Indi flips - 1st draft

I remember the first time I took public transportation in Japan. I was amazed by the beauty and pure stylishness of people’s shoes: curvaceous pumps, lacey flats and presumptuous boots bejeweled the floors cleaned to the point of sterilization. Then came China and the shoes became more down to earth, as if drawn to the center of civilization. Bows would still show their playful faces over summery sandals, but only on occasion, and sneakers were no longer an exclusive tourist trait. In Vietnam, I couldn’t think about shoes, where, as predicted by everybody, there was only a blur of scooters; shoes in particular, and feet in general, seemed quite irrelevant. And then came Burma: Flip Flop Land; hike a mountain, climb a pick up or break stone, all is done in flip flops. As this progressive strip down of footwear continued it seemed only natural that India would show its face bare, with some sandals and flip flops cruising the land for the sake of diversity and that new IT community carving itself a place, but markedly barefoot, as if the hotness of a road’s tar didn’t mean anything to trained soles. What’s a new bridge to feet that have traversed India, and continue to do so every four months, going from coast to coast looking for fish?
I’ve always been for intercultural experiences but walking barefoot was too much for me, so flip flops it was. The dirt, the road irregularities and even the feces would all be braved. I’m not a flip flop person, I prefer the secure comfort of sneakers, yet sometimes you have no choice but to step in, and after a holiday with an economically priviledged Indian family I decided to reach out and feel something real. I had dressed like an Indian, hoping that my radioactive pink salwar would dilute into the palette of unreserved color that is an Indian street, populated more by sariis and salwars floating in the air than people. I also had the hairstyle, the bangles and a slight tan picked up as collateral damage of intensive shopping.
I knew the rising middle class in India from which my Indian family was a clear member was as real as the nearest beggar; they also breathed, worked for money and didn’t use toilet paper when going to the bathroom. I told myself hundreds of times that I shouldn’t feel intimidated by discourses of "the real India" that make of it the center of famine, expressed in all the possible kinds of hunger. My experience living the economically successful India is as valid and Indian as everyone else’s, I repeated in my mind as a newly acquired mantra. Yet, I still felt something was off and I needed to deal with India in other way, at least for a moment.
Thus, now without the protective embrace of a local, I headed for the nearest market, a haven of pirated DVDs and an ode to India’s copyright law, also known as the right to copy. On my way, two students from the ship joined me and for the first time I experienced that which had dominated half of the ship’s populations experience in India: walking blocks and blocks with a parade of sellers and beggars as your personal accompanying band. I had drums for percussion and bead necklaces for spicing up the beat of the main rhythmic melody asking for money, either dollars or rupees. Finally, the market appeared and I lost myself in slim DVDs kiosk protected from the street by the mass of commuters that waited for the green bus. By the time I was ready to go I had lost my previous companions. I thought of looking for them, but there was my chance to brave India by myself. A chance that I had given to every country but this one, because its oh so problematic and complicated. Could I walk six blocks with people screaming at me for money without having a shining moment à la Jack Nicholson? Would that bring that ominous revelation when I would discover the extent of my love or hate for India? I stepped out and drum boy appeared, as ordered and practiced in this kind of situation, I ignored him and to my surprise in a couple of seconds he disappeared. I thought he didn’t want to drift far away from the markets because that was where tourists would be. But then it dawned on me I had walked two more blocks already and nobody had approached me. It was the same trail and I even recognized some of the kids who had asked us for money previously, but now that I was by myself they didn’t pay any attention to me. With my features that have previously been placed in countries as far away as Venezuela or Lebanon, I seemed to pass as Indian with my custom made outfit. The salwar, the shawl, the flowy hair and confident yet laidback walk, everything fitted, as long as I didn’t speak.
However, I knew the secret lied at my feet; there my non "Indianess" was apparent. Yes, I was wearing flip flops like everybody else, but unlike anybody else they were crowned in white by my pedicured nails, French style, merci beaucoup. If uncovered, my soles would show their light smooth privileged lives as guests of Champions, Pumas and Nine West. Now, for the first time ever, they had have to deal face first with dire need, maybe they could go unnoticed, unrecognized as the poser tourist they were under the protective flow of my salwar and shawl, but poverty and dirt were still there, and the extravagant white of my flip flops shuddered in recognition of their last moments. As white flip flops they had made the trip all the way from a spa in Vietnam. They knew about bargaining and currencies that submit their wills to the dollar, but they have never experienced such streets and spaces, even today, after various washes they still have the imprint of India, as if letting them now that they could step over her all they wanted, but still she would end up possessing them. Some things, like desire and bare need, can’t really be erased.

IT - Information technology, the source of india's recent economic boom
salwar - originally a muslim dress which consists of a long flowy blouse with baggy pants. In india it was adopted by most women no matter what religion they believe in. By the way, it has nothing to do with burkas of our conception of repressive muslim dresses. The salwar, as it is worn in India, is conservative in its covering of the body, but its light material and colorfulness give it an airy sensuality carachteristic of Indian apreciation of the body and its movements.