Felt Up

Going anywhere in Delhi means going through a security check that goes something like this… Walk through metal detector, stop, hold arms out while security officer either scans with a hand held wand, or rubs your body up and down with his hands, open bags close bags and move on. I am not a prude, but I like my space and sometimes I just feel the security check is well, just a bit much. Today, for example. I happen to be wearing jeans that are snug but not so snug you can tell my religion and a form fitting t-shirt which they then slowly move their hands over and I wonder what they are possibly looking for. There is nothing larger than a piece of scotch tape I could possibly be hiding under my nipple high-lighting shirt. And then they move down the leg and grab at the pockets. They feel something and then they grab again. While nobody has ever grabbed Sparky, he has certainly been brushed by countless security guys. And then comes the lower leg and backside feel. They get in real close, breathe a bit in my face and bend over, putting their face right in my crotch as they feel up and down the legs and then around the buttocks, giving each a little squeeze before standing up, smiling and waving me through. That happened to me four times today. It really makes me very uncomfortable.

And it is not as if these are really fabulous and sexy muscle hunks that make you think “bring it on and keep it coming…” and then ask “Are you sure you checked everywhere? You want to check again? I am almost positive I put on some weapons of mass destruction this morning. Hold on, let me think… Shave, brush, hair product, bronzer, nuclear war heads, keys, phone… Yep, I’m sure I got some on me somewhere… Perhaps I need to be strip searched… Just for the safety of the people…”

MAC and Me

A funny thing happened while walking through the mall today. I thought “wouldn’t it be great to be a woman just for a few?” and then realized I actually thought it out loud to Ankit and a couple of people that were walking in our general vicinity.

Let me clarify something – I have no cross dressing fantasies, gender confusion issues, or anything like that. We were walking past all these make-up stores… MAC, Clinique, Lancome and I realized that if I were a woman, I could walk in, sit down in a chair, be offered a non-alcoholic drink which I could pretend was champagne, get more attention than Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman” and then walk out looking like a million bucks, without spending a single rupee. But instead, I am a guy. They throw soap and deodorant at us, try to get us to buy some cologne and get us out of the store as quickly as possible so they can go back to doing nothing while waiting for a woman to walk in when they can all go “America’s Next Top Model” on her.

But to be a woman for just a few hours, not dealing with PMS, menstruation, cramps and shaving the legs, but being able to change personalities and attitudes simply by changing the shade of lipstick. Innocent virgin pink, boring housewife beige, smoldering temptress red or cocksucking coral with the long lasting moisture crystals. And don’t even get me started on the colors of nail polish. I decided on the spot that I am probably an electric blue.

Before I knew it, Ankit and I were standing in MAC, and there it was… MAC shaving crème. I figured that was as close as I was ever going to get to painting my cheeks a flirty shade of bashful blush. And then suddenly there I was, buying Fix+, a light yet highly refreshing facial spray I can use anytime I need a quick moisturizing pick-me-up (I wonder if it will make me look dewey… Is the dewey look even in anymore?) and of course I couldn’t leave without the Lip Conditioner Stick with SPF 15, which will keep my lips moist and conditioned, without making them glossy or overly noticeable, which is great as I really don’t want to be strolling the streets of Delhi with “blowjob lips” – I would hate to give the wrong impression. But it doesn’t stop there, oh no, my wonderful little sales person also hooked me up with some samples. I hope she offered them because she thinks I will really like them and deserve to indulge ina bit of self pampering and not because she thinks it would be a fun trick to give me false hope for recapturing my rapidly dwindling youth.

So tonight, I have decided I am going to embrace my feminine side. I am going to use my Creamy Coconut Milk Body Scrub with Lemongrass, my L’Occitane en Provence Savon Extra-Doux with Shea Butter and then tuck myself into my bed with the crispy clean sheets and lay my head on the pillow that has been brushed with a special oil to help me sleep and fall into sweet dream sleep. I just hope I don’t have that dream again… The one where I lesbian with an oily T-zone and bad shoes… But if I am wearing electric blue nail polish, it might not be so bad…

Do They Know It's Not Christmas?

I seem to be colliding with Christmas. I’m not sure if there is some rupture in the time continuum or perhaps I am playing the lead role in my very own version of Groundhog Day set to a “Best of the Christmas Classics” soundtrack. In the past few years, India has been invaded by that ultimate symbol of unimaginative middle class suburbia, the shopping mall, and just a few short kilometers away from my front door stands the main entrance to the one of the shiniest and upscale ones in Delhi, Select CityWalk. Like most self respecting malls the world over, there is always music wafting through the air and more times than not, it is the instrumental versions of all your favorite Christmas Classics. I first noticed it when I arrived back from Europe in February. I was trying to shop and for some reason found myself humming “Winter Wonderland”. It took me a few seconds to realize that the music I my head was actually not in my head, but coming out of the speaker system. I immediately phoned Ankit to check the date and time and sure enough, it was a couple of days before Valentines. I chalked it up to an oversight on whoever was in charge of supervising the CD player.

But after several visits during several months, I noticed not only do they love their Christmas Classics at Select CityWalk, I hear them all over the place. Always an instrumental version. Ringtones, doorbells, ambient music in Chinese restaurants. I’m dreaming of a fried wonton…

At every major intersection in the city, every time the cars stop at a light, out come the vendors selling everything from one-time best selling novels to current issues of Vogue, old issues of IKEA catalogues (not that there is a singe IKEA in India), sticky stars to put on the ceiling, hand towels in assorted colors, tennis racket shaped mosquito zappers, steering wheel covers and on it goes, each week bringing with it a new theme. A few weeks ago, that theme happened to be dancing Winnie-the-Pooh thingies in complete Santa gear. It was 104 degrees outside. In the shade.

A few weeks later, Manuel and I went out to dinner and passed a shiny silver “Happy New Year” banner hanging across the doorway of a restaurant. We decided not to eat there just in case the food was not any fresher than the décor. We opted for another place to eat and all through the meal, in that really annoying sound of a toy keyboard was a looping medley of poorly played Christmas carols.

I finally came to the conclusion that as Christmas is only celebrated in India by a tiny portion of the population, nobody knows or recognizes these songs any more than I would recognize the song about a little dreidel, dreidel, dreidel that was made out of clay. But today, there I was, shopping at Select CityWalk as “Do You Know The Way To San Jose” played on the centrally located piano, which happens to be one of those that plays on it’s own and the keys move as well as though the ghost of Liberace had decided to spend a day of his afterlife hanging at the local mall. Anyway, I was convinced that the mall had finally gone all Grinchy and got rid of Christmas, at least until the holidays rolled around in a few months. And then I walked into Tommy Hilfiger.

Today is July 31. I walked into Tommy Hilfiger as everything was “up to 70% off” and suddenly I was slapped across the face by George Michael. From what I can gather, last Christmas he gave someone his heart and the very next day they gave it to someone else. This was not some musical background ambient music, this was full Christmas lyrics. At high volume. I was stunned. My whole theory went out the window. I think I might spend the night downloading some Hanukkah songs to burn on CD for them and they can give Christmas a bit of a holiday... Just for a week or so...

Dinner With Danielle

Last night I had dinner with the fabulous Danielle. We met about a month after I moved here and for me, it was love at first sight. She’s one of those amazing people that have lived in all over the place, speaks half the languages on the planet and everything she owns has a story. I am currently looking for a comfy bed, something I am having a difficulty finding in India. I asked her about her bed, which looked amazingly comfy as I was wandering through the house waiting for her to put on the finishing touches for dinner. The response began “When I was in Bogota…” Then I eyed the amazing carved tortoise on her floor and after I commented the response began “When I was living in Jamaica…”

While I have known Danielle probably longer than I have known anyone else here in India, she and I have never really done anything that was just the two of us. There is always Anjali or Chris and Poul, or Stephen and Pierre or all of the above. Not that it is a complaint in any way, it has been a few months since all of us were together and I could really use a dose of all of them. It was just an odd revelation for me that we hadn’t spent any alone time and it was really great just having her all to myself for those few hours.