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The photo says it all. Toilet tissue in the foreground. Fading light in the background. You probably can’t see it, but the woman sitting on the mattress – Rebekah, my wife – is despondent, worn out; deflated. This is what a day spent clearing out your bowels will do to you, especially if part of your treatment involves a complete fast on the day of evacuation.
My underwear’s halfway down my butt when I’m told to stop. “Keep on,” says one of the men who are about to massage me. He winds then ties a thin white piece of string around my waist. A longer and thicker section of material falls to the ground over my genitals.
I should’ve been more aware. I should have known better. I should’ve seen the sign, but I didn’t and we paid for it, literally.
It's taken us longer to settle in than we thought and it's crossed our minds a few times we've made a big mistake coming to India. Even though Selva's been treated like a rock star by the locals, we're not sure she's enjoying the attention or the experience of living here.
When I get to the shala the steps are already packed with people waiting for the led class inside to finish. I'm stunned and begin questioning why we're here. This doesn't seem right.
