Leaving with a Bang

After a few relaxing days in south Goa, I returned to Mumbai to prepare for my departure. But on the fateful day of my flight back to the states, the unthinkable happened. Bombs aflared in Colaba, Mumbai´s tourist heart as terrorists stormed the five star Taj Mahal hotel and other frequented tourist sites. Fortunately I was staying with a friend north of the city at the University of Mumbai and no where near the scene of the crimes. Unlike the madness happening further south, the campus was deserted as classes where canceled, commuters too scared to travel. But panic still reigned in the Savitribhai Phule Ladies hostel as the residents watched the news unfold. It was hard to believe how much damage a handful of crazed fanatics could cause as bombs went off around Colaba and automatic weapons were discharged in Churchgate Station. Close to 200 people were killed during the three days of violence. Thankfully, unlike the September 11th 2001 attacks of which I was also a witness, the terrorists were not as efficient in their mission of destruction. But pain and suffereing they did cause and as the hours of terror dragged on, Mumbai watched with its heart in its mouth. I watched with disappointment, saddened by humanity´s potential for evil and our disposition towards hate. How much easier it is for us to cause harm to ourselves and others than commit an act of good. How acts of evil leave a longer lasting imprint, scarring mercilessly the face of our world. I still would like to think that there's a balance that leaves no bad deed unpunished. But as terrorism grows exponentially, we must think of new ways to combat hate and ignorance. To spread love and peace in places of war and hate.

Public Transportation

Although sometimes onerous, riding in trains is the most efficient and economical way of getting around expansive India. Despite the unpleasant memories on public transport, (ahamm, read previous entry) there are numerous fun filled adventures chasing and finally catching up to old double decker buses. These giant tin cans take on multiple direction traffic with authority, stopping for no one, not even passengers who have to hop on as the bus is moving. On these carnival rides one is thrown any which way the pothole filled roads decide to toss you (for best action ride atop). On train rides that may last for days, you also become involuntarily familiar with the oh so pungent Indian body odor which smells of cumin and sweat. If on the bottom bunk, you may find curious locals sitting on your sleeper upon waking. They sit excessively close and ask extremely personal questions. But if you have the nerve to answer and ask, you´ll receive honest and insightful information about Indian culture and customs. Why else travel if not to get intimate with the country and its people? And sometimes their belongings.

On one particular eventful train ride from Trivandrum to Gokarna, I accidently grabbed my neighbor´s shoe. Groggy and unable to wake up for the 4am stop, I snoozed the alarm. Dazed and confused I woke up as the train was slowing and panicked. I grabbed my belongings and fumbled in the dark for shoes, any shoe. I managed to jump off as the train was pulling away with a slightly tighter left sandal. Once at the darkened and deserted Canacona Station, I worried about getting to my desired beach destination. The one employee informed me that there would be no trains coming in any direction for quite some time and there seem to be no public transportation at that hour. After what seemed like an eternity a backpacker arrived in a rickshaw. I asked him about where we were and how to get to town. He enjoyed his stay in Palolem beach, Goa but apprehensive, I planned to sleep for a few hours and go back to Gokarna. Goan beaches are over packed with drugged up zombies, thought I. But as the sun rose and illuminated the white sand with palms as far as the eye could see, I felt destined to stay. I found a cheap room and spent a relaxing three days lying on the sand, eating fresh fish, doing yoga, getting massages and meeting interesting people. Now there´s a lesson in going with the flow.

Public Masturbation

Sexual perverts run amuck on the streets and trains of India. While taking a digesting stroll after dinner on Mumbai’s University campus, my friend Adey and I noticed a suspicious man, previously hanging around couples, behind us on the darkened path. Disturbed by the lingering presence now steadily following us, we decided to cut our walk short. Joking about the abundant number of weirdoes in Mumbai, we grabbed some precautionary rocks and strolled confidently back to the dorm. Although it did cross my mind and public perverts had masturbated in front of my friends before, I was unprepared by what we found underneath a street lamp. Alight as if on stage, I stood frozen stiff by a grotesque performance. With newspaper in hand and fallace in the other, the seemingly reputable man wearing a pink shirt and khakis took pleasure in jerking off in front of my friend and me. I stared in shock as Adey attacked him with rocks and insults while he cowered and ran into an overgrown field. As incredible and unlikely as this incident might have been, it was not the first or last sexual offence against travelers in the subcontinent.

As I prepared to depart south on my own, I grew anxious over attacks on tourists, in particular the brutal rape and murder of a young girl only months earlier in Goa, where I was headed. Violence against women all over the world is more common than one would like to admit, even in “developed” countries such as the U.S., where a woman is raped every four minutes. Despite never being in any physical harm, my encounter with public masturbators on trains and buses would be numerous. Heart broken and at a lost for words, I tried to comfort a fellow traveler and friend as she was molested while trying to board a public bus. On an overnight train I awoke in the middle of the night to find a man fondling a white woman as she slept. Drowsy but distrustful, I gave him a good slap on the ear and the cretin dared to stare at me incredulously. But in addition to the disbelief and utter disgust, rage did not creep into my heart until I approached a police officer in a station with a complain and the culprit. The protector and abider of law did nothing to help. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence and looked disinterestingly away as I gestured and explained how the man next to me followed me into the bathroom and waited until I came out to show me his penis. I didn’t expect an arrest but at the very least a few words of reproach. I had grown naïve over the few months spent out of the country for corrupt police are known to participate in crimes against women. One British girl in Indonesia shuddered as she recounted how a police officer had cupped her breast while she lifted her heavy backpack onto the upper sleeper of an overnight train. And although men all over the world have a hard time controlling their cocks, I’ve met women from New York to Paris who’ve witnessed such unsavory incidents; India surpasses most countries on indecent exposure towards foreign women.

Historically an extremely sexually expressive culture, Indian society became repressive and as baby girls and widows are murdered, the male to female ratio death drops discriminately in favor of the former. Globalized by the liberal western media, Bollywood movies increasingly push the envelope on sensuality. This is by no means an excuse, but the fact is that there are an increasing number of poor, sexually repressed, single Indian men who view westerners as lacking scrupulous erupting their frustrations in front of western women.