this dandy just got back from India

well, i'm back. and now that the whole week long trial and tribulation of the resetting of the internal clock business is pretty much now squared away (dear mercury, is this what retrograde feels like??? good goddess, i'm so sorry!!! love, ilvs), i can return to my regularly scheduled With A Tendency Towards The Verbose program.

today's discourse shall revisit the topic of the previous discourse, The Dirty, and my particular relationship to it because i had a lot of time to think on it in India because India is/gives/has a lot of everything, including time and The Dirty, and wouldn't you know it, i have more to say about it. 

as it turns out, The Dirty really only irks me when The Dirty is not my decision. por ejemplo, if i decide, for whatever unholy reason, to step into a sandbox, it is my choice and in that moment i have consciously (yet inexplicably) chosen to embrace The Dirty, thereby bypassing my deep seeded neurological cringe and reducing it to tiny dry silica particles aka Mere Sand. on the flip side, if someone pushes me into The Dirty, well, let's just say that that person best have a really good reason for griming up my fancy. 

me going to India, while not exactly 100% my idea, was in fact 100% my choice. no one but i dunked myself neck deep into the cold, blessed, filthy waters of the holy Ganges while monkeys watched from the rocky beach. no one but i forced me to sit directly under where that green parrot was perched as it unabashedly relieved itself upon my trousers in front of throngs of Taj Mahal visitors. no one but i thrust my foot into piles after piles of cow manure ranging from Ancient to Maybe That Just Happened Not Too Long Before Now while hunting down the street food yam man thru impossibly populated streets. and no one but i twisted mine arm as i climbed the Never Really Swept Thoroughly In 1000+ Years steps to the top of the temple where holy persons smudged colorful powders on my third eye and i filled my lungs with the thick, borderline acrid smoke of incense and burning ghee. 

all this and more, done on my own accord. and it was lovely.

in fact, i reached a level of comfort hitherto unknown to me. when my fellow travel partner person spilt their milky street chai on my travel pants that one morning, i was completely nonplussed! something about the combination of having woken up in an ashram that morning, having super sugared caffeine coursing thru my pre-breakfast veins, and really having settled into the warmth of the thin, week old cloak of The Dirty i was sporting, magically turned that capitol D Dirty into a lowercase 'namaste, my sister'. 

India, it has been observed, does not give you what you want; India gives you what you need. so, thank you India, i couldn't have gotten to where i got without you. now i know that while it may take an entire village to raise a child, it only takes 1.27 billion people to change me of my peculiarities.


dedicated to my parrot friend. 12feb15.

dedicated to my parrot friend. 12feb15.

this dandy's going to India

[since i will be on a plane during the superbowl this year while Team is 4th Quarter Winning, i am choosing show my support for Team by waiting till the final hours before i leave for india to blog and pack. for the win. #pullingaseahawks #fareastmode]

'oh my god how exciting!' you may find yourself saying upon learning of my impending world travel. yes. . . i'm going to india. . . exciting. . . but. . . .ok, Real Talk? i'm terrified. of what? of The Dirty. and the detritusy beachy part of india that my travel guru is sending instsphotos of, appears to be not short on it.  

'well, that's poverty' my roommate, wise in their non gender specific pronoun ways said. well, yes. but it's not the poverty i fear (tho i will be the first to embrace, in spite of my independent wealth status, my run of the mill scarcity thoughts about money), it's The Dirty. specifically, the thought of getting The Dirty on me. 

now, hear me out in my hygienic complexities. i write this wearing the same outfit i've been wearing for the past oh i dunno 5 or 6 days (socks and unders did undergo a change of guard, thank you very much). so making The Dirty apparently is not the issue. it's being plopped down into The Dirty that ice baths my gut. and this is not just a foreign country induced idiosyncrasy, mind you.

rewind 30ish years to: Little ilvs in a frilly blue dress bawling her eyes out, screaming 'SUCIO!! SUCIO!!' at Mother who had just, after placing Sister in the sand box to play, placed her in the sand box next to Sister to play with Sister. SUCIO, for those who did not have espanol as their first language but then grew up speaking so much english that their comprehension and speaking skills of the mother tongue have digressed to sand box level, means DIRTY. i, dapper-ish still in my ruffles and patent leather shoes, was brought to tantruamatic tears over The Dirty, perceived and otherwise, that i found myself sitting in. 

fast forward those 30ish years minus 1ish week to dance class where, after cutting the rugs modernly, we were asked to pair up with a fellow dancer in the room. having been in this class before, it was safe to presume that this partnering up would lead to touching of said partner. i glanced quickly to the closest person to me and my internals froze when it became apparent that i was to be better halfed with My Friend. which, in and of itself, is not a problem, he is a gentleman and a scholar. except he also holds the title of SWEATIEST MAN EVER TO WEAR A LOW CUT TANK TOP. 

sweaty man = The Dirty. 

The Dirty + ilvs' bare hands = ilvs on the verge of tears.

as it turned out, our partnering time together started with just standing and staring into each other's eyes. so. i stood there. and stared at him. and he stared back. and tears rolled down my face for the entirety of our face off. the beauty of the moment (and his kindness as witness) was not lost on me. despite the overlying strata of discomfort that was demanding my full attention. 

'you also don't have to go.' again with the wise words from the roommie! or should i say 'rumi'. true. . .pause. . . but i want to. and i'm excited for new life experiences and amazing adventures and challenging challenges. . . that, and i'm getting picked up to go to the airport in like 5 hours. also, it should be noted that after my cry session in class, i felt a lot better. i washed my hands immediately after, but i totally felt totally better. so, it only follows that after befriending The Dirty from far away lands, this Dandy is going to be OK. after a long sesh of standing on a sunny warm sandy beach, peppered with cows and debris, weeping at the unkempt beauty of it all, of course.

ok, i should really go pack. see you in a few weeks!