Sosososososo far behind on announcing giveaway winners, especially that big one from before I went to India. So let’s just push right through these and then see if we have time for anything else.
Kiss Me Tender samples: pam, Dante’s Bra and Geordan 1244.
Nejma Puro samples: Hemlock Sillage, jirish, Todd T., Ann N., Tammy, Sally, Jessica, Vinery, Beth, Panna, nancy, ScentRed, Natalie, Connie, Tiara, Alice C, Irina, gator grad, Roberto, Style Spy, d3mOliciOn, violet noir and Isa.
Nejma Puro bottle winner is hongkongmom.
Whew. Okay, winners, what to do – click the Contact Us button on the left, remind me which sample you won, send me your address, and I’ll get it in the mail eventually – I’m still a lot behind.
Did we talk about the taxi dashboards in India? This is the taxi that took us from Tashiding to Yuksom – Buddhist prayer wheel, Buddha or Tara (can’t tell) on the dash. Every taxi driver in India proselytizes via their dashboard. Well, you’d think it’s proselytizing until you got in the car in Delhi traffic or mountain road traffic, and then you’re really glad to have the whole Hindu/Christian/Buddhist pantheon on your side and in your car. Lanes are just guidelines. There may be three lanes marked, but there are six rows or more of cars/bikes/scooters/motorized rickshaws traversing – two cars or a car and a rickshaw and a motorcycle per lane.
I’m not sure who all was represented in this taxi, but Ganesh was around for sure. Shiva surely. One wouldn’t want to go through traffic without either of them.
I can’t find my picture that shows two-way traffic, but you realize that there are four sorta-lanes going one way out of the four lanes that should be going two ways because two of them are passing, leaving one teeny lane coming the other direction. I almost had heart failure the first few times we were passing with no room, until I realized that the horn beeping that is incessant in India is a communication system. And lanes have no meaning. You go when you have an opening or you make an opening, and you hope the guy going your direction to your left and the guy going the opposite direction that’s almost to your right will give just a little and let you float through. The last picture is a traffic jam in Bagdogra, where we did not want to have to spend the night if we missed our plane. Nothing moved for about an hour because – well, we don’t really know. Something about they were fixing the bridge, but the bridge looked pretty much the same that day as it did the day we went across it going the other direction.
Which gets me to why I fell in love with India. India floats. They worship the Ganges (Ganga) River as the fountain of the Gods that starts high in the Himalayas. They float everything down that river – dirty clothes, elimination, bathwater, flowers, ashes of the dead, hopes, dreams. Floating is life, and everyone moves in and around each other, floating, filling the spaces. It was okay for the kids to come up and sit by us and have their parents take their pictures with “the Americans.” It was okay for young people to snap my photo for no good reason other than I was an anomaly being white and blonde. It was okay to sit down next to one of the beggars without a leg for a while and just talk.
If you don’t float in India, you will hate it, but once you just float into the spaces, it will fill you up and capture your heart.