India is as predictable as a schizophrenic's disposition.
In Rajasthan's Pushkar, I couldn't walk onto a ghat because I was "too sexy.
" I hadn't showered in four days, hadn't worn make-up in seven, and was attired in shapeless clothes more befitting a bum than a middle-class traveler.
But my shoulders weren't covered.
I have had my breasts grasped by Indian men while walking, sleeping in an overnight bus, and seated by the window in a moving train.
In Hampi, when a male friend and I rode bicycles, a throng of twelve-year-olds abandoned their cricket game to accost us.
He rode ahead as they high-fived him and shouted their love for him.
One lifted my dress while another seized my breasts.
I have had bug bites larger than my boobs.
However, I am white, and white women are whores.
In ninety-nine percent of India, women and men do not demonstrate signs of affection.
Men commonly hold hands while walking on the streets and beaches and seated in trains, buses or restaurants.
During movies, walking, conversing, or smoking, men caress and cuddle each other.
On motorbikes and scooters, women sit sidesaddle and clutch the bike.
Straddling a man or gripping his waist is unfeasible.
The woman would be a slut.
In Goa, I purchased a silver anklet.
An Indian man informed me two months later that wearing one anklet denotes prostitution.
All Indian women wear an anklet on each ankle.
On trains, chai and coffee sellers will awaken you.
It is not unusual for the vendors to rape your eardrums at four in the morning with foghorn cries of, "chaaaiiiii, chaaaaiiiiiii, chaaaiii," "cooffeeeee, cooffeeee, chaaaiiii, chaaaiiii.
" Train peddlers sell everything from newspapers, food and drinks to fake gold watches, CD's, children's stickers, batteries, and gluttonies of items you could never invent uses for.
Price is always negotiable.
Accommodation, material purchases, and even food can be bargained.
What starts at twelve hundred rupees can often be bought for five hundred.
On buses, trains, or waiting for public transport, Indians do not read books.
It is as common to see someone reading a newspaper as it is for a bear to trundle around hugging humans.
A white woman reading a book does not indicate they are busy or engaged.
Indian men will attempt to absorb you in conversation.
Cows are everywhere - with a few minor exceptions.
Cows triumph the road hierarchy.
Then come trucks, cars, auto rickshaws, motorbikes, bicycle rickshaws, bicycles, man-pushed rickshaws and carts, and, last, pedestrians.
Oftentimes, as a traveler, when walking or bicycling, you need transportation as much as a butterfly needs to know your family history.
Walking on Goan beaches, you will be asked ten thousand times if you need a rickshaw or taxi.
If you're in a city and a rickshaw driver has seen you wave on the previous fifteen rickshaws, he will still stop and ask if you need a ride.
If you say no, the Indian head wobble surfaces.
The bobble-head appears in answer to every question.
If you ask a restaurant if they sell beer, you'll get a head wobble.
When inquiring a bus driver if the transit halts at your destination: bobble-head.
As the head bob translates as yes, no, maybe, and alright, as well as a greeting, this can oftentimes cause confusion and miscommunication.
However, everything is possible in India.
Thus, there is potential for whatever you're trying to accomplish.
Especially in the south, cows and mangy dogs are as common as bicycles.
Arambol boasts a pig-dog.
Literally, a pig bred with a dog.
Watch out for rabies.
Additionally, cows adorn Goa's beaches.
It is almost inevitable that you, someone you're with, or someone you meet will traipse through the sand and step in cow shit.
India is a cocktail of natives, European influence, countless religions, and varying cultures.
Belted by poverty and Western tourists, an amalgamation emerges that produces experiences comprising the most rewarding and difficult of your travels.
From Varanasi to Agra and Udaipur, Leh to Kerala, India is stunning.
For comical travel tales and other insights, go to http://www.
shotjot.
com, where the author recounts incidents varying from monkey attacks to falling down an Indian toilet.
In Rajasthan's Pushkar, I couldn't walk onto a ghat because I was "too sexy.
" I hadn't showered in four days, hadn't worn make-up in seven, and was attired in shapeless clothes more befitting a bum than a middle-class traveler.
But my shoulders weren't covered.
I have had my breasts grasped by Indian men while walking, sleeping in an overnight bus, and seated by the window in a moving train.
In Hampi, when a male friend and I rode bicycles, a throng of twelve-year-olds abandoned their cricket game to accost us.
He rode ahead as they high-fived him and shouted their love for him.
One lifted my dress while another seized my breasts.
I have had bug bites larger than my boobs.
However, I am white, and white women are whores.
In ninety-nine percent of India, women and men do not demonstrate signs of affection.
Men commonly hold hands while walking on the streets and beaches and seated in trains, buses or restaurants.
During movies, walking, conversing, or smoking, men caress and cuddle each other.
On motorbikes and scooters, women sit sidesaddle and clutch the bike.
Straddling a man or gripping his waist is unfeasible.
The woman would be a slut.
In Goa, I purchased a silver anklet.
An Indian man informed me two months later that wearing one anklet denotes prostitution.
All Indian women wear an anklet on each ankle.
On trains, chai and coffee sellers will awaken you.
It is not unusual for the vendors to rape your eardrums at four in the morning with foghorn cries of, "chaaaiiiii, chaaaaiiiiiii, chaaaiii," "cooffeeeee, cooffeeee, chaaaiiii, chaaaiiii.
" Train peddlers sell everything from newspapers, food and drinks to fake gold watches, CD's, children's stickers, batteries, and gluttonies of items you could never invent uses for.
Price is always negotiable.
Accommodation, material purchases, and even food can be bargained.
What starts at twelve hundred rupees can often be bought for five hundred.
On buses, trains, or waiting for public transport, Indians do not read books.
It is as common to see someone reading a newspaper as it is for a bear to trundle around hugging humans.
A white woman reading a book does not indicate they are busy or engaged.
Indian men will attempt to absorb you in conversation.
Cows are everywhere - with a few minor exceptions.
Cows triumph the road hierarchy.
Then come trucks, cars, auto rickshaws, motorbikes, bicycle rickshaws, bicycles, man-pushed rickshaws and carts, and, last, pedestrians.
Oftentimes, as a traveler, when walking or bicycling, you need transportation as much as a butterfly needs to know your family history.
Walking on Goan beaches, you will be asked ten thousand times if you need a rickshaw or taxi.
If you're in a city and a rickshaw driver has seen you wave on the previous fifteen rickshaws, he will still stop and ask if you need a ride.
If you say no, the Indian head wobble surfaces.
The bobble-head appears in answer to every question.
If you ask a restaurant if they sell beer, you'll get a head wobble.
When inquiring a bus driver if the transit halts at your destination: bobble-head.
As the head bob translates as yes, no, maybe, and alright, as well as a greeting, this can oftentimes cause confusion and miscommunication.
However, everything is possible in India.
Thus, there is potential for whatever you're trying to accomplish.
Especially in the south, cows and mangy dogs are as common as bicycles.
Arambol boasts a pig-dog.
Literally, a pig bred with a dog.
Watch out for rabies.
Additionally, cows adorn Goa's beaches.
It is almost inevitable that you, someone you're with, or someone you meet will traipse through the sand and step in cow shit.
India is a cocktail of natives, European influence, countless religions, and varying cultures.
Belted by poverty and Western tourists, an amalgamation emerges that produces experiences comprising the most rewarding and difficult of your travels.
From Varanasi to Agra and Udaipur, Leh to Kerala, India is stunning.
For comical travel tales and other insights, go to http://www.
shotjot.
com, where the author recounts incidents varying from monkey attacks to falling down an Indian toilet.
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