Roots and Culture to Poops and Culture

In life we rarely grow from the experiences that do not ask something of us. The lessons we carry through life and provide if NOT the fondest of memories, certainly the most charecter defineing moments always seem to be born of situations where one steps ouside of their "Comfort Zone." We this in mind I decided this morning it was time for me to step up to a challenge I had been shying away from since my pass port was stamped in Delhi. Indeed, it was time I wiped my ass with my hand. Manning up to the old squatter, trying to keep my feet from slipping into the abysmal abyss while poseing like a cather in a base-ball game and not knowing if I was facing forwards or back, it struck me that these holes in the ground need instruction manuals. After just a few more moments of this it dawned on me that at some point there may have been instruction manuals, but fully knowing what I would have done with even a single peice of lamenated paper, anything short of painting them on the wall would have ensured that their existance would have been as equally transient as conveniant in nature.

Now a veteran of the situation, I provide the best approach to the squatter.
A) Hold your bussiness at all cost.
B) Go directly to hotel reception and demand that they immidiately produce the room with private bath (read TP available) that you reserved a week before arrival.

The alternative situation involves napkins that share qualities with People magazine in both slippery texture and ghastly, gassy content. I do not neccisarily advise...but I cannot necisarily advise against.
Because you do emerge. Yes, emerge and emerge a better man (woman or child). One that is far less disgruntled by the odors of the urchin, tout, holy cow and their holy shit over populated Indian streets. Ah yes, one step closer to being a truly cultured human being.

Almost got bit by a cobra that was sitting in a basket. Later on got dragged into a parade that had some heavy Sadhu rideing around in a silver chariott, a mobile DJ in a wagon, and an elephant.

Since being in the world's holiest city I have seen two fights (one person punches another repeatedly while he takes it looking indignate and unfased) a motorcyclist try to kick over a bycyclist (while he took it looking indignate and unfased) and been offered cocaine dozens of times (while not taking it and looking indignate and unfased.) The dead body floating in the river made an impression too, but that dead people motiff is in the past.

Ghatts are wild. Went for a late-night walk with a new friend down them away from the tourists. It was amazing and helped me get over all the BS of being in a town that is over run with Gorahs (crackers, honkeys, howlies, gringos or white devils if you perfer) that are doing to tourist bit. Great experience. Visual and spiritual. Wha.