Vegas to Varanasi (Fortytude Series Book 1) (13 page)

Twenty-Two

I wake at nine the next morning and head straight to the bathroom to clean myself up. The humidity here will make it pointless to try and do something productive with the hair, so after I shower, I put it in a low ponytail.

Pulling on a boring, beige pair of pants that I bought before our trip, and a loose fitting blouse, I miss my white capris I wear at home. I didn’t pack them, worried they would show too much leg.

When I enter the kitchen, there is a note on the counter.
Visiting with Dadi upstairs. Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen
—
Kiran.

I look around and notice something I didn’t last night. A Keurig machine! “Hello, lovely!” After opening a couple of cabinets, I locate some K-cups, but still have to fill the machine with some water. I read online that visitors to India should really try to stay clear of the tap water.

I open the refrigerator to find a gallon of bottled water that’s yet to be opened, along with non-dairy creamer.
Nisha, you rock!
Milk was another item that was cautioned against.

As I lean against the counter with my phone, messaging the kids and waiting on my coffee, Kiran comes through the front door with a gift bag in his hand.

“Good morning.” He wears grey pants and yet another white buttoned shirt, this time untucked and hanging loose on his hips. My eyes linger on his forearms as he sets the bag on the counter.

“Good morning,” I reply.

“How did you sleep last night?”

Well, aside from tossing and turning for the first hour because I couldn’t stop thinking about...
“Like a rock.”

“The bed is okay?” He looks at me carefully, as if my answer is of great importance.

“It’s perfect.”

“Good. Nisha sent something for you.” He slides the bag across the counter toward me. “She wanted me to give this to you.”

“Really?” I open the bag and pull out a salwar kameez in pale pink. “Oh my God! It’s so pretty. She didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s one she’s never worn and she wanted you to have it.”

“She’s so thoughtful. Did you know she put bottled water and coffee creamer in the fridge for us?”

He smiles as if he’s amused by my appreciation.

“Do you think today you could take me somewhere I can get her a thank you gift?”

“That’s not necessary, but yes, I can do that. And if you’re ready to leave soon, I’ll take you to see the ghats.”

“The ghats are the steps that lead to the river, right?”

“Very good!”

“See?” I tap a finger to my temple. “I did a little bit of homework.”

Kiran folds his arms over his chest and his expression sobers. “Before we take the trip into old town, I have to make sure you’re prepared for the bathrooms. Did you do your homework on bathrooms?”

I don’t like his somber tone and furrow my brow. “No... But I used the bathroom at the Delhi airport.”

“That’s different. They have western toilets there. Have you ever heard of a squat toilet?”

Oy.
“Is that sort of like a port-a-potty?”

Kiran tries to contain a grin. “No. It’s not like a port-a-potty.” He walks over to the computer in the corner of the living room and turns it on. “It’s time to pull up some YouTube videos.”

No, no, no. Please tell me I’m not going to sit here with Kiran and learn how to go to the bathroom in India.

“You’ll want to make sure you carry toilet paper with you while in the city.”

Not such a big deal. That’s good practice in the States while on a road trip. Many rest stops won’t have toilet paper.

“Okay. I brought a bag that can accommodate a roll of TP.”

Kiran sits me down in the chair in front of the computer and pulls up a video on how to use squat toilets. A very questionable looking fellow proceeds to talk about “the art of laying cable” and “how to take a dump, by the book”, all in subtitles.

Following, a second man gives a demonstration. He doesn’t actually do the deed, however, he goes through the motions, showing how to properly squat, dropping trou so that his bare ass hangs over the toilet. When the expression “squeezing your brownies” and other creative analogies are used, I start giggling uncontrollably and can’t stop. Kiran is apparently entertained by my reaction and laughs along with me.

Honestly, I am completely horrified by the whole idea, but the video is so tongue in cheek, it succeeds in relieving my anxiety a little. I’m sure there were far more dignified videos Kiran could have shown me, however, he chose one that would start my day with a few belly laughs, exhibiting a brand of humor that takes me by surprise.

              Once the lesson concludes, I look up at Kiran. “I’m glad you warned me. How long will we be in town today? Maybe I can hold it.”

***

After taking a taxi as far as we can into old Varanasi, we switch to rickshaws, and eventually foot. I discover that the traffic becomes even more congested and crazy the further we travel into the city from our complex.

I wear the salwar kameez that Nisha gave me, as well as a pair of sunglasses. Extremely nervous about attracting unwanted attention, Kiran has agreed to keep hold of my hand as we walk through the narrow alleyways. I don’t mean to sound like I fear for my safety or anything. It’s nothing like that. But I’ve never been the type who’s comfortable standing out. I’d rather stay invisible, studying those around me instead of them studying me.

This morning he gave me a few tidbits for Western women travelling in India. One, don’t make eye contact with the men, or they will see it as an invitation. Hence, the sunglasses. Apparently, I should be prepared to be approached occasionally, even when following that rule. Two, Indian men will tend to leave women alone if they are accompanied by a man, which is why I have enlisted Kiran’s promise to never leave my side.

I’m at once enchanted and appalled by the sights, sounds, and smells. Women walk through in beautiful saris, holding their children by the hand. Occasional motorbikes whiz past, and the scent of coriander hangs in the air as we pass some of the food stalls.

However, everything is extremely dirty, and the odors of excrement and animal dung compete for my attention. Even though I’m well aware that cattle walk freely in the streets of Varanasi, I’m so caught up in the sights that I’m shocked to look to my right and have a cow staring me in the face.

“Oh!”

“Watch your step!” Kiran puts his arm in front of me, before pointing to the cow pie I nearly step in with my cute, sparkly sandals.

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you!”

At last we reach the main ghat, Dasaswamedh, one of the oldest in Varanasi. There is an abundance of activity here. Street vendors constantly try to sell you their wares. There are people bathing in the water, and as we continue our walk, there are those further down who do their laundry in the murky river. I must admit, the water looks quite disgusting.

Since the Ganges is one of the most polluted rivers in the world, there’s no need for Kiran to restrain me from dipping a hand in the water. I consider asking if it’s okay to bring a small amount of the holy water home with me as a keepsake, but then realize it’s probably not such a great idea to carry around disease ridden fluids.

Though Kiran admits he’s no tour guide, he does share with me what he knows about the various sites along the way, and I’m entranced by the colorful architecture, as well as the colorful people. I even have the pleasure of being able to photograph a few sadhus seen sitting on the steps during our walk.

Despite the filth, there is something magical about this place.

I’m having the time of my life, never dreaming I’d be taking in the view of such a beautiful, ancient city, however, the heat is really beginning to make me feel sick, and the dreaded moment has arrived in which I need to relieve myself. Especially after drinking a couple bottles of water that we brought with us.

I start to feel dizzy and sit down on one of the steps.

“Are you alright?” Kiran asks.

“I think I just need some shade for a little bit.” I look up at him and make a face. “And I hate to say it, but I need to go pee.”

We leave the ghats and head back up to the marketplace on the streets, where Kiran manages to locate a bathroom. This particular one has stalls at least, but no doors. I eye one of the dingy squat toilets and suck up my courage. After pulling out my toilet paper, I put the strap of my bag around my neck and push it around to my back.

Pulling down my pretty pink pants and lifting the tunic, I worry that I won’t have the leg muscles for this endeavor. However, I cop my best squat over the bowl and start peeing. Things are going well until I think about that YouTube video and begin to chuckle, making me lose my aim. Just as I feared, a bit of urine drips onto the left side of my pants. Gah!

I leave the stall, shaking my foot as I wash my hands at the nasty sink. The water isn’t exactly clear, which is why I also packed hand sanitizer.

Kiran is waiting for me outside. “Well, how did it go?”

I give him a frown and point to my pants. “I got a little pee on my kameez.”

“That’s actually the salwar.” He laughs and lowers his head. “It takes practice.”

We begin making our walk. “It’s all because of that video. If I hadn’t started thinking about it, my concentration would have been better.”

Before we take a rickshaw back to the city, we stop at a restaurant where we order some chaat, something of a soup with potatoes, which is quite delicious.

“There’s no meat in this, right?” I ask Kiran.

“No meat.”

“I don’t mean to be a spoil sport, but I really don’t want to get sick and ruin the trip.”

“Completely understandable. I try to be cautious when I’m here as well,” he says and takes a bite of his food. “So what do you think of Varanasi so far?”

I sip from my water bottle. “You were right. It’s definitely a culture shock, but I am having the best time. I can’t thank you enough for asking me to come.”

His expression softens as he looks at me. “Thank
you
for coming with me.”

***

When we reach the apartment, I’m exhausted and ready for a nap, however, Kiran plans to spend some time with Dadi and invites me along. “You don’t have to go,” he says. “Feel free to rest if you’re too tired.”

I know he won’t mind if I pass, however, I feel like it’s important that I come, and I sincerely enjoy his family. I also want to give Dadi and Nisha the silk scarves I bought them in the marketplace. I couldn’t think of what to get William, but Kiran told me that he enjoys sweets of any sort, and we managed to find a place that sold bal mithai, a fudge-like candy.

“Why don’t you go up without me,” I say. “I want to see if I can FaceTime the kids for a few minutes, and then I’ll come up.”

“Take your time.”

I know it’s very early morning in Las Vegas right now, but I want to hear their voices. My first attempt with Carly isn’t answered. Next, I try Hayden with no success. They could both sleep through a zombie apocalypse, so I know I’ll have to persist. Finally, Carly picks up.

“Hey, Mom,” she says groggily, her hair a bit frizzed out.

“Hey, sweetie. Sorry to wake you so early, but I thought this might be my best chance to catch you guys.”

“No worries.” She rubs her face. “How’s India so far?”

“Great, but would you go get Hayden, too?”

She sets her phone down and I hear her knock on Hayden’s door. “Get out here! Mom’s on the phone.”

When she returns, she squints at the tiny screen. “How was the trip over there?”

“Long and exhausting, but the family apartment’s real nice.”

Hayden comes to Carly’s room and flounces onto her bed, trying to get a view of the screen. “Mom! How’s India?”

“Awesome! I got to see the Ganges River and peed in a squat toilet today.”

Carly’s eyes widen. “A what?”

“A squat toilet. It’s basically a hole in the ground. No toilet seat.”

“Ewww! Way to go local.”

“How’s Tall Glass?” Hayden smirks.

I let out a sigh. “He’s
fine
, Hayden.”

“Oh, and Mom.” Hayden forces his face in front of Carly’s so he’s fully looking into the camera. “You need to call or text David or something. He’s driving Carly nuts.”

Carly smacks Hayden in the arm and gives him a dirty look.

“No. He’s not!” she says to him between gritted teeth.

Hayden rolls his eyes and looks at me. “Yes. He is!”

“Carly, what the hell?” I say. “What’s going on?”

“He keeps asking her if she’s heard from you, and what she knows about you and Kiran.”

“Hayden!” Carly is not happy. “Mom doesn’t need to worry about this while she’s on her trip.”

“Uh, yeah, I do! Especially if he’s harassing the crap out of you.”

“He’s not harassing me. He’s just sad.”

“I don’t care! He shouldn’t be using you as his sounding board.”