Some people believe not talking about something – a fear, a worry, a burden – will prevent it from becoming real and will keep it buried in a dark closet with bits of dust floating around. I take a different approach. I voice a worry to kick it directly in the teeth, to say, “Hey problem, go eat a pile of crap.” Stating something that bothers me makes that thing trouble me less.
Here is me facing such a fear. I may or may not have been cursed in India. I use the word curse because I don’t have a better word in English (or any other language that I speak) to express what may or may not have happened. And of course, if this sort of thing is going to happen to a person, of course it is going to happen in India. Puh-leaze.
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I rummaged hungrily through the selection of postcards and decided on a final 14. The man who took my money at the checkout asked me a standard, simple question. “Which country?” He was asking me where I come from.
“Canada,” I answered.
He was a fat Indian man, and there was nothing particularly notable about him. If you were to stand 10 overweight Indian men in front of me and tell me to pick him out, I would be unable to.
His questions quickly changed from friendly banter to prying.
“You have girlfriend?”
“Uh… no,” I answered. In a culture that doesn’t exactly encourage freedom of sexuality, I thought it was odd that he would begin by asking me if it was a girlfriend that I had. I initially passed this off as a language error.
“How many girlfriends you have?”
“None. I don’t have any girlfriends.”
“Ah, you have boyfriend?”
“Yes I have a boyfriend.”
At this point, whatever garbled conversation that passed between us is a hazy memory. His English was so broken, and I was so thrown off by his bizarre line of questions that I almost could not make sense of this story afterwards.
“You marriage?” he asked.
“No. I’m not married.”
“Soon, you marriage?”
“No.”
“You shortly… marriage. Short.” He bumbled on and on here. Something about short and marriage. Having grown up in an era where divorce prevails, my immediate neurotic thought was “I’m going to have a short marriage, and it’s going to end in divorce.” As I am currently with someone (I am crazy about), this is a massively unpleasant thought to have.
On the other hand, he could have been saying that shortly I would be married (but knowing the state of things, with school and such), this is not likely the case. Not to mention marriage isn’t exactly on my priority list.
“What?” I might have said. I don’t remember. I was trying to give the guy a chance to explain himself. But he never did.
He then proceeded to say, “Uh… possible sex…”
And that’s where I cut him off. “WHAT,” I said, and walked off, unwilling to hear anymore of his garbled premonitions, curses, conversation. I think it’s fair to say one should not drop the word “sex” while speaking to a new acquaintance, particularly when ones grasp on her native language is not exactly glowing.
I barely heard him call out, “No-” after me, but I kept walking.
I ran outside to join my tour group, feeling nearly sick to my stomach. I recounted what had happened to a couple of people; that was the initial phase of me addressing that fear he had planted in my mind… a perverted flower that wouldn’t stop growing. I tried to stop it. My travel companions told me to make sure I wasn’t alone next time, to always make sure there were other people around. Fair enough, but that won’t stop a pervert from being a pervert if he really wants to. Plus I was surrounded by people – loads and loads of other tourists browsing the shop for crisps and soda and tacky souvenirs.
I bought 14 postcards from that man and buried them in my bag. I planned to write them once I was off the bumpy bus ride.
About 20 minutes later, my nose started to bleed. I know that quick, hot rush of liquid in my nose well. I used to get nosebleeds from time to time as a child, but haven’t had one as an adult for years. Still, the sensation was undeniable. Before any of the red fluid could drip onto my lap, I tilted my head back. “Fuck,” I said.
From then on… I just did not feel right.
To be continued…
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I hope you stick around to find out what happens… As it is, I think I am still waiting to find out…
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All photos were taking in Jaipur before the incident occurred.
