Notes From The "Satluj View" Bar

So here I am sitting with a brand-new notebook in the Satluj View bar. It's called that because it's on a cliff above the Satluj river. I came in here for dinner, found that the restaurant portion had been requisitioned for the night by the Ministry of Energy, and I don't know why but I decided to go to the bar side and have a beer. They have a decent selection of rums and whiskeys, but I asked for a beer. The bartender, in a tone I now know was an apology, said "We only have Godfather beer, sir." So be it.

OK, I now start drinking the Godfather beer and it tastes awful. It has this guy who kind of looks like a young Karl Marx on the bottle and he seems to be having a good time. The bottle, which is large, also proclaims that it is "Super Strong" beer. We'll see about that. It might actually get me drunk. My tolerance for alcohol is at an all-time low. I rarely drink in India, mostly because the bars are vile, the booze tastes like crap.

Actually, now that I think about it, I puke considerably more often than I drink here. Questionable food and drinking water is probably to blame, but to me this reeks of SOCIALISM. In godly, American countries we firmly believe in a man's right to puke at most an equal number of times to drinking. LET FREEDOM RING.

Stray thought (I think there's going to be a lot of these): if I had to describe my "inner" "personal" journey on this trip using only well-known literary references, my life would be a mixture of Heart of Darkness, the Bhagavad Gita, and Where's Waldo?

Speaking of Where's Waldo?, you could produce a whole new Where's Waldo? anthology in any Indian city using only a bag of colored pencils, a dirigible, and about a quarter-dose of psychedelic mushrooms.

You know, I don't know if anyone has every said this before, but religion can, like, make people do really good things, but it can also make them do, like, really bad things. BARTENDER. ANOTHER GODFATHER.

It's impossible to get a good burrito around here.

I am drunk.

Catching the 6am bus is going to be a bitch.

Think about this: you can get to the end of a river really quickly if you just think of the "end" as the bottom.

You know what really sucks? Honor killings.

Jesus fuck, this beer tastes like detergent. From the makers of Tide, this shit. Come home drunk and puke in the hamper for savings on laundry. Compromises for a happy marriage. Wife send me back to the bar for a whiskey, clean the fucking dishes.

What's the rhyme Nas uses on that Ludcris song right before "Bartender, put a cosmo in that girl's hand!" ? I need to know.

I wonder if that cavity in my bathroom wall is supposed to be the shower.

Wait, have I even had a proper shower in this entire state?

No.

OK, Satan, here's the deal: if I eat less than eight unhygienic paranthas in the next week, you get my soul. Fair odds.

Google Maps driving time estimates are a perverse joke of diabolical origin.

That girl with the burnt ear on the bus was definitely hitting on me with the winking and the chewing gum.

Definitely hitting on me.

Awwwwwww I should call my girlfr.....ohhhh ho ho ho, no I shouldn't.

If India was a moment in stereotypical "hippie" recorded music it would be like getting really high and listening to Dark Side Of The Moon and forgetting about the part with all the fucking clocks and then jumping out of your sofa in surprise, except it happens every five minutes and whatever's causing the commotion is either completely unnecessary or it can kill you.

India has a plethora of crazy, mystical, super-yoga ascetic saddhus. India also has a space program. These need to be put together. SHIVA IN SPACE. I would so go on that mission.

If Indian bus drivers were football coaches, they would run the quarterback sneak three times in a row and then set the ball on fire on fourth down.

Hell, if Indian bus drivers were cricket players they would still move farther in a a day.

Dude, saddhus in zero-gravity. I'm still on that.

You know, I think I like sky-blue saris the best.




Where the fuck are my keys?