my Indian birthday

'Like water to a thirsty soul is news from a far country...' (Proverbs 25:25, if I've remembered it right). That Solomon knew what he was on about, shame about all those wives. I love hearing about pieces of home, and now have an inkling of what the waifs girl means when she says 'I miss you like a left arm that's been lost in a war...' - you keep subconsciously expecting people to be there, to 'use' them (in a good way) like you normally would, but instead there's just this absence. Not in a tragic lonely way or anything, but an absence all the same.

I now feel like everyone should have a birthday in India at least once in their life...dagnamit, it was so cool. Photos are having problems so you'll just have to imagine.

After a day of shaking hundreds of tiny hands and giving out as many lollies, the 15-20 girls in my cottage threw me the best surprise party I've ever been to. They moved the bunks in their room, and had many countless tiny bouquets to decrate the walls and doors. They all got dressed up, and then proceeded to dress me up in a saree (sari?), beautiful marone silk with gold brocade. I cannot believe how much material they use, metres and metres of the stuff was skillfully wrapped and twisted and folded around me, until I could hardly sit down. They pinned my hair with fresh jasmine, and let me to a chair of honour they had decorated with their shawls, presented my cake ('Happy Birthday Felici'...an earlier cake got 'Pheli'), and sang for me. Then came the fun part - while I now vaguely recall that it IS an Indian custom, all of a sudden what felt like hundreds of hands were stuffing cake in my mouth, force feeding me, while someone was madly taking photos. Girls, hands, yelling, cake, photo flashes...I had already completely lost it, when the other 'custom' I discovered restrospectively began - people smearing icing on my face, while the photos kept on coming...

Pretty cool. No better way to start being 22 in my opinion.