Facebook Question | Taking A Dump In India

Is there are a "Where In The World Am I Right Now?" application.

Also desperately needed as an adjunct to this one is a "And What The Fuck Am I Doing Here?" application.


India - what economic revolution? It's a fucking mess. Sorry, but someone has to cut through the crap you read about and watch on TV.

Just get in an non-A-C taxi and drive from the airport to your crap hotel and you'll get a good wiff of what I'm talking about.

On the side of the road outside Pune, near a field, in a crater of debris and tufts of dry grass a woman with wild hair and intense eyes was sitting erect looking around. She had a nest of plastic bags around here. At first I thought she living in that hole at the side of the road, but maybe she was just taking a dump?


We drive on through the chaotic traffic, toot toot, bump of motor-cycle at our rear, but the rider waves us he's OK. Dust, need I say it? Heat. Then a freshly unpleasant smell hits us, woah! Our taxi turns onto a bridge. It's over a wide river-bed but the water fills only half the expanse. Stagnant, fetid, noisome, oil-slicked, rubbish-strewn. On the banks are dozens of squares of material, laid out to dry. Near white, but nowhere near clean. Hotel bed linen.

On the other side of the bridge, along the wall by the river-side footpath is where those who can't even manage to put together a corrugated iron shanty in the slums drape bits of cloth and cardboard into a home. At least one wall is solid, impervious to the wind. Kids of all ages play in the trafiic, running around a stalled bus, laughing. One stops, pulls up his shirt - he has no pants - and takes a shit.


Find something to eat, find somewhere to shit, somewhere to sleep.

Eventually, the next day arrives.

Eventually, it doesn't.


At the restaurant, when the lights come back on long enough for us to see the menu, we order too much. Chicken in cashew gravy, black dahl, vegetables curry, crunchy things in a yoghurt base raita, garlic naan, beer.

We leave the table with the bowls half-full of delicious, richly-flavoured nutritious leftovers.

In my room, I feel a spasm in my bowels and head to the bathroom.

There is no V in my toilet-paper!



Posted by: expat@large on Mar 04, 08 | 10:45 am | Profile


Holy crap, she was here today. I was just in the bathroom and there's a V in my toilet paper!

How'd you do that?

Posted by: Batbitch on Mar 05, 08 | 9:00 am

Spooky mystic weird...

Posted by: expat@large on Mar 05, 08 | 10:45 am

emailed comment from a Japanese friend: "You are so humorist!" That's gotta go on the sidebar!

Posted by: expat@large on Mar 05, 08 | 10:50 am

Your humility is a refreshing reminder of my own personal luck. I love to read your comments and make contrast with those who just complain, after all we do not always control our circumstances.

How does the V women follow you so closely? I would talk to your office or travel agent, most likely and inside job.

Posted by: sino man on Mar 08, 08 | 5:33 am

Hm an inside job, I never thought of that. It never goes inside more than the first knuckle for me, 'cause that would be gay.

Posted by: expat@large on Mar 08, 08 | 10:17 am


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