The Day They Turned Off the Sun

In my iPod: Dreamland - Our Lady Peace
[download]
State of mind: Bummed out
Location: Mumbai, India

This marks the longest interval between 2 posts in these two years of my 3 year blogging career. There are many factors that contributed to this phenomenon. I could say a million things like I was too busy with my sitar class; I have a writer’s block …etc. I’d really love to say that my current mundane life is not worth blogging about. Wouldn’t it be a great injustice if I let my readers read about how I started using soap again and fell in love with it after being a shower cream junkie for years; or how I loathe waking up early in the morning and found out that the day is so much longer but only to find that I had nothing to do. But the only valid reason I can think of is me playing way too much Mafia Wars on Facebook. It’s like a fucking shackle attached to your feet, once you are stuck with it. Every time you wanna quit the game to do something else, you realized that the countdown clock is about to strike and you might as well stay awhile and finished that round. And it keeps going on and on and on like an unending cycle. And before you know it, you have been sitting in front of your notebook like for hours. I hope that this is just one of momentary craze that I am having because I really don’t wanna turn into a fucking geek with glasses as big as the monitor and has a level 626 characters. I’ve seen one of them motherfuckers and it is scary. My life maybe mundane right now, but I think it is kinda in a happy zone right now because I think I am making a connection with someone which I am beginning to fall head over heels for. Maybe I would tell you more about it in my next post.



It was almost like night time during the day yesterday because India experienced the longest solar eclipse this century but this freak right here decided to stay in and play Mafia Wars instead of witnessing this historical event. The fucking Hindus believed that pregnant ladies are to stay indoors to avoid giving birth defects to their unborn infant, while the others are urged to pray, fast and bath in the Ganga. They believe that the two demons Rahu and Ketu are said to "swallow" the sun during eclipses, snuffing out its life-giving light and causing food to become inedible and water undrinkable. If that was true wouldn’t it be way much cooler than the crap they teach you in science class about how the moon is in the way of the sun. For many of these curry soothsayer believes that this is an omen for the bad things that are going to happened so enough. A Mumbai astrologer shit predicted that some sort of attack by Jaish-e-Mohammad or Al-Qaeda on Indian soil and a devastating natural disaster in Southeast Asia. Should I be living in fear now?



Believe it or not, even to this day, many married couples who are going to have caesarian deliveries, asked their doctor to reschedule. This is a belief deeply rooted in Indian society; they are willing to do anything to ensure that the baby is not born on that day. Hey, I may not be pregnant but to be safe, I think I’ll stay in another day just in case.

*continues to play Mafia Wars.



P.s. I think hit and run post like this are indicators that I am losing interest in blogging but we will see how it all goes

xniquet's journey across India

The School of Hard Sitars

In my iPod: Ghost - Extreme
[download]
State of mind: Rocking
Location: Mumbai, India

It is very unusual for me to post up two posts back to back but I had to recap what went down today. (Okay, it wasn’t unusual for the “me” who was a blog addict a year ago but definitely not now). So it is finally Tuesday and it was my first day of my sitar class. Feeling rather like a kid on his first day of school, I have no idea what the fuck to expect. I mean for my fucking age, I would have been to school like a million times but never have I set foot in a school in India. I mean I didn’t want to get bullied or have my lunch money extorted by bigger curry kids. So I tried to dress down as much as possible: jeans, tee and a cap. I tied and hid my pony tail away; I really didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention. You know even though it was just music class and I am suppose to be having fun but somehow going to school always bring out the blues in me and to make it worse, I had to take a bus to school. Dang, I don’t wanna be beaten up by those bullies sitting at the back seat on my way to school… Anyway, class was great and in fact it was much more fun than I anticipated. Some nice punk ass kid even brought a fake Les Paul and a bunch of pedals to school, so we jammed a little after class.

So this is me in my element, playing a cover of INXS’s Suicide Blonde’s riffs.

To be frank, I was completely lost in class today. It might be that maybe 6 years of not attending any classes has rusted my brain but a little “fall behind” and rain won’t stop me from coming back again tomorrow.

This is me with a grin saying:
Night!

xniquet's journey across India

The Black Sheep of the Family

In my iPod: Women in Chains - Tears for Fears
[download]
State of mind: Fragile
Location: Mumbai, India

I filled my plate with a meager amount of spaghetti and rice noodles that clearly would not satisfied the hunger of a growing fat boy like me. But it will have to do for now; It is better to starve than to be ridicule and laughed at by my cousins. For my lust for food has caused me this body deformity that has earned me the nick name Fei Chai (which means fat boy in Cantonese) of the family.



As I sit at the very corner alone, trying to chew on my food and not attract any attention from my cousins and relatives around me. I saw my mum showing off her newly acquired knowledge of Japanese culinary to my dad while holding a bake Unagi in her hands. As convincing as she was, my dad will tend to find something to prove her theories wrong thus showing that he was always the smarter one and he always has to win. (Now I wonder where all these aggressive competitiveness comes from). My aunty would always back my mum and my uncles...well, they are like scavengers; they will wait and see and then side the winning party.



While the adults were having their debate, my cousins were amongst themselves, talking in either encrypted codes or a high language that I totally couldn't understand. It didn’t make any sense to be around them, for I would only be called slow and then ridiculed again. So it was just me, myself and I, sitting alone in the corner, hoping and praying that the night will be over soon. But that isn't always the case, for it was always long and lonely that I have come to understand the real meaning of eternal solitary.



On unbearable nights like these, you will soon find my hiding in a closet with a flash light and a guitar. Going through notes, chords and scales but in a very quiet manner, just so no one would hear and discover me. And no one did ever found me because they were too busy with themselves that they didn't even notice my non existence. But it was also at this time that I have come to create the most beautiful sound to my ears and my ears only. For the world is outside of this closet.



I woke up, only to realize that it was all but a dream.



It was a dream about my past which did happen. Probably that is why I have developed this repulsiveness for family gatherings and festivities. I have always been the odd one in my family, probably the looks. Compared to those good looking motherfuckers, I was a real ugly duckling. No wait, what am I saying, they are not good looking at all except for my mum who was a former beauty queen. But I wonder how she got to carry a child who is so below par in good looks.



As my 2 days of fever comes to an end, it took this dream to once again remind me that I am the black sheep of my family. Even the last gathering didn’t felt so much different. At least I didn’t hide in the closet or have to hide what I am eating. But still I don’t seem to see any bridge of communication that could ever link me to them. Probably this is part of the reason that I choose to be far away from home and to start anew.



You know, once you get pass the taste, India doesn’t seem that bad after all. I am sure you ladies who swallow get what I mean.

xniquet's journey across India

Tainted Sacrament

In my iPod: Bearing Witness - Collective Soul
[download]
State of mind: Confusion
Location: Mumbai, India

I guess a lot of you are still suffering from the aftermath of Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service, it was really a tearjerker. If I am not mistaken for most of you, it was the moment where Paris Jackson spoke. As for me, it was Magic Johnson’s story about Michael, himself and a bucket of KFC that left me all choked up. God, I fucking miss KFC; I am gonna get a bucket to myself later today.


So as Michael Jackson’s fans around the world are trying to cope and get over the sudden loss of their idol, I am too trying to cope and get over the fact that one of the most beautiful women in the world used to be a male. Just how fucking sad can that be? I know guys around the world must have had their tough time getting over Harisu when they found out about it a couple of years back but it was a very recent affair for me after I watched one of her movies.


Now how the fuck can this be? In my thesaurus, the word “Transgender” is always associated with synonyms like icky, gross, disgusting, revolting, repulsive, repugnant and it often brings out the meaning of words like puke, vomit, barf, spew, regurgitate, disgorge… you get what the fuck I mean right?


The term “Beautiful Transgender” has always been an oxymoron but Harisu has came out and proven it wrong. How can it be that a tranny can be so goddamn fine? If there is a beauty pageant regardless of sex, I think she would come up amongst the top. You see the disturbing part is even after knowing that she is a transgender, I was utterly disgusted when I caught myself Googling for pictures of her. Fuck man, when did this fetish for Harisu come about?


As you all may already know, she is now happily married with a guy which is pretty good looking I might say. But riddle me this, should I be happy or sad for him? Yeah, so he may have one of the most beautiful women in the world as his wife but dude, she used to be a dude like you. I wonder does he have mood swings and thoughts like this while fucking his wife: “Damn, I am the luckiest man on earth, I am banging the most beautiful women in the world” and when he comes to his senses: ”Ewwww… what the fuck am I doing? Technically speaking I am banging a guy that looks like a lady.”


For me, I fucking know that I really can’t get pass the same gender sex thing. Ladies might not fully comprehend the implication of this because generally all ladies are lesbian in nature but normal guys are generally homophobic; even talking to another guy on the phone or in a pub for more than 5 minutes seems gay to us. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if she was Susan Boyle that has gone through an extensive facial tweaking but a someone who used to have a penis is more than I can ever bear.


I really gotta get this Harisu outta my system before it turns me into a queer and the best thing to do is to go out to the streets of Mumbai to see some tranny that would put back the real meaning in the word “Transgender” which should rightfully mean “Ugly and Disgusting”


On another note, my search for an apartment and sitar guru have once again been put to a halt mainly because I just found out that my sweet computer technician (which is a FEMALE), installed Street Fighter 4 on my notebook and I was momentarily distracted. No worries, I told myself that I will be back on track…


… once I unlock all the hidden players and complete the game using all the characters. For the time being this is for all the mishap that happened to me in India:

Die Dhalsim! Have a fucking taste of your own medicine you yoga flame throwing curry motherfucker.


*Throws the peace sign

xniquet's journey across India

The Tin Man

In my iPod: Mechanical Animals - Marilyn Manson
[download]
State of mind: Heartless
Location: Mumbai, India

I'm caught in the pissing days of India known as the fucking monsoon right now and it isn't something new to me because the sky pisses too this time of the year from where I fucking come from. I used to love it when it rains in Kuantan. As a kid, that means there will be puddles of water everywhere and I could catch as much tadpole to torture as I could. As an adult, the hillside is filled with mud and its slippery. It is the perfect excuse to get all dirty and wet while I go downhill cycling. But not here in Mumbai, when it rains, it reeks of garbage that has been long neglected. The water that washes down the roads are basically shit streams of rubbish. It is so goddamn repulsive when you get your feet wet.


So it is just the perfect excuse for me to postpone my search for an apartment and also for a sitar guru. That is why I stayed in and watched as much horror movies and drink as much red as I could, enjoying this part of life while I still can before I move out into the real life you might say. Anyway, I watched this Malaysian made horror flick "Possessed", which stars Malaysian model Amber Chia and all I can say is please do not let her do any seductive dance moves on any movie again, for it is as gross as the transvestite in Kuantan dancing in the streets trying to seduce clients.


While I was listening to Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animal; I notice that there is a line in it that goes "...If we cry, we will rust." Which lead me to believe that Manson was referring to the Tin Man in the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. You know, I have always had this compassion for the Tin Man. Even though I am not made of tin and chop wood for a living but I think we still share certain qualities.


For those who haven't read the Wonderful Wizard of Oz nor have any idea who this Tin Man is. Let me enlighten you. You see the Tin Man wasn't always the Tin Man but was born Tin Woodcutter, son of a poor woodcutter who eventually grew up and took over his father's business. He fell in love with a girl but couldn't afford to married her because he was poor. Therefore he worked as hard as he could, so that he could marry the girl but the lazy girl's mother didn't want her daughter to get married. She wanted her to stay with her for the rest of her life to cook, wash and clean; so she made a deal with the wicked witch to stop the woodcutter from ever marrying her daughter. The wicked witch enchanted the woodcutter's axe and causes it to slip off his hands every time he cuts wood. Every time the axe slips it would cut off his limps or body part. But each time the wood cutter loses his limps, the tin smith in town would replace it with a limp or part made out of tin. But pretty soon, when all his limps and body is replaced with tin, he eventually became so mechanical and became without a heart. Without a heart he couldn't love the girl anymore. That is why when he met Dorothy, he wanted to join in the quest to seek out the wizard and ask for a heart, in order to love again.


Just the other night I had a talk on MSN, someone asked me why am I not in relationship or interested in anyone? Busy? No fate? Well, I could strike off being busy because that would be the last thing I am now. No fate? Initially I thought it could be but thinking back, it wasn't that because I have met incredible ladies that could easily flip me head over heels. I guess the thing with me is that I am pretty much become a tin man myself. Some time back then, I have pretty much lost it - a heart that is capable to love. But somehow I couldn't agree more with what the Tin Man said " ...I had time to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart. While I was in love, I was the happiest man on earth; but no one can love who has not a heart..."

xniquet's journey across India

The Sitar Hero

In my iPod: Govinda - Kula Shakers
[download]
State of mind: Sluggish
Location: Mumbai, India

Minutes after I made my mind to extend my stay here in Mumbai, I realized that if I was going to do that, I really gotta move right outta here as quick as possible before I turned into human vegetable. You see, staying here in this hotel has left me allergic to movements. All I do all day is fucking lay on my back in my sweet bed. Besides bathing, crapping & taking a leak of which I bearly do these days, I can do everything else with just a touch of my fingers on the touch screen panel right beside my bed. It's like a whole command centre here. The lighting, temperature, TV and everything else can be done from here. Blogging? I am sitting on my ass in bed blogging about this on my notebook; Twitting, Facebooking and MSN-ing, I got a PDA, I can lie down on my back while doing it. What about food you say; well allow me to retort; you see I just need to send a request for what I wanna eat and when the food arrives, with just a push of a button, the door is opened. Bell boy pushes the food cart into my room and the only movement I need to do is sit up, reach for the food, chew and let the food slide in, while I flip through multiple TV shows on the huge ass plasma TV.

So you see you can't blame me for being such a sluggish sloth because it is the comfort around me that allow me to be who I am becoming now. But seriously I really got to take an exit before anymore damage can be done to me. So that is why I have decided to rent a cozy furnished apartment around town. I guess there will not be any more room service or house cleaning but this would mean that I will be back on track in trying to experience the lifestyle of the average Muthu here in India.

So with all my strength and might, I got off my bed and with a triumphant victory I stepped outta my room in search for a lessen living condition for a better me. But my search for an apartment has been short lived when I passed this little sitar shop. I was taken by the window display and I had to go in. I was enchanted and mesmerized by the sound of this instrument as I heard an rather aged lady playing it like it was an extended limp. She was old but she was the type of lady who aged with graced. Without much thought, I blindly bought it. All I could think of was how cool I would look with a sitar in my hands and I was on my way of becoming a Sitar Hero. With an ass whooping bill of RS36,000, I purchased not one but two sitars. One being the real deal ?a double gourd sitar and the other was just a small sitar for kids which I wanna decorate my room back at home.

So there was I, holding two sitars outside the little store. Great, now how am I going to walk around town looking for an apartment with such a load? So I decided to call off the search for today and head back to my current crib for some pie and puddings.

The next day, my search for an apartment had to be put on hold because I realized that I had a more pressing matter at hand. So I headed out with my sitars and was back at the shop to get them tuned because it didn't come with an operational manual. Since I was there, I might as well ask for the name and addresses of Gurus who are giving sitar lessons.

The sacrifices I am willing to make for the sake of learning the sitar are somewhat legendary you might say. So I guess I will be ordering some Pizza, Nachos and a tall glass of root beer from my bed tonight. Sigh...

xniquet's journey across India

Art of Screwing Your Anxiety

In my iPod: The Noose - a Perfect Circle
[download]
State of mind: Anxious
Location: Mumbai, India

Traveling is the high that you get when you purchase a one way ticket to a place you have no idea what to expect. You treat every fucking moment like it was a foreign movie that you have never watched before. Never fucking judge just one place for its let down but take it as a scene of a movie because there are bound to be ups and downs, happiness and miserable, laughter and sorrow. Don’t come to a conclusion on how your entire trip was until you on that flight back. Another thing I have learned on the road is instead of letting the bad and horrid tragedy in our lives changed us into a sour and skeptical beings, use the crap that we are in to our advantage and gain experience from it. What doesn’t kill us may leave a fucking dent but it would make us smarter, wiser and never be caught with our pants down again.


I would love to tell you that all this that I have conceived came to me in a moment of clarity on top of a holy and sacred mountain where the summits touches the clouds. But sadly I was in a bar half sober and was talking to a bunch of drunken backpackers when it came to me. Yeah I was drowning in anxiety because tomorrow my result is going to be out. Do I have to go through 6 months of treatment? Can I still carry on with my journey? Do I have to be admitted into some fucking hospital? So many questions yet no answer yet. I tried telling that to an Irish back packer but the advice he told me was, sit down and have another pitcher!


And you fucking know what, it does fucking makes sense. Why worry about tomorrow when you can worry about what fun are you going to have today? So what the heck, might as well enjoy every second of today and see what happens next. What better way to start than to upgrade my room from a shabby low class hotel which is not even worth mentioning into the world class Sahara Star Hotel. I guess this the most technologically advanced room that I have been in here in India. There are touch screen panels everywhere in the room; beside the bed and in the bathroom to control the lights, temperature and the huge ass plasma TV. Fuck, there are even lights underneath the bed; I guess it is to keep the monsters away. I think the glass panel door that separates the bath room and bedroom is just what you need when you have someone over for the night and not to mention the mirror on top of bed ceiling, just in case you wanna pull off a Christian Bale in American Psycho.

The Sahara Star of Mumbai

The Mercury room and there is even a Uranus room which sounds so wrong.

But somehow I am still bummed out because I couldn’t get a booking to the hilltop hotel that I have wanted to stay in since the day I set foot on India. Fucking place is fully booked till next year. Fuck! Not going to tell you what this place is yet because I am still trying to pull strings to get in there. How I wished the management of the hotel is like our Malaysian police, there is nothing you can’t get or get away with by paying a little fee.


Lights out.

29/6 In Mumbai

29/6 I'm Screwed

27/6 Leaving Bangalore

26/6 Curry and Beer

23/6 At the Hotel Gym

xniquet's journey across India

The Grave is Waiting to Eat Me Alive

In my iPod:
I Have To Look Up Just To See Hell - Marilyn Manson
[download]
State of mind: Fallen
Location: Mumbai, India

As I looked at my own reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but to stare at it reproachfully and spoke to it as if it was my malevolent twin. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into this time? Your face now is as coarse as sand papers that could easy grate through any Parmesan. It’s as dry as the Gobi and your pores are huge as an oil well. What the fuck were you ever thinking coming to a place like this? What have you done to yourself this time? I looked hard into the eyes of my twin only to realize that it was once again my own reflection that is staring back at me.

After an almost 2 hours flight from Bangalore Airport, I landed in Mumbai with the shittiest headache. It could be the increasingly insane weather and poor air quality here. But that didn’t stop me from going around the city because I was excited about being here. Mumbai or formerly Bombay - the largest city in India, second most populous city in the world; ranked seventh in the list of "Top Ten Cities for Billionaires"; Bollywood capital of the world and this is where Kamathipura is located – the oldest and second largest red light district in the world (the largest would be in Amsterdam). I am not trying to exaggerate but it is said that the concentration of hookers per square meter is so dense that it is impossible for off duty hookers to sit down. They would have to hang around the streets to solicit for potential perverts.

Just hours upon my arrival, I have already seen a few of them outside the streets waiting for foreigners like me to take the fucking bait.

Well, I am not afraid to tell you that visiting and understanding Kamathipura is the culmination of my trip here to Mumbai. But enough of Kamathipura for now because I think I have more pressing matters at hand.


I know I have said that India has taken its toll on me many many times. But I never thought that it would change me drastically. I’ve dropped 6kgs since I came here and now I am showing symptoms of tuberculosis infection. The chest pain and unceasing coughs has left me sleepless for the past 2 weeks and the last two days it has only got worse. The final straw was drawn when I started coughing up blood and I don’t think I can ignore the fact that my health is seriously compromised. At least now after consulting a friend, I have acknowledge that my BCG shot might not be enough to save me from TB but then again it could just be a severe case of a lacerated windpipe; TB or not, let’s just wait for the lab results before I jump into any conclusions that the earth and grave is waiting to eat me alive.


*Pout mouth alert!* Early lights out for me tonight, gotta get up early to get my X-ray done.

29/6 I'm Screwed

27/6 Leaving Bangalore

26/6 Curry and Beer

23/6 At the Hotel Gym

22/6 Curry Lobster

xniquet's journey across India

Milk N' Roses (Nectar of the Breast)

In my iPod: Lotus Feet - Steve Vai
[download]
State of mind: Injured
Location: Bangalore, India

When you fucking say massage, all I can fucking picture is being in a sleazy room with a 3rd world lady dressed merely in bra and panties who can hardly speak any English but the longest English word that she knows and probably used the most is “Masturbate”. Condoms were kept in the most usual places inside the room from Jacob cracker tin boxes to Milo cans; just in case you get all heated up and want to take your dick for a ride and go the extra mile. But for those who rather not go all the way but still want to blow off some steam; for a little less than the fuck fee, you can always get a hand relief. But the price of the hand relief depends on whether you want her to be naked or not and for a little slightly higher price you can play with her breast while she service your shaft. What can I say, it is pretty standard everywhere.


I am sorry to you ladies with husbands who like going for massages; I just painted you a horrid reality of what really goes on inside a massage room. Now you fucking know, what it really means when your other half and his friends goes for a massage. I know it is not always like this but that was what happened to me when my friends brought me to a little health spa at Hotel Robin, Ipoh. But of course I didn’t do any of the above, not because I am some kind of saint or Boy Scout. If you fucking know me, I live for sex & porn and there is nothing bad that I wouldn’t do. But a man has got to have principles and mine is - I don’t believe in paying for sex. Sex should be free and should not be a fucking business transaction. So what I am trying to say is I will never pay for the service of a prostitute; unless it is free then I am cool about fucking a hooker.


I got the same old feeling of that little massage room in Robin Hotel when I stepped in one of the spa here in Bangalore. What if I succumb to the temptation of sex and went for the full package of fucking my massager’s brains out? Wouldn’t I be going against my non paying sex principle? A moment of anxiety was upon me as I lay naked with my ass facing skyward, waiting for somebody to attend to me; Fuck lord fuck, no super hot semi naked Bollywood like chic walking pass that door please.


But to my dismay, it was more than I anticipated when I slightly tilt my head upwards and saw a pair of hairy legs walking towards me. Spa motherfuckers sent a fucking guy to massage me. Man, this is so icky. Imagine being touched and rub all over by some hairy Indian dude. I know I ask not for a super hot chic but you don’t have to fucking give me a hairy Indian guy right? I would have been content if you gave me a middle aged Indian lady whose nipples were pointed southward or even maybe a butt ugly transgender, but not a hairy curry jockey.


My 45 minutes past like it was a one week’s ordeal and I couldn’t wait to put on my fucking robe, I just couldn’t stop imagining how that guy was drooling all over my bare ass. But I guess my day got better after that, because it was time for me long waited rose petal milk bath.
You know what after the 45 minutes of hell, the milk bath did miracles. I walk out that spa with a swagger and feeling energized, sanitized and virginized as if I was re-hymenated. I think I would definitely come back here again for the heavenly milk bath but not the hellish massage. My days in Bangalore are almost up and I am moving towards my last stop - Mumbai to see the world’s largest brothel.

No, it's not sperm from 1,000 Indian guys, it's milk (nectar of the breast)

Update: I guess I have to postpone my move to Mumbai because I hurt my fucking neck while doing bench pressing while checking out a slightly overweight chic working out in the hotel gym. I could hardly move my neck now, so I will be recuperating until I am able to move my fucking neck. For now, being addicted to the Milk N’ Roses bath, I bought myself a bottle of milk bath but didn’t trouble myself with the rose petal.

Yayys!

23/6 At the Hotel Gym

22/6 Curry Lobster

21/6 Luncheon with Olivia from Sg

18/6 In a bookstore, looking for Iris Chang's book

17/6 Wacthing Angels and Demons

17/6 I got my wings

xniquet's journey across India

xniquet and the Queen of Sheba

In my iPod: Break Away - Staind
[download]
State of mind: Blank
Location: Bangalore, India

There she was, sitting at the lobby again. Unbeknownst to her that I had my eyes set on her for days now; well, almost I guess. I mean who wouldn't notice her when you are living in a city surrounded by curry reek locals and the way too often beer swelling white tourist floating around your hotel. Her race was an eye sore to me not because I am against little yellow skin people, but I was one of her kind.


I first saw her in the lobby a couple of days ago; she was making a phone call. I guess she didn’t notice me. But I sure hell noticed her not because it was an encounter of the third kind but it was an encounter of my kind after almost 2 months in this curry malodor Reich.


Our second encounter was when I was already in the lift and I saw her coming towards it; trying not to be so aware of her presence , I was going for the “Oh I didn’t notice you coming in the lift, by the way, where are you from” approach. So I tilt my head upwards and try not to make any eye contact, at least not until she was in the lift, just so that I can give her sufficient time to notice me first and then when she couldn’t stop staring at yours truly, I would turn on my full charm and come in for my killer introduction. But I guess I waited too long, when I look down, she wasn’t there anymore.


So this is the third day in a row and the third time that I am seeing her in the lobby and I have to admit that my curiosity is slowing eating me up like cancer. I really gotta know where she is from and what the fuck is she doing here? So I gathered up my balls and walked up to her and around her couch where she was sitting and then pretended to make a phone call before picking up a newspaper from the counter and sat on a seat that was like 10 meters from her as I pretended to indulge myself in today's news for about five minutes, only to find that it was in Tamil (as you fucking kidding me); So I took the newspaper back to the counter again and walk by her couch 2 times before, going up to her. Yes it was all necessary ,just so I don’t look that needy.


My introduction wasn’t planned or rehearsed, so it just came out bluntly. I told her, most of the time I only walk up and introduced myself to sweet and charming ladies, but for her I was going to make an exception. Suddenly I realized what I just said came out so wrong but she immediately laughed. I don’t know whether she understood what I have just said or maybe she was just taking it as a joke, but that was how I met Olivia of Singapore, who was on a short trip to visit a friend. I told her my side of the story that I was a backpacker *slash* vagabond traveling aimlessly across India with no plans, no directions and no sense of what I am gonna do next and she went like.. “Yeah right and I am the Queen of Sheba. How can it be that a backpacker covers so little of India in such a long period of time?” Well, it just occurred to me that she might be just right...


Then I found out that this was going to be her last day here, so I pushed my luck a little (Okie, for a guy like me I admit a lot) by asking her out for dinner but was shot down immediate not because I looked like a serial killer or a pervert but she already have a prior arrangement for the night. But lunch and a little Sari hunting for souvenir afterward is all she could offer me.


And so that was how you found us merrily having luncheon in a small Chaat restaurant just down the streets at BD road.

On our way to get sari

The Queen of Sheba goofing around; sorry no face cause I didn’t get her permission.

23/6 At the Hotel Gym

22/6 Curry Lobster

21/6 Luncheon with Olivia from Sg

18/6 In a bookstore, looking for Iris Chang's book

17/6 Wacthing Angels and Demons

17/6 I got my wings

15/6 Going out for Dinner

xniquet's journey across India