Smelly Skin

Yesterday I noticed that my hotel room stank. I know I don't smell great- I sweat through my shirt everyday and then put them back in the suitcase- but I didn't think I smelled that bad. Plus, don't you think I'd get used to my own smell? But I started to become self-conscious. I openned the windows and fell alseep.

When I woke up the room smelled much worse. I went outside and realized the bad smell was coming from there. My hotel is near the city landfill and there's open sewers all over the place. I tried to buy Febreeze for my clothes but the concept of Febreeze seems to be unheard of here. I was offered cologne, deodorant, and starch. I told one guy that I didn't want cologne. He said, "No, not cologne. Perfume." Oh, well in that case... idiot. I finally got the hotel guys to spray the room. Ah, much better.

Throughout my time in India, I've been uncomfortable with what my skin represents. In some cases my skin gives me opportunities, such as eating at fancy restaurants while wearing shabby clothes. My skin is a status symbol. It means money and a willingness to spend. As a result I sometimes receive service above and beyond. It's true that many things are cheap in India compared to America. A liter of water here is about 37 cents. Water is the extreme, but even expensive soda, a regular sized bottle is only between 50-55 cents. So there is some truth to the fact that my skin equals money.

Sometimes my skin is a target for sellers and scam artists. I'm approached by an inordinate amount of people solely because of my skin. The most common is by rickshaw drivers who sometimes nearly run me over to take somewhere. "Where do you want to go?" "You're mother's house."

My skin also represents imperialism. Sometimes whatever someone's particular world view is they project it on me. I get dirty looks just for visiting their country. I can't blame them on the one hand. It's easy to think, 'Judge me as an individual,' but that is the cry of the people in power.

Because of my skin, sometimes I'm looked at as a monkey in a cage. Three guys (possibly unintentionally) kicked a bottle at me and all three walked right into me and then laughed. I didn't want to get into another confrontation. They guys walked up the stairs on the waterfront and kept looking and laughing at me as I staired them down and screamed "asshole" at them. It was time to "come out of the cage" and confront them. Of course, the main culprit stuck his hand out and said, "Sorry, sorry." I shook his hand, said fine, and began to walk away. I turned back I saw him laughing, so I told him to stop laughing and that he was rude. I passed by them later, but ignored them. Let's provoke the monkey in the cage, after all he can't come out. Wanna bet?