Karma Chameleon

It’s been days and I’m ready to leave. Don’t think I can quite get into this life of loneliness and purity. The prayers are great but my mind just doesn’t seem to keep still. I’m lost as to how to pass my time and although I have enough to read for the next month, I’m too bored already.

By the end of the night, I’ve come to an important realization about myself. A friend once told me I have what you call verbal diarrhea syndrome. I just can’t keep quiet. I’ve realized, over here, I have had to keep quiet because, I don’t have many people to talk to unless I talk to myself. And I do not want to entertain looks about me losing my mind. But I realized that it isn’t that I talk too much, it’s my mind that talks too much. I have what you call a static brain. It never keeps quiet. Even if I have nothing to say to myself, my imagination goes wild. I’ve finally realized why I gave up meditation a long time ago. I spend all week taking note of my mind’s work and it starts to freak me out. Next week, I need to learn to stop my mind going to overdrive. I blame this phenomenon on the fact that there’s no television here. My mind is re-enacting scenarios from soap operas I’ve never even seen. I hope normal people come here soon before I lose it forever.

*****
There’s good news and bad news this week. Good news is that, Lisa finally arrived, bad news is, she is as nuts as I am. By the end of the day, we get along quite well, because as we all know, birds of a feather flock together. At five foot three, blonde and blue eyed, she’s quite a demure looking lady. That is until you meet her after noon sets in. she’s a comatose anytime before noon and goes into a semi vegetative state, not saying anything much and just walking around. After lunch, she’s alive because that’s the time her mind wakes up from sleep. I, on the other hand, rather prefer my body and mind waking up at the same time but beggars can’t be choosers, I have no one else to talk to. Between myself and a weirdo, I’d take the weirdo anytime. She scares me less than I scare myself.

Fortunately, after about a week, her "cycles" as I call it, come to a steady state of equilibrium and she almost seems normal. Now, she gets up around noon so no one freaks out at her sudden mood changes. Just as I get used to one slightly unbalanced person, a new one joins the pack. Abbey arrived a week later and for some reason, we connected really well. Brown hair brown eyes and a slightly plump physique, she’s got a caring, motherly disposition. What draws me to her is the way she speaks. Kind of slow and drawling and always has eyes that smile while she speaks. She doesn’t say much on a normal basis but loves to hug people all the time. She’s more of a I’ll let my eyes smile at you rather than speak to you person. So there we have it, one week of me being crazy and a week later, we have more stooges pouring in. The three of us, so completely different yet somehow we managed to just blend in. I guess the circumstances leave us no choice. If we don’t have each other for company, I’d be an idiot with a raging mind, Lisa would be a bitch on heat with her mood swings and Abbey would most likely resort to skipping among the trees and talking to flowers. I think getting along was not really a choice, it was essential to our survival.

*****
Danny and Andy arrived – twins from hell. Two totally different people with one ultimate goal – to create havoc for weeks to come. They’re quite a riot. And since they came, things have never quite been the same. As days go by, I wonder how we got along without them. Danny, a tall, well built, tanned thirty year old. He just graduated from college and was taking some time off before starting a career. At thirty, he looked and acted more like a 15 year old. He has a voice like a boom box and you can hear him all the time, all day. One of those chatterbox people, like me. Andy on the other hand, is a skinny, red head and keeps quite on most days unless he’s had too much sugar. How these two people went to school and became best friends I have no idea. They were like total opposites and the only time they get along is when they are arguing back and forth about nothing.

At this point I have no idea how the five of us are going to get along but I guess things will unfold as time goes by. Everyone is still at the polite stage of eating together and hanging out together. If someone doesn’t try to kill another by the end of the month, I’d think it’s safe to say we get along pretty tight. I feel like I’m in an episode of survivor. Except I can go hide in my own room and never come out if I’m freaked by anyone else.

*****
India never fails to amaze me. I’m out on a Thursday afternoon trying to find books I hope I will find but I know I never will, and I decide to check out how much a flight home would cost. A bracket from the braces I’m wearing broke off and I needed to get it fix back home – and no, I was not experimenting anything new in case you were wondering. It just broke. No matter how dodgy that sounds I’m sticking to my story. Anyways, as I was politely trying to get two Indian girls to try and do something for me, hopefully soon, two transvestites in saris came up to the desk. They animatedly described god knows what and all I remember was they were banging their fist on the table. Now, as far as I was concerned, they could be the gay mafia of Indian streets, I really didn’t care, I just wanted someone, anyone to work for once. In India, drama and distractions rule above anything else. One of the he-she’s - I don’t know how to put it politely, looked at me and started going off at something he was trying to explain. He banged his fist together, he danced and finally smiled, I was in awe. This man in a sari was amazing… wow!!! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but boy was I impressed. So I clapped, which wasn’t a good idea coz he looked pissed about now.

The clerk, who was laughing so hard she started to cry, told me to stop clapping and explained to me that the dancing guy is asking for donations for his wedding!! Ok, I know India has one of the lowest female to male ratios, but are Indian men really getting that desperate? I looked at the guy, and realized I was too shocked and amused to say anything, so I gave him ten rupees. He took the cash, blessed me on my head, face and shoulders while muttering god knows what and left. That’s it! Never in my life have I ever been blessed by a transvestite. The sad part was he tied his sari better than I could. I’m walking home at this point, wondering what he said or blessed me with. All I hope was, he asked God to give me great sex and not an extra appendage. After all, you can’t expect much from a transvestite getting married to god knows who? But a marriage of that sort really brings to mind what a gay pride parade Indian style might look like. I wish he had invited me to the wedding.

*****
I get up the morning after and really check myself out, so far lets see, no extra stuff, I look a bit skinnier – thank you, sigh, maybe his prayers worked after all. I’ve learnt a new art lately – to tie a sari! And trust me; this is an art of its own. I love being here because, my attempt to tie a sari is rather sad to say the truth but when I wake up, I tie my sari and walk out holding my pleats because more than anything else, it’s the falling of the sari I fear the most. But as usual, the two housekeepers who take care of the place – Mala and Vidya, they run up to me, undo my sari right at the lobby and re-tie me up. It’s like being packaged and bundled off to a Christmas party. It’s bloody hilarious. And they do this right in the reception area itself. To top it all off, they take flowers put it in my hair and tell me I’m beautiful. Dear God, please don’t take me away from here. People tell me everyday I’m beautiful. This is like the must visit place for people with low self esteem. Especially if you wear saris. If I’m lucky, or clumsy which is most often the truth, after prayers, the lady helpers from the temple would re-tie me up. As such, I never have a falling sari. I’m well tendered to, which is why, I try my best to always wear a sari everyday. Call me a sucker if you have to, but God knows I need the attention. It’s just too good to give up.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be un-twirled out of a sari? I wonder all the time. It consumes me. I want to look like those girls in the movies who gracefully swing out of it. I must have been pretty heavy in thoughts because a few days later, I check my journal and laughed my heart out. Of all things I wrote that day I wrote a note to say – must find man, un-twirl my sari. My friend Lisa at this point said, "Stand on the road and put up a notice you idiot – the entire village would be at your door". Actually Lisa offered to do it for me, out of pity, but I said no anyway. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I bet she’d aim me right into the door. I pity the girl. I think I scare her with my thoughts.

I sit up at the roof top almost every night and it’s my idea of winding down for the night. It’s beautiful up here, watching the stars; all the quietness is good for the soul. But tonight is not one of those nights. Off to my right, I hear Indian music blaring away from loudspeakers that would cause anyone within a radius of a kilometer to go deaf. I have no idea where it’s coming from; I can only guess it’s from the village on the other side of a mini forest. Between the noise from the right side and the lightning I can see way over the left side in the skies above. I have no idea which will kill me first. Lisa starts to dance, a cross between some weird African tribe type of jumping and what she sees in the Indian movies I play over my laptop. I laugh and cry myself silly and make a mental note to never allow her to watch those movies again. One night of this is the only time my soul can handle the dancing.

*****
I’ve spent the whole afternoon on a computer updating hospital discharge records, sigh. Well, any volunteer service is better than no service I guess. By now, I’m going to be an expert at data entry.
I get back to the guest house and Lo! And behold, Lisa and Abbey are enjoying a wonderful afternoon, doing nothing. "Hi Kel! What’s up?" Lisa sounding less happy than she should sound. The three of us, sit there on a hot dusty afternoon, and I swear we could be part of a western classic – the dirt, the heat, buckwheat balls rolling by. Someone save me now!! Please.
"It’s going to rain you know," Andy says as he walks by.
"Oh yeah, how’d you guess it would?" Lisa asks.
"Coz it smells like metal in the air," Andy replies.

We all look at him and I make a point about how it always smells like metal in the air anyway, or maybe it’s coz I’ve been in the records basement all day, the smell of Dettol has totally wiped out my sense of smell. But it did not look like it would rain.
Andy, at this point, looks at us and says, "I’ll bet you guys ice cream at Bombay Anadha Bhavan it will rain." Abbey takes the bet and we wait, for rain. Finally we have a purpose, no matter how stupid it is.
Sitting and waiting for rain is about the highlight of the day, and once again, I pray silently for sanity. Here, bets don’t work around money. We have money; it’s no thrill to lose it. The only sense of pleasure we get is ice cream. But no one is going to make a long dusty hot trip by three wheel auto to town. Its summer, it’s hot, I don’t want to spend half an hour traveling with hot air blowing in my face.

Trust me; no one will make the trip. The only way to get an idiot to go out and buy it is either by betting or taking the one for all and all for one attitude – we all go because I am not buying anything back for no one. I make a mental note to get my cash ready for the sucker who loses the bet. An ice cream right now would be heavenly.
Barter trade and betting are the most prevalent thing in this place right about now. Last week Abbey lost her last bottle of nail polish remover to Lisa. She cried all night. Oh the horror of it all! My heart goes out to her. When some people leave, they leave their worldly possessions of shampoos, nail polish and body foam to the rest. It’s like vultures of luxuries buzzing around you all day hoping to get the last of your stuff. It’s the only time we feel happy that someone is leaving.

I’ve always thought this would be like ashram survivor. I could really pitch an idea for a reality television show like this. The two teams pit against each other for shampoo bottles, nail polish remover, and other such luxuries. You lose; you give up your luxuries, and watch people go mad from boredom and the need to smell good. Everything here is cooked with onions and spices, and when you sweat it out from the heat, you smell like a walking talking pickled dish and at the end of the day, you need some heavy duty body wash. All they have here is sandalwood soap and it really does not go well with what you already smell like most of the day. I’ve tried and learned it the hard way. So has everyone here, which of course explains the madness that surrounds bathing essentials because here, you’d never be able to find body wash, just soap bars, especially sandal wood ones.

And there we have it, out of nowhere, we have rain! For like three minutes, and it stopped. We all look up, hoping for Abbey’s sake that it was just water from the roof, but unfortunately, it rained – for a whole three minutes. Lisa and I make a dash for our monies, hah! We get ice cream! Andy’s laughing so hard he’s rolling around.
He gets up, looks at Abbey and says, "I told you I smelled rain."
Abbey glares at him and said, "Who died and made you the village weather man!"
Today, was a great day, we got another idiot to go buy ice cream again. Sigh.