Naughty Little Children

Nothing much to report from the work side of things, but the good news is that I am no longer homeless. Alas, I didn't get into the Aussie flat - she really does want to share with girls - but I have taken residence at Dr Puri's Canadian Hospitality guesthouse where I spent my first air-conditioned night yesterday. On reflection, it's probably for the best as it's a hell of a lot closer to work, I get my laundry done every day and there's more going on around the area. The Puri's even have a dog. I think he/she is a Collie, and she/is very docile. Mind you, if I was covered head to arse in fur in 40-odd degree heat I wouldn't care for the active life much.

On Saturday I was saved from homelessness and the Ashram's 10pm curfew, by another Britisher who offered to put me up for a few nights in the interim. We headed out on the Saturday to Defence Colony, starting out in a plush restaurant/bar which was decorated ala Milky Joe Island, and then downgraded to the local 'cheap as' Chinese-restaurant-cum-boozer to meet up with her mate Nathan who's been working in India for about 5 years. Nathan brought a friend. What I didn't realise until we met is that Nathan's friend was a Buddhist monk who was on holiday visiting his brother-in-law. I didn't know monks were given holidays. Then again, I didn't bank on going for a few beers with a monk when the night first started out (to be fair, he wasn't drinking). Apart from reaffirming my desire to go to Dharamsala where he lives, I also caught a glimpse of Tibetan-Indian relations. He told us that whenever a young monk is being cheeky or unruly, he's referred to s a 'Naughty Child', and this is how Tibetans refer to Indians. It's most probably down to the fact that, from what I've seen anyway, a lot of Indians are always trying to squeeze an extra rupee out of you, especially the Auto-wallahs who up their prices at every opportunity: in the morning rush hour, the prices go up; at the weekends, prices go up; during the evening rush hour, prices go up; if it's too quiet, prices go up; if it's too busy, prices go up.

It's a nom-stop barter battle!

It could be worse, however. As a bloke, I only have to put with haggling, but as a woman it's much worse. If you're a foreign woman, forget about it. Apparently Alex (the lass who put me up) was in an Auto the other day when the driver enquired whether or not she had a husband*. A rather innocuous and standard question to be asked. But then he went as far to ask whether or not her husband satisfied her. Outraged at this, she gave hi a piece of his mind. Undeterred by her obvious distain for the current line of questioning he suggested that seeing as her husband was not in India with her, maybe the Auto-wallah might be permited to massage her body. The cheek of it! I've been in Delhi for two weeks now and I'm desperately in need of someone to soothe my aching shoulders.

*Husband = boyfriend, fiancée, husband. If you're a woman in India it saves a looooot of questions if you just say you're married.

This week, Tony is wondering if the stomach cramps will ever ease off, although it's nice to be passing solids again. He also wonders why drivers keep staring at him whilst he's sat in the back of Autos. Admittedly, it's about time people started to appreciate his classic Greek physique and Eurasian features, but why is it exclusively men.