Do I hear ya babbling about cultural differences? Yes. I faced it. In the bathroom. In the first month of living with a white girl. Three months after we first met. She wanted paper and I knew my beloved little brown mug was in danger of being obsolete. So obsolete that she proposed we use it to collect the water draining out of the AC duct. That very instant I knew it. This was going to be decided the good old-fashioned way. We had declared war.
She won. I now use paper with glee. Crying out for more. Together as a couple, we run through reams and reams of it. But that's not the story you paid for. So, I will stop and tell you my story. An eye-witness account of 'what the hell happened to M in India'.
She came. That much you know. Carrying heavy baggages from the past and loads of expectations and she was caught. By the Customs. Even though her first brush with India didn't go so well (a dark swarthy lecherous Customs official brushed his hands against her), she was determined to put it behind her (the brush and NOT THE HANDS!) and seek out her Indian adventures.
So, keeping with her theme of making friends and enjoying her youth, M joined TEA. Do I hear applause? And well deserved too. Lovely lovely club it was. People in their 60's waltzing to slow music or espousing on diabetes. Some even talked of their bowel movements but what's a good club without diseases strewn around? It was a heartening sight too. On the weekly meetings. Such passion. Such gusto. And all that from wheelchairs. It made a man stand back and take notice.
But's thats not how we met. Before M met me, she had written down the 10 most important things she wanted in her man. Always a good idea if you actually want to meet the '10-qualities-guy' of your diary. Even though my mind wanders to what Dick Cheney's wife wrote before she 'happened' to run into Dickie, I can safely say that Adonis and Greek God weren't part of Martha's little note to herself. My favorite theory is that perhaps God couldn't really read her handwriting and made me appear or it might be blamed on the fact that Martha was a little drunk on bad Indian wine, but the fact remains that both of us were on an inevitable collision course. And we had no idea.
It all started with a little case of gas. M had it. So, she started slinking away to the rear end of the TEA party. But little did she know that someone right there was already at it. Eye met and M made friends with Aunt C, my sole emotional support in Hyderabad.
(to be concluded)