Legally Eating and Reading

I got my passport and visa reissued and once again I’m legally in India for a year. Treated myself to a bhang lassi, had a shave and a head massage and played all the happiest music I had on the MP3 player. And I realized just what it is like not to have a care in the world.

Eating out in Bombay is almost invariably a pleasant experience. It certainly helps that I really enjoy Indian food. The down-home places are often hidden treasures. Even in the high-end establishments, prices are still quite reasonable and the food can be simply exquisite.

A common activity is to take my books and sit in a café letting a good part of the day pass, immersing myself in the contents of my Bag of Culture. I started a rather harrowing biography of Mao Tse-tung by Jung Chang and Jon Halliday – a most unflattering portrait.

In one recent restaurant experience, I was intrigued to find stuffed chili peppers on the menu. The waiter assured me that it wasn’t killer spicy. Curiosity got the best of me. Fiery it was, but once I was over the initial shock and the endorphins began coursing through my brain, it turned out to be quite delicious.

It didn’t fill me though, so I ordered another portion of shrimps in spicy tomato sauce. Obviously I couldn’t finish it, but for $5, what the heck. A wee bit of neo-colonial gluttony should be permissible sometimes. Perhaps I’ll go down in the history books as the only Western tourist in India ever to gain weight on the journey.

A subsequent visit to the same establishment landed me a plate of grilled tiger prawns, with which I sipped an excellent French chardonnay. The only downside was that I was accosted by a hoard of beggars on my way out. Such experiences only serve as a reminder that if 80% of the world’s population is poor, I must make it my business to be in the other 20%.