... Then may it bring a plague of locusts, a gut full of vicious tapeworm and a herd of sexually frustrated holy cows down on the thieving bastards who nicked my wallet last weekend. So if you are sitting comfortably, then I will tell you what happened.
It all began on a virtuous weekend excursion to northern Karnataka with the founders of the NGO that I am working with. I was tagging along to do some groundbreaking interviews with some former Devadasi prostitutes, who are the women that certain rural Hindu communities 'dedicate' at the age of 12 to work as sex slaves. It is basically rape disguised as a form of religious devotion - so I thought it well worth the epic journey across state to find out more about it. It also seemed like a neat way to alleviate some of the guilt I'd been feelingover my new silk sheets and plasma screen TV.
Like so many Indian journeys it began with ten sweaty hours sleeping on a rubber train bunk with six Indian blokes, followed by a bowl full of warm salty curd with suspicious bits in it and three hours of vigorous bumping through the countryside in the back of jeep. I wasn't feeling my best and by the third hour was desperate for theloo. I made the mistake of casually mentioning this to Stanly (my Indian boss), who then mentioned it to his wife, who then mentioned it to the rest of the staff, two wives, three children and Santosh the driver who all laughed for a good few minutes about my predicament, before delving into some serious discussions about WHERE SARAH SHOULD GO TO THE TOILET? It was all becoming rather uncomfortable –physically and emotionally – as the car full of nine people began scanning the side of the dirt track for suitable bushes (for"privacy") and running water (for "washing"). "Sister, you need number one or number two?" So I did what any other self respecting English girl would do and did some serious backtracking. "Stanly, actually Idon't need to go anymore. If we pass a toilet and there's an opportunity then I will, but otherwise don't worry." To which Stanly replied: "Opportunity is there, but toilet is not! HA HA HA!". After half an hour of more discussion, my wish was granted and toilet was there in a dodgy highway hotel. Naturally the curious hotel manager stood outside the filthy bathroom with a red light bulb and listened as I weed.
Our first stop that morning was the famous Hindu temple where these young girls are initiated into prostitution. The car drew up in a cloud of dust and flies at what could be described as an Indian Glastonbury in the middle of some bleak scrub land. It had all the elements of an English music festival: it smelt like human poo, was full of market stalls selling fried food and ethnic tat and almost 100,000 drunk people dancing around covered in bright yellow andorange dyes and pissing everywhere - but unlike Glastonbury I was the only white woman. I stood out so much I may as well have been walking round with a flashing sandwich board and a megaphone shouting "I'M A (POSSIBLY SLUTTY) RICH TOURIST, IF YOU PUT YOU'RE HAND IN MY BAG (ORON MY ARSE) YOU'LL FIND AN IPOD, WALLET FULL OF RUPEES AND A NICEDIGITAL CAMERA, COME AND GET IT IF YOU'RE RUNNING LOW ON CASH (OR IF YOU FANCY A FEEL)!"But I was in no condition to keep an eye on my bag. Looking up into the carved wooden balconies of shacks lining the road, young girls in full makeup and tatty saries were hanging out of windows. Hindi music blared from speakers and crowds of people danced pulling each others hair, stamping their feet and throwing up handfuls of brightly coloured powdered dye into the air. Every so often a crowd of children would gather around me, but they were much too sweet-looking to worm atiny hand inside a zip, and feel around for a nice black leather wallet, carefully remove it and zip it back up again without me realising it... right? Elephants in red and gold stood grandly at theentrance to the temple, people danced and prayed and petals and flowers were squashed into a multi-coloured paste underfoot. Walking back to the jeep, through puddles of shit and incense ash, I was reeling from a mixture of toxic smells, religious fervor and extreme culture shock.
It wasn't until I was back in the jeep that I discovered that all my cash and credit cards had been stolen. As miles of sunflower fields,forests and brightly coloured houses flashed thorugh the car window on the next leg of the journey, I thought about the lucky Indian buying £100 worth of rancid whiskey, sweets, rice, saries, cow harnesses andglass bangles, while laughing hysterically at the dodgy photo on my driving license.
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