Indian Samurai इंडियन सामुराई

Conversation with a faithful (French) reader somewhat hygiene-maniac ;)

 

Me: It's cool, the rain has arrived in Delhi, temperatures have dropped, we lost 15 degrees...

 

Him: Regarding temperatures I found online that it is still 32°C in Delhi! So a drop of 15°C would mean that it was 47°C... You wouldn’t be from the South of France by any chance?!*

 

Me: Nope but I’m not joking it goes up to 47 degrees in the summer!

(Thinking about it he must not read my blog so faithfully after all!)

 

He: Ok! With this temperature (48°C) you liquefy don’t you? And I guess there is a local ULTRA powerful deodorant... or a dedicated research lab?

 

Me: (Indian) grandma recipe: talc powder!

 

Him: Just a question about the talc... They put it everywhere??

 

Me: And you? You put deo everywhere??

 

Him: Yeah... ok! You are quibblingl! But I find it "strange" to put talc powder under the armpits! So it's cool in the morning…Talc on the feet! Under the arms! We never know, maybe on the buttocks! Moisture can cause erythema... Can you buy it in bulks?

 

Joke aside, most Indians use talc as a deodorant (it absorbs odours) and it is more eco-friendly.

Even if marketing people in L’Oreal who keep fighting white traces may find it horrible…. In the morning, in the metro, most women have large white traces around the neck... And I saw once a man with the back full of hair and talc. Yuck...

 

* People from the South of France have a reputation of exaggerating everything…

 

 This story has nothing to do with real facts. Any resemblance to persons having existed was fortuitous.

 

Imagine a dozen Indians, who left their native land the time of a weekend in the French Alps. Past the first fears (such as missing a flight connection), the first culinary disappointment (not only French food has no taste but above all there is only red meat), here they are, paddling in Alpine rapids.

 

Is it necessary to say that none of them know how to swim but that only one has had the courage to say it, and moreover not to sign the swimming certificate? After this adventure and a tomato (this is the only thing they found edible in the picnic), they are asked to participate in accrobranche (“a sport in which you climb on trees, and the trees are bounded by ropes, bridges in wood, sometimes you have to get through barrels hanging in mid-air”)!

The organizer is clear: those who have never done it and those who are not in great physical shape, should go for the blue route. For the others there is the red and black (very difficult). I barely have the time to turn that all the Indian team is equipped with harnesses and ready to attack the... black route. But of course. When did you do sport for the last time? Never?? This morning?? Good. No whatsyourname, climbing coconut trees when you were seven does not count. So my friends, now we are going to do the blue track and there is no discussion. You crazy people!!

 

Good. I turn my back again and they went to the red track, minus two who have already abandoned - an obese one and a shrimp (for them it was the black route or nothing!). This time I don’t interfere, otherwise I'll really offend them. Let us not forget that we have a beautiful brochette of Indian males who are prohibited to show their muscles, jumping in the trees, by a white woman... I reluctantly abandon my blue track and follow them, you never know...

 

At the third tree, while I am already shit scared and exhausted, we are stopped by a traffic jam. Guess what happened? Nope, it is not my Indians. It is just a big fat South African blonde, who was rappelling down the tree. At the fourth tree same thing. But this time, I witness one Indian, then two, then three, then four, being carried towards land! They are abandoning! Fuck their ego, it’s my turn to have some fun:

• "Hey guys, so you are giving up??Who told you you should have gone for the blue track huh?”
• "We are tired, our arms are paining because of the rafting.”
• "And why exactly do you think I told you to do the blue route?? You don’t think I am also tired?”
• "So get down too.”
• "Ah no, I never give up."

And boom this one is for you!!

So I go on with this bloody activity.

 

And a new Indian colleague has just join me on the red track. I did not know her, so I had not dared telling her to let the black track to the big guys. And yet... She is catastrophed because she had to abandon the black course after two failed attempts at climbing in the first tree. She goes on repeating the same thing until I get irritated and tell her that it’s okay, she had nothing to prove to anyone, we are here for fun.  And finally, while she is clearly exhausted, she chooses the "difficult" option on the last part of the route. She ends up crashing into a net suspended in the air (this was part of the option) of which she proves unable to get out (that is not part of the option). Poor little fly struggling in a net... Someone had to go to her rescue…

 

They don’t do things half way these Indians!

And needless to say that the French are crazy, they hardly eat anything (and in any case nothing bathing in a sauce full of fat) and they do tough outdoor sports!

 A colleague of mine recently went to France for the first time.
At the end of his training he was offered a bottle of olive oil.

• Me: Oh nice gift! Have you used it? (Doubting but he would not know what to do with it.)
• Him: Yes yes. (That’s it? No details? What the hell did he do with that oil??!!)
• Me: Oh and how?
• Him: As massage oil!! My back was so sore after the eight-hour flight home!
• Me: Laughing.
• Him: No one in my family likes it nor knows how to cook with it.
• Me: Yes. I'm not laughing at you! I just realise I must have done a lot of things that must look funny ot Indians too ;)

 More ...

I tell the story to my mother who replies that olive oil is excellent for massage!

  More ...

I go to buy an oil lamp. The dealer explains to me how it works: "You can put any oil, even olive oil!"

  More and end ...

One day, long ago, in Pune, I wanted to buy coconut oil for cooking. So I went to the supermarket. Being unable to find it, I finally asked for help. The guy took me to the cosmetics department, gave me a small blue bottle of coconut oil and swore to God that it worked as well for cooking as for hair! I was not THAT convinced but I had no choice ... It did work.