Walkin Rupee

Tourist town, temporary hippies, I’m a walking rupee, a running crore, there’s a pattern here, it goes- temple, store, temple, store, (give a little bit more). Laid back enough here but I feel a little like I’m on a movie set- universal Studios, India. It’s all so quaintly "Indian", except for the hundreds of hotels and the Hebrew on the shop signs. In Ranthambore we went in the general store and made a friend, ended up at a wedding- here they rip you off on peanuts. Prices aren’t so bad though. We’ve seen a lot worse. I shopped till I dropped I can’t walk no more.

Two nights in a row we hit the bhang lassi, and it creeps in and numbs you from the inside out. Comfortable numb. We ate real pizza at the Real Baba’s rooftop joint, and afterward sat on straw stools in the street and sipped the lassi out of a paper cup. Banana flavour. We talked to a British neo-hippie twit with neo-dreds for a while whilst his faux-hawked friend taught beardo Americanos how to juggle balls. We wanted badly to go but decided that one lassi might not be enough, so we downed another one, bought some chocolate for later and wandered off. Pushkar gets quiet at night- rustling cows eating plastic in wet corners, lingering shopkeepers enticing us with midnight monologues;

YesfriendHellofriendToiletpaperminralwaterchocolatechipscandybatteries??
..Ne-ext ti-ime!

But we’re back at the Maharaja room in minutes.

In the day, they coerce you down to the Holy Lake; it’s green as sick and hairy-shouldered men plunge in headlong and headstrong. The Brahmin "priest" forces a flower into my hand, makes me come down to the water, sit, grudgingly repeat a Hindu prayer with him and though he told me at first it all had nothing to do with money, now he’s dropping the word "donation" everywhere and I’m telling him I don’t believe in giving money to religious institutions and if I’m going to give money to a charity I don’t want to be tricked into it. But Katya already got out a 100. Sew. Soe. Sough. Soh. Sow. So..
More faux spirituality. Holy Hindu town and tourist trap central- trap indeed. God’s got a piece of cheese and a smile on his face two blocks long, women in flocks singing holy songs and shuffling along the river’s banks- "there are many ways to show your thanks and they’ll barely cost you a dime and just a moment of your time, sir. Where do you come from and where are you going? Is it snowing this time of year in your home? Are you really traveling alone? There are many ways to show your thanks, kneeling in the riverbank, waiting in the only bank, wading in the bank..