Valentine's Day is celebrated in India! Imagine that. It could explain why India has 1.2 billion people, but I'm not sure everyone's birthday is in October. I'll get back to you on that.
I'm still trying to figure out India's weird moral standards. If you pay any attention to the huge movie industry over here, nobody gets past the holding hands part of a relationship. Onscreen kissing is strictly forbidden. However . . . . . . . . for the men it's okay to grope women wherever and whenever getting caught won't be likely. For example, my first introduction to India was being groped on the airplane as I dis-embarked. As I said, figuring out how things work around here is like stepping into the La Brea Tar Pits. Hey, it's Valentine's Day! What better day to discuss being groped by an Indian?
Here's another thing about India that takes some getting used to. Because there are so many people, a person's individual space is non-existent. I LIKE space. Giving up my personal space has been an adjustment. For example, there is no such thing as a closed door for privacy. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable when the housemaids just opened the door and walked right into my room for a little tea and crumpets. It didn't matter if I was in various stages of undress. Nobody seemed to notice. I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or not. You decide. I have had the most interesting conversations in my underwear with ALL of the housemaids. At first, I grabbed a sheet, a towel, a curtain, blanket, anything. How fast we adapt. Now, I'm resigned to teaching English to the housemaids in whatever I may be lucky enough to have on. I don't notice it anymore. I don't think the housemaids ever did. Either that, or they're home drawing pictures for their large, extended families and everyone's having a gala time.
The housemaids are campaigning to dress me in a Sari. N-E-V-E-R. American women look dumb in Saris'. They look like mummies dressed up in Grandma's favorite head scarf. Just let me have my Ali-Babas' and let me be.
This is my official Happy Valentine's Day! blog entry. May you be groped by the one you love. Peace out.
I'm still trying to figure out India's weird moral standards. If you pay any attention to the huge movie industry over here, nobody gets past the holding hands part of a relationship. Onscreen kissing is strictly forbidden. However . . . . . . . . for the men it's okay to grope women wherever and whenever getting caught won't be likely. For example, my first introduction to India was being groped on the airplane as I dis-embarked. As I said, figuring out how things work around here is like stepping into the La Brea Tar Pits. Hey, it's Valentine's Day! What better day to discuss being groped by an Indian?
Here's another thing about India that takes some getting used to. Because there are so many people, a person's individual space is non-existent. I LIKE space. Giving up my personal space has been an adjustment. For example, there is no such thing as a closed door for privacy. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable when the housemaids just opened the door and walked right into my room for a little tea and crumpets. It didn't matter if I was in various stages of undress. Nobody seemed to notice. I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or not. You decide. I have had the most interesting conversations in my underwear with ALL of the housemaids. At first, I grabbed a sheet, a towel, a curtain, blanket, anything. How fast we adapt. Now, I'm resigned to teaching English to the housemaids in whatever I may be lucky enough to have on. I don't notice it anymore. I don't think the housemaids ever did. Either that, or they're home drawing pictures for their large, extended families and everyone's having a gala time.
The housemaids are campaigning to dress me in a Sari. N-E-V-E-R. American women look dumb in Saris'. They look like mummies dressed up in Grandma's favorite head scarf. Just let me have my Ali-Babas' and let me be.
This is my official Happy Valentine's Day! blog entry. May you be groped by the one you love. Peace out.
I fear how quickly you have adjusted to the lower "moral" standards...I fear too for all of us when you get home...you will be groping us and talking to us in your undies...Oh well, happy VD to you...guess I should spell out Valentine's Day..hahahahahahaha!
ReplyDeleteHappy VD Day?? That was so funny, I snorted my 'boxed chalk'. (what passes for Milk around here). Thanks for all of your support, Diane. I HEAR that a ton of people read my blog, but have you noticed how NOBODY ever leaves a comment? I don't know if it's because they're offended, stunned, or what. Can you make it out?
ReplyDeleteEVERYBODY EXCEPT DIANE!!!! Listen up!! All you have to do to talk to me is get a gmail account. It takes about two minutes. Do it for yourselves. Do it for me. Do it for America.
Yikes, I hate being undressed in front of people, even if it's just for a quick costume change in the ladies' dressing room. I can't imagine having people just waltz into my room!
ReplyDeleteI couldn't imagine it either. But I can now. There's not much that can be done about it because of the language barrier and as everyone knows, I am the epitome of good manners. ;)
Delete