugh.
“It doesn’t matter; I am coming with you to the doctors. I ask the questions you don’t care about.”
“Oh my god! I am an adult.” I wine proving I am not an adult when it comes to my mother.
Thursday, my mother is taking me to the doctors. I am 26 years old. I guess as much as this is annoying and embarrassing; I am thankful to have a mother who loves me enough to hold my hand while getting shot after shot.
