Sunday, September 17 Mosquitoes, Dogs, Cows, Street Sweepers, Marriage, Bus

I had a dream that I was swimming at the beach, and Todd Henderson was the lifeguard, and some child drowned and we had a Hindu funeral for him. Besides this, I had a horrible time sleeping. The power and fan went off, so it was blistering hot and I had no choice but to stay under the covers, as the buzzing of a mosquito was on the other side of the blanket. Really, what is the point of mosquitoes? I hate them. But I have to say, I respect them. For people to reproduce, it’s pretty easy, thy just need a secluded setting. For mosquitoes to reproduce, they have to run through a gauntlet in order to avoid swatting hands, electrical coils, cow tails, and spider webs. God must have endowed them with a libido larger than an unneutered dog in spring. I woke up with a bunch of dogs lazing on my porch, which I had to “shoo” away. I even cockblocked two dogs mating in the street. When I walked towards them to try and take a picture, they tried to run away, but were joined and I thought at first it was a Siamese Twin dog. I was considering whether I’d rather be a dog here or in the United States. Here, they’re just so free and happy. Then, a storeowner ran up to one, and with a five-foot metal rod, smacked the helpless thing on the back, sending it running and squealing in pain, with its tail between its legs. Ok, I change my mind. As a dog I’d rather be in my air conditioned dry house, with two guaranteed meals a day, no fleas, and trips to the park and the groomer, thank you. It’s worth getting neutered and not being able to roam free the streets of a third world country competing with people for garbage pickings. Now, would I rather be a cow in India or the United States. That’s painfully easy. In India, not only are they free to roam, but they are gods that are worshipped. Most likely, this is because they represent wealth and land for their owners. This is probably why Shiva is always seen with his bull, Nandi. 40-foot buses swerve around them, and hitting one is like running over your own mother. However, they roam the streets of India and pick through trash, getting plastic bags stuck in their stomachs, leading to slow and painful deaths. And, people aren’t always nice to cows; Muslims eat them, people work the males hard and overmilk the females, cow herders throw rocks at them and hit them with bamboo sticks. Another thing I noticed as I walked out of my hotel was how refreshingly clean the streets were. Although there are no garbage cans or recycling programs, people throw trash anywhere they please like a baseball game, and the streets are disgustingly unsanitary, for now they were clean. This is because right now the street sweepers were out doing their job. They do this job every day, and today it was a father and daughter about 12 years old, bent over using wicker hand brooms to gather paper, dust, and shit into piles to be taken away for other people to sort through for salvageable items. These people, known as rag pickers, use things we wouldn’t think twice about throwing out; dung, water bottles, fabrics, and plastic containers. They can also fix anything, from my sandals to headphones to ripped pants, which I would throw away. I can’t even imagine doing this job. If you think dumpster diving in the United States is bad, you should step into their desperate shoes (doubtful if they even have any). We have dumpster divers in California, mostly unskilled immigrants that collect cans for recycling money. But I think even this is dirty. Hell, I complain about when I am assigned to shovel trash into the dumpster at the fraternity. Imagine being forced into this miserable life. This is also reinforced by Hinduism, that these people accumulated some bad karma in a past life to be put in this position. Most likely Dalits, or Untouchables, they are too impure to even fit into the hierarchical and rigid caste system, which is not supposed to still exist and if you ask any Indian, he will say that caste doesn’t matter now. Therefore, they are resigned to doing “dirty jobs”, like tanning, street sweeping, and cleaning toilets. And unlike American janitors who make three times as much as schoolteachers with master’s degrees, these janitors make close to nothing. They are, in many parts of India, not allowed to sit next to, talk to, eat with, let alone touch members of the high-caste. Speaking of cleaning, the bus I took to Dhar had just been cleaned, meaning opening all the windows and hosing down the entire thing. I got all wet. Then I talked to one young Hindu guy in broken English about marriages. He told me that he has a lot of girlfriends (who knows if that’s true), and that he enjoys that, but he’d rather have his mother arrange his marriage (as 95% of Indians do). This way, if it doesn’t work out, it’s not as much his fault and doesn’t disgrace his family. And he can’t possibly find all the right qualities in a girl, whereas a matchmaker can find a suitable match as similar social status, caste, and family. From there, the two can meet (with parental supervision, of course), and then he can choose whether or not to marry. After he got off the bus, an agricultural family got on the bus, and brought their herd of 20 goats, who they crammed in the back. There were so many goats that they were overflowing into the aisles, and one was even pushed under my feet. Then I put back in my headphones and listened to 2Pac. I offloaded and got off the bus at Dhar, only to reboard another empty bus to Indore. I slept most of the way, and got sprayed by the brown mud from the pothole-filled road. But only part of my shirt got it, so my shirt looks like a spray paint stencil. At Indore I ate at a Budget Lunch restaurant, basically for businessmen and bus passengers en route. It was lined with only single tables, and you get a standard 4-course thali meal, with unlimited vegetables, potatoes, dal, rice, chapati, salad, and curd. Young men made the chapati and served them often, very efficient. It was my kind of restaurant; cheap, fast, and unlimited good Indian food. Indore was very industrialized at parts, and gross and industrial at others. It’s a center for finance, seen by its many modern banks and office buildings. The bus from Indore to Bhopal took five hours, and the driver made it hell. While the eight-year old little girl (who looks like Missy Elliott and is probably taller than her, too) was laughing as we bounced over the pothole-filled road at full-speed, I was less amused. The driver didn’t stop once, unless you call a California stop a stop. However, I love taking the bus and just taking in the landscape. It’s the best way to get the feel for a place. While others will just fly or take the shortest route possible, I enjoy driving and being fully awake to see and enjoy the entire landscape. Entirely rural and green, Madhya Pradesh is especially stunning. We got into Bhopal, the city of lakes, but it was dark. Then I transferred to the Sanchi bus, which stopped for a flat tire, what’s new. But what was funny about this time was that sitting on top of the bus were nine spare tires. Apparently this happens a lot. The conductor got lazy and forgot to tell me to get off, so I had to go to some random town of Vidisha, comprised of a bus stand and only a bus stand. I had to wait to go the other way, and it was dark, 88 degrees of heat, and itchy with mosquitoes. I got out at Sanchi, and checked into the first hotel I saw. It was a small place, but the room was paradise compared to what I was used to. Meaning, it had no trash, a working fan and shower, window screens, and semi-clean sheets.