Smells Like India
First: I like the way India smells. Is that clear? I dig it. The subtle scent of wood fire permeates Delhi. Mile upon mile of sidewalk is populated with shanty town shacks providing service of all sorts. Out front a number of them, open fire pits blaze. Water boils. Kebabs roast. Smoke billows. These are the only fires I've seen, yet the entire city smells blanketed. I'm pretty sure this is the cause, but the effect brings to mind burnt offerings at a temple more that burnt lamb on a stick. Maybe it's the type of wood, or just the allure of a foreign place, but the smell wraps the scene in an exotic mystique that's very satisfying.
Second: yesterday smelled horrible. The office went from bare floor boards and exposed beams to marble tile and custom cabinets in thirty days. That meant the paint was still fuming. To escape, we went to lunch at a fantastic hotel where they happened to be polishing everything (my fork?) with turpentine. The effect of all this on my already weakened immune system was intense. I can't prove I got brain damage, but only because I got brain damage.
This marks the end of my smell related content.
Today was much more relaxing. Rather than trek out to our fumy office, we moved all our meetings to the cafe at the hotel. This place is slick. It's way colonial in a way that's very satisfying. Yes, yes, I'm delighting in the imagery of oppression. I'm deeply flawed. Let's move on. Suffice to say I'm feeling very global. International business is a trip.
Now I'm going to say something about the massage I had. This may get a little heavy. It came recommended. S was sure it would be female executed. I'm not hung up on physical contact with dudes, it's just a preference thing.
So the treatment is called Synchronized Ayurvedic. In this context, Synchronized means there are two therapists working in rhythm, and Ayurvedic apparently means it tells you beyond a doubt if you're gay or not. These guys, let's call them Chip and Dale, they have their act down cold. While I kept my eyes closed, (yes, out of relaxation, but also fear of indelible imagery) I can only imagine they were vaulting over the table, possibly hanging from the ceiling in their efforts to ayurvedically manipulate me. There was so much oil, and so much pressure in so many unexpected combinations... it's all too overwhelming to capture.
Due to some recent admissions, I'd been wondering if I'd missed out on some good-natured sexual exploration in my strict hetero policies. I can now sleep easy, and hopefully dream free for a bit. I'm not saying I didn't learn a little something about the touch of a man today (I'd like to think Chip and Dale learned a little something about themselves also), I'm just saying there are some roads you need not drive to know they're bumpy.
Okay. If that was as uncomfortable for you to read as it was for me to live, I've shared my burden and eased my mind a bit.
First: I like the way India smells. Is that clear? I dig it. The subtle scent of wood fire permeates Delhi. Mile upon mile of sidewalk is populated with shanty town shacks providing service of all sorts. Out front a number of them, open fire pits blaze. Water boils. Kebabs roast. Smoke billows. These are the only fires I've seen, yet the entire city smells blanketed. I'm pretty sure this is the cause, but the effect brings to mind burnt offerings at a temple more that burnt lamb on a stick. Maybe it's the type of wood, or just the allure of a foreign place, but the smell wraps the scene in an exotic mystique that's very satisfying.
Second: yesterday smelled horrible. The office went from bare floor boards and exposed beams to marble tile and custom cabinets in thirty days. That meant the paint was still fuming. To escape, we went to lunch at a fantastic hotel where they happened to be polishing everything (my fork?) with turpentine. The effect of all this on my already weakened immune system was intense. I can't prove I got brain damage, but only because I got brain damage.
This marks the end of my smell related content.
Today was much more relaxing. Rather than trek out to our fumy office, we moved all our meetings to the cafe at the hotel. This place is slick. It's way colonial in a way that's very satisfying. Yes, yes, I'm delighting in the imagery of oppression. I'm deeply flawed. Let's move on. Suffice to say I'm feeling very global. International business is a trip.
Now I'm going to say something about the massage I had. This may get a little heavy. It came recommended. S was sure it would be female executed. I'm not hung up on physical contact with dudes, it's just a preference thing.
So the treatment is called Synchronized Ayurvedic. In this context, Synchronized means there are two therapists working in rhythm, and Ayurvedic apparently means it tells you beyond a doubt if you're gay or not. These guys, let's call them Chip and Dale, they have their act down cold. While I kept my eyes closed, (yes, out of relaxation, but also fear of indelible imagery) I can only imagine they were vaulting over the table, possibly hanging from the ceiling in their efforts to ayurvedically manipulate me. There was so much oil, and so much pressure in so many unexpected combinations... it's all too overwhelming to capture.
Due to some recent admissions, I'd been wondering if I'd missed out on some good-natured sexual exploration in my strict hetero policies. I can now sleep easy, and hopefully dream free for a bit. I'm not saying I didn't learn a little something about the touch of a man today (I'd like to think Chip and Dale learned a little something about themselves also), I'm just saying there are some roads you need not drive to know they're bumpy.
Okay. If that was as uncomfortable for you to read as it was for me to live, I've shared my burden and eased my mind a bit.
Chip and Dale definitely have a little piece of my heart. They seem ever so fabulous.
<3