The funniest thing happened the other day. A group of us decided to go out to dinner on Thursday to this really hip Euro restaurant I stumbled upon on one of my walks. It was tucked away on a side alley that opened up onto a quiet ghat. You walk upstairs to a restaurant that could be in Ibiza, capri, or Mykanos. It was very surprising and very hip. The food: pumpkin raviolis and sage butter sauces, Thai curries, Caprese salads-- all very unexpected and the waits all very cute. It was like being at home.
So we decied to go out for the night and we would all dress up in our finest Indian attire. I wore a dhotis, kurtas, salwaar kameez and saris. As we were leaving the house another girl turned up, resplendent in her new sari.
She, without a bike, had to sit on the back of mine, while I carted her down the street. What made this funny was not the ensuing balancing act and simultaneous navigation between life and death. But the fact that a tall (lumbu) white boy (gora) in a white dhoti and kurta, was carting around (in true Indian style) a woman in a sari, except this time the woman was a 20 year old blond from Amherst in a pink and green sari. We received a lot of attention. Banaras is now my home fo sho
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