First class

OMG! I am riding a "first class" train through southern India. It would be funny if I were not hungry and confused. I don't even know where to start.

I am sure they want to laugh at me…my neighbors in the train car booth. I would be laughing too if I saw me. First of all, I look ridiculous. You know how tourists do when they try to fit in. I have on these white cotton pants (excuse the fact that it's long past Labor Day!) and a long traditional Indian shirt. And because it's cold on this train, I've got a track jacket on overtop it. Not to mention the fact that I am like one of four "black" people (by American standards that is) in the entire country. And I am almost certain that I AM the only one with "locks" because I turn heads every place I go (I'm good looking, but not that much!). Besides the fact that I stand out like a sore thumb--but get an "A" for effort in the wardrobe department (don't let me mention how I was wearing the doti earlier today, which is the Indian equivalent to the Scottish kilt….a whole separate story)--I clearly am uncomfortable on the train. I keep looking around, through the curtains and the window…trying to figure out where the f&@k I am!?! Oh yeah, and Mickey Mouse keeps running around on the floor under the seats. (I checked to make certain my bags are zipped airtight so not to bring home any foreign critters.) By the way, isn't this FIRST CLASS? I would hate to be in second or even worse still, third class, with no A/C. They say you never know a place until you ride their public transportation. Well apparently I had not seen India the 3 previous weeks I had been here, because this is quite an experience indeed :-)

Now back to the neighbors laughing at me: here I am trying to eat my biriyani (seasoned rice) with my fingers. Before I dug in, of course I had to squirt globs of Purell all over my hands. "Ah yes, now I feel 'clean.'" Now mind you, I was forced to buy this food selection (I already had it for lunch….when I still had the option of utensils), because I failed to purchase the samosas at the last pitstop. One of my neighbors ordered some dalum (sp?) from the passerby vendors….I asked him what that was, and he looked like I had four eyes. "I mean, sorry, I'm American...have mercy on me," I thought! Anyway, he encouraged me to get something because this was the last stop on our 16-hour journey, only 4 hours into it. So I reluctantly went after the vendors while the train was still at the station stop. Once I retrieved my meal I returned to my seat, now crammed to full capacity (isn't this first class, again I say?) I began dining. No fork. No napkin. Not even a chopstick. Only my fingers. Luckily I had fooled around with this finger-eating a couple of times before here, but this time was different. I don't think I've ever eaten rice, with no bread, with just my fingers. And this isn't the sticky rice of the Orient, the grains of this stuff was as distinctive as Uncle Ben's! No Minute Rice here. So there were rice everywhere….falling out from between my fingers. On my clothes. On the floor. And all the while I am PRAYING fiercely that the spices don't get the best of my intestines and compel me to the toilets. (Side note: Indian toilets don't have toilets with bowls….it's really just a whole in the floor with grooved footprints in case you didn't know where to stand--or squat as it were.)

Oh, did I mention that I'm writing from the top bunk? I'm pretty sure that mine is the bottom, but the older Indian guy kinda laid claim to it. And who am I to disagree? Not to mention, I'm not exactly in the position to be unruly. My being forced to the top (I like the way that sounds) was almost as funny as the look on neighbor #3's face when he returned from the toilets to find out that neighbor #3 (I'll call him "spring roll" since that's what he brought aboard) had converted his seat into the pull-out bed. So #2 (let's call him "bling bling" cause he wore a diamond in his left ear) had to retreat to the top bunk across from mine….

Then #1 (the "thief" comes back from the toilet, makes his (MY!) bed and then asks whether he can turn the lights out. Didn't he know that I intended on reading all through the train ride? The darkness is not very conducive to that, and the laptop light simply won't do. Perhaps this is a sign….no reading (another excuse in a series of them during this voyage to India)…a little more typing maybe. And then an episode of "Lost").

So, nighty night.

much love,

#4 (the dumb American)