October 17, 2021 | Leave a comment “Finally,” I thought to myself, “back on track with Monthly Moods out on the 11th.” How foolish I was. October 11th would have me living India instead of writing about it.Life creates the content. I just edit. Malana, Himachal Pradesh, India. Monthly Mood: Good Company Comes In All Shapes New content: Falling In Love With India’s Finest Aloo Parantha loneliness is a sign you are in desperate need of yourself —Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey The last month was filled with village pleasures, fall fruits, and a background theme of vicious diarrhea. This proved to be one of the most serious bouts of food poisoning in the last four years. After failing to resolve it with two weeks off all sugar and carbs, and fleeing a government hospital seconds before my nose was impaled for a Covid test (one month of Covid for the possible symptom of diarrhea when the quarantine period is 10 days?!!) I was forced to self-medicate. That brings us to me this week, throwing back another 10 pills of tinidazole. That is to say, me this week is still living her best life. On a rainy September afternoon I warmed up by cuddling a little cub I found at the Amazon delivery depot. The staff had closed the main garage and I found a box with a blob of thick fur heaving up and down in a deep sleep. Seconds later it was trying to leap out. A small massage put him out like a light. The amazon delivery boys returned and I got to unpack a kilo of peanut butter. It lasted four days. My once-in-a-rare-while hike was led by my friends Kiki and GG to the local Rupasana temple. The wooden frame is coated in a lovely mustard. The October drizzle chilled us but by the time we finished our snacks* huddled around a small fire fueled by coconut husks, the sun rays were broiling our backs. *Nothing like sharing your small boiled yam with two others after reheating it in some embers on a hill with a view. That same day I found a mushroom growing out of a mushroom, sideways, two apples grown together at the head, and a two wax matches sharing one head. Last week I took a lil’ four-night retreat in Manikaran. Before I’d only done day trips with a weird mid-day thermal bath before getting back on a bus. It really makes a difference to bathe before 8am. The fresh dawn drives me to instinctively sit and soak in those extra minutes. I endured the steep, sunny, stunning walk to Gargi village where I dined on garden-fresh vegetables before I headed back down. Just before leaving Manikaran the ever-adorable Rattan remembered my name. I realized this when he used it to ask if I smoke, holding out an opened box of ciggies. In this country shops sell smokes one at a time. Relevant read: The World’s Yummiest Masala Chai Day 1343 11 October 2021 Jari → Malana → Jari My sleep and morning are consumed by indecision. Out of power, I chat listlessly with Kiki on the balcony before re-entering my bed. At 18 past 11 I ignored a WhatsApp message due to being fixated on a Netflix Episode. Japanese folks were worming their way into Liberian homes and crashing their meal routines. The scenes and dialogue had my mind fold in on itself and implode. When I do open WhatsApp it’s a motorcycle trip proposal to the infamous Malana. I am left with five minutes to pack a bag and walk to town. I tip the air tires guy 10 rupees before he retreats back into his car to finish napping. The cliffs are grand and feel very near. A sandy turn insists that I leap off and help push the bike uphill in my freshly laundered kurti as a jeep full of testosterone honks behind us. Malana is void. A friend who went days before had told me that almost all the inhabitants were high up in their ensconced marijuana fields, rubbing for the harvest season to produce charas. Handmade, Afghani-style hash is the means of living for Malanans. Over the decades the demand for ‘Malana cream’ has spread like wildfire, transforming the eccentric village into the egotistical brand that it basically is today. With what I gathered from friends who have been coming to India since ’94 and since 2016, I had long before buried all expectations ten feet underground. A man leaps out. “Would you like something?” He leads us to a group of ladies. Rubbing ladies, half with bundles of babes strapped to their shoulders. The man tells us to stay here, don’t step there. The forbidden area is a rusty stairwell of no apparent consequence. Pablo immediately steps where he’s not to. It is evident that he already forgot the rules imposed upon us and. My half-hearted warning isn’t loud enough to reach his ears. It’s only when I see Pablo’s face after he’s shooed back to our permitted space and a ball of plastic-encased hash is chucked at the ground in front of him for him to pick up and check, that I realized. He doesn’t know. I am dying. So are the others. “Don’t you know?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. “We’re all untouchables.” You see, Malana breeds its own strain of character disorder. They are exclusive. They are better than everyone else. Marrying outside the village is against the law, by which I refer to their own judicial system as they don’t consider themselves to be a part of India. They claim to be the world’s oldest democracy, but after viewing Malana—A Lost Identity, I’m not buying it. Council meetings show not a female in sight. Both genders seemed to be oppressed by the rigidity of Malanan tradition. Some allege that Malanans are descendants of Alexander the Great, yet historic dates will tell you they were a tad early for that. Like, missing the mark by 1,000 years. DNA tests have shown clear indications of having common ancestry with other North and South Indians, and statistical insignificance to matching Mediterranean genes (Malana, Himachal Pradesh, Wikipedia). While thousands of Indian villages share the same mountain languages that vary with the districts, the Malana tongue is unique to this village. Any outsider cannot make physical contact with a Malana resident, nor can he/she step too close. Shopkeepers later tell us to not enter their businesses. This man trying to sell his charas confuses me when he throws a friendly punch at a Keralan drug-tourist. Maybe foreigners are just extra-untouchable. After demanding to know our nationalities and rejecting my answer, I told the man I’m Chinese. “CHINA NOT A GOOD MAN.” After some selfies with a beautiful mother of three who spoke fluent Hindi and last gave birth 25 days ago (bundled babe on back alert), we move along. The youthful Keralan trio look bewildered—we weren’t gonna buy any ice or cream? “CHINA NOT A GOOD MAN.” A final holler emits from behind us. “But woman good!” “Yes! Your wife good! Very good!” At the top end of the village a viewpoint a landscape hazed over by piercing October sunshine. Four Malanans are doing business. Born to put on the show. They were adamant about not stepping past some invisible barrier and not nearly so amicable like the others. We take a chai break. Two paper cups of very milky, bland tea arrive on a plastic saucer. On the hike out a pit stop at the nala (stream) has me steaming the roof of my mouth with a samosa. I deem it to be as good as it gets for this state. The plain potato filling and pimpled skin (bubbles) are forgiven. Just before the exit of the valley our bike is stopped. I am searched down to my wallet. The police look at me without hope tell one another to forget it. Back in town I slowly chew through a bowl of spicy mutton thukpa, and am escorted home beneath the stars. I put my hands in a prayer to Jo and her aprendizajes. Como me encanta cuidarme. obsessions: nat king coletim maiaomelettespeanut buttercashewsboiled pumpkin slicesyamsspiced black teacafe con lecheautumnhimachali walnutspomegranatebuckwheatwoody’s health food plain mueslihemp seed oilmy latest playlist Bird of the month: Himalayan griffon Source: Pavel Parkhaev, eBird India. Me below and them above. Soaring giants on my way to Gargi village. Oversized vultures with two thick stripes of black and white on their underwings, their name makes them sound they come from the world of Harry Potter. Current book: The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck Previous Monthly Mood: Stop Explore my full archive of India and Monthly Moods. Learn more about this round-the-world solo trip.