out at a leper colony. Mind-blown aren’t the words to describe it. Later
that night, Gurjant and I go to the colony and give bread to some very
sweet and grateful people. No, I didn’t get leprosy. However, a few
days later, after I go to travel on my own without Gurjant, I get bitten
by a horse in the town of Amritsar and this starts a rather crazy string
of events. Amritsar is in the north of India and is known for having
the most holy of Sikh temples—the Golden Temple. It is dazzling—
even more than the Taj in my opinion—and there is a holy, peaceful
presence there that even staunch atheists can’t deny. And while Sikhs
are some of the kindest people you will ever meet, they will laugh at
you when you attempt to pet a horse and it bites the crap out of your
hip. I had to go to a doctor and get rabies shots stuck into the same
hip, on an exam table in the back of a doctor’s office that looks like
a gas station bathroom. But the doctor costs 120 rupees, about 2
American dollars. Later, my throat starts to feel like it is closing up. I
worry it could be a reaction, but I go on as normal. I eat a huge meal
of delicious fried fish, and then attempt to haggle over a gorgeous
Sari I see in one of the shops. In India, haggling, or lowering the
original price of something, is almost expected but it has to be done
strategically.
Liberty for Native New Yorkers: locals don’t really give a damn about
these attractions, they’re just part of the everyday landscape and it’s
annoying that stupid tourists who dress funny and won’t stop taking
pictures flock to them in droves. In person, the Taj Mahal is smaller
but no less majestic.
One day, while riding with Gurjant, I spot a leper colony. Gurjant
tells me he and his family often give bread to the people there. I am
fascinated so I ask if we can visit later. Interestingly enough, before
this happens, Gurjant tells me about a famous gurin in his village who
once accurately predicted a murder. Gurus and psychics along with
yoga ashrams are world renown in India, but many chock them up
to new age hooey without ever having experienced them firsthand.
When Gurjant takes me to see him, we get lost and have to ask
directions from a guy sitting on a stool on a street corner doing a
henna tattoo on a young girl (I definitely recommend getting hennaed
in India—they’re a great way to see how a certain design would look
on your skin, and while temporary, some of the henna I stained my
nails and still hasn’t washed out. I like to think of it as India’s mark on
me).
When we finally find the guru, he sits in a small room in a tiny, simple
apartment and is chatting with a large family. This dude is popular.
When it is my turn, he offers us candy, and Gurjant translates what he
says to me in English amidst the backdrop of Diwali explosions. All I
give him is my birthdate and birth city. What follows is an arrestingly
accurate account of my childhood, family, personality traits, and what
will likely happen in the future. I am in tears. He tells me there will be
trouble leaving India. He is correct. He also tells me that I will never
find true love, that I am what the Indians refer to as Manglik, or born
under a bad astrological combination that doesn’t guarantee a happy
married life. When I ask how I can fix this, he tells me I should go help
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On the bus back to New Delhi, which have since gained bad
reputations in India due to the horrific gang rape and murder of Jyoti
Singh, a strange man climbs onto the bus, stares at me, then gets
off. I think he is a passenger, but it turns out he is a creep who has
followed me. He looks at me through the window, blowing kisses
and licking his lips. While this behavior happens everywhere, it is
much more unacceptable in India due to the concept of honor there.
The way to solve it is by making a big scene and attracting attention.
The guilty man is at risk of being seen as dishonorable and giving
his country a bad name. When a man approaches me for sex on
the street in Manali, India, I use this same tactic and he apologizes
profusely before running away.