Below is a picture of a typical bathroom in India. When you are provided with an actual toilet complimented with a sink, then you’ve stuck gold. Usually there is a hole in the ground and a bucket filled with water, I still have no idea how to go about using the two effectively without smearing feces everywhere.
What is even more unlikely when using bathrooms here is when you find a restaurant/store that offers toilet paper, when this rarity occurs you have to look twice because usually its to good to be true. Socks, t-shirts and the Delhi Times doubles as half-decent TP.
Typical Indian bathroom
Arvil has been bedridden for the past couple days; his childish immune system couldn’t handle the likes of Rithlals five star chef skills. Surprisingly enough my stomach has held strong … so far. I am writing this in hopes that my words come back to haunt me, I want my inevitably sickness to arrive already. I want a couple ruthless back to back sessions followed by temporarily being crippled.
You may be confused on why I am wishing for warm foaminess to dribble down my leg but you must understand that this sickness is guaranteed and the sooner I get it over with the sooner I can continue my travels. Last thing I want is to be stuck on a 3rd class train with no bathroom or like a hole in the ground and all a sudden my stomach is ready to shit bricks, which are still in the molten state.
I have contemplated eating at a road side food stand (garmented squirts) or licking the bottom of Sanjays feet (he drives barefoot) but have yet to build up the courage to do either.
Stinky ... niice!
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After three days of living in the hills, Dharamsala/Mcleod Ganj, I achieved spiritual vertigo. What takes the Dali Lama years to attain took me roughly 30 minutes of meditation. Being among the spiritually elite/sages is indescribable. I feel great.
Hiking in the Hills
Sahaja Yoga, the most cutting edge spiritual tool since Matisyahu’s new album. Well-practiced in Northern India, Sahaja Yoga is based around self-realization as the starting point of spiritual accent. The way I experienced it was having my head caressed by an old leathery man while we recited submission phrases to a dead ladys picture and starred into her tikka (red dot) for a half hour. It was amazing, you should all indulge.
During our trip we stayed in a luxury resort … comparatively to the alternative options in Dharamsala. Club Mahindra Resort – Dharmashala is basically a Red Roof Inn with exceptional staffing; featuring this one genius of man whose name apparently was Buhupinder. For some reason upon our arrival his name was construed into Gopinder. Naturally Go-Pinder stuck, Arvil and I never failed to remind him that we had no idea what his real name was.
Pictured below, Go-Pinder kinda looks like a weasel-rat faced 30 year old pedophile … speculation. Initially after Go-Pinder took away our Ping Pong privileges Arvil and I grew to dislike this pint sized parasite, but just as intestinal parasites use your body as a host and lay eggs in your stomach, eventually you grow attached to them.
Go-Pinder directing bingo night
After sifting through thousands of hours of footage and pulling an all-nighter in the editing room I was able to produce a documentary that would put Al Gores An Inconvenient Truth to shame. Not only is Go-Pinder the key to reversing Global Warming but his voice is so powerful that it is capable of making the Bruces tear.
At the 1:04 mark you experience G0-Pinders rendition of a hindi love ballad.
After our second day at the Club Mahindra Resort Go-Pinder became a household name in our artillery of G-ds we routinely praise, quickly climbing the rankings with his patented clap and energetic dancing. During karaoke night Go-Pinder started things off with a Hindi love ballad, proving once again to the world that he is the song bird of our generation. His pitch control, tone quality and knack for melting hearts instill fear in every future American Idol contestant. My knees were weak even before he sang the first chorus and Arvil and I are pretty sure that he ghostwrites for Bruce Springsteen.
Our vacation consisted of nauseating car rides, constant eating and a lots Go-Pinder. Now you may be asking yourself “What is Go-Pinder?” … but the real question you should be asking is “Who is Go-Pinder?”.
Go-Pinder 2009 – Coming Soon – Slated for a few hours from now when I wake up.
Heading to Dharamsala for the weekend, will be back soon with plenty of blog posts. Had our first party night out in Delhi, it was a complete giggle-fest. Hung out in the Alston/Brighton of Delhi, to many hipsters to count.
So I google searched nightlife in New Delhi and found some eligable options, one of them being this bar Calypso in a small village near Delhi. Arvil and I snagged an auto rickshaw and headed out on our adventure. After 20 minutes of sitting in traffic followed by our driver speeding down the opposite side of the road we eneded up in this small village which only had around five stores.
We walked around looking for Calypso but it was no where to be found. Finally we ran into an art studio that was over flowing with white people, one of them being a French man who informed us that Calpyso had in fact been out of business of over 6 months. But fortunatley he knew of this posh club TLR the swankiest of all swank, you know how I knew this place was posh … their head of marketing was named Sue and he wore a scarf. I felt like I was back in Alston/Brighton hanging out with a bunch of BU hipsters.
After meeting this useless Stanford Ph.D thesis student from the UK, an aspiring writer named Dave whose father teaches religion at Emory University and some Turkish girl who wore Nike pumps with tights, we thought it would be nice for a chage of scenery.
We headed to AII, an upscale outdoor club filled with foreigners and my main man, Iraqi born MC & Dj Moe City. He told me his myspace page was Mo-city and I told him my myspace page was Moe-City … he thought it was hysterical, but after some small talk I reveled to him my real alias JT MoneyBag$. We danced to reggae dance hall all night with our friend Arrendati, I have no idea how to spell her name but she was a good time. This British dude tried to kick us out early but Arrendati pulled the ole “Hey excuse me, I was thinking about renting this place out next weekend, can I have your card?” and she bought us some extra time to chill. I have just realized that it’s 2:02 a.m. and this blog post has to end premature seeing as I have to wake up in two hours for 10 hours of traveling to the home town of the Dali Lama. Be back soon.
Bathroom at TLR
Arendati, Arvil & I
- Check out that tatoo, its beautiful … I guess its supposed to be angel wings?
McDonalds, where plus sized people feed their addiction along with their FUPA’s and where Arvil and I decided to eat lunch. I figure you can’t beat an extra value meal for 119 rupees (less than $3).
The McDonalds in India as one would assume is drastically different from the MiccyD’s in the states. Here McDonalds is vegetarian friendly as they have a whole section devoted to vege burgers and paneer salsa wraps. Instead of the Big Mac they have the Chicken Maharaja and instead of the couple’s therapy … well nothing can replace couples therapy. Also I was very disappointed to find out that McGriddles were nowhere to be found (Their irresistibleness is the cause for the current financial crisis, so much money and time was pumped into purchasing and eating these tasty treats by the CEO’s and CFO’s of AIG, GE and others that could not stay on top of their daily tasks).
After staring at this picture of a double Decker chicken sandwich dripping with spicy curry sauce, the Chicken Maharaja, my mind was made up. I approached the cashier and ordered a number char (4 … I learned Hindi numbers 1-5 today).
I usually stay away from fast food restaurants back home, it’s a must in order to maintain a low percent body fat and pulsating lats.
Immediately my Maharaja was ready and within seconds I began eating melted plastic. Those frigin geniuses over there forgot to take off the plastic from the cheese and as a result I got my daily value of polymers. I was compensated with a fresh Maharaja, fries and a case of the McShits.
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Today was rough. While reading this morning’s Delhi Times Rithlal prepared us omelets, toast and an apple. While picking apart my toast I realized that my fingernails had grown longer than most women’s and the itch in my beard was a clean sign that its mass was capable of handling sub-zero temperatures, so we headed to the local salon.
Arvil and I ordered up a shave followed by a face massage. After looking at a clean shaven Josh in the mirror I felt like a new man, the face message left me feeling like a million crore, but inside my wallet I felt like I could afford more luxurious treatment. A manicure & pedicure are two things I have always been curious about, after being convinced by my barber that it would help with my speed on the frisbee field then it was a clear to me that sacrifices must be made if I want to be the best.
Sitting side by side, Arvil and I ordered a cup of sweet chai as we waited for our royal treatment. From upstairs a 13 year old Indian boy brought down equipment and began to set up shop. Arvil and I joked about how it would be funny if this little kid were actually the professional administrating the mani/pedi. And it turns out he was, Arvil was rubbed down hard by this 13 year old while I sat there and laughed. My attendant had yet to come down and I was hoping for it to be a girl, but instead a 17 year old wearing imitation designer clothing comes down stairs and started massaging my feet.
After an hour and half of our hands and feet being rubbed down by a couple of teenagers, we scrapped the head massage. We handed the cashier 320 rupees and tipped our barbers. I wouldn’t have traded this experience for anything in the world, after spending a couple hours in that salon I realized that I am not cut out for that kind of luxury.
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