Diu, my sneaky rabbit, Khane, Yasmin Lalani...
My last entry ended abruptly with promises to talk about many things next time, including politics and economics--a tall order, lets see how far i get.

Diu turned out to be a really beautiful, peaceful place. I rented a moped for 5 bucks, and so was able to do away with the extortionist autorickshaw drivers (daring to charge me one dollar for a ride across the island, the nerve!), and managed to carve my own path. After my bum-numbing hour-long ride on the back of a motorcyle to get to Veraval, from where I had caught the bus to Diu, I was wanting to cut loose on my own, huge, Indian Rajdoot motorcycle. But seeing as I don't know how to ride a manual shift motorcyle, and that a Rajdoot weighs about 4 Azizs, i figured i would stick to the nimble and quick Honda moped. While a Rajdoot would be an untamed stallion on the road, the Honda moped would be a sneaky little rabbit--the key word being SNEAKY, my friends, very very SNEAKY. One of the really fun things about Diu was riding around on my sneaky rabbit, and we had great adventures. I spent the weekend exploring the different beaches; Nagoa beach, where Indian teenagers who had just finished their exams pretended to be Jackie Chan in the water (slow-motion Kung fu), and Goptimata beach, where I was all alone on a huge, deserted stretch. These beaches, Nagoa in particular, would have been swarming with American hippies a month ago, but are now pretty quiet.

I had a pleasant last evening in Diu, where I biked along a winding, sea-side road and arrived at a little Hindu temples at the end of a quiet street. I bought some mature coconut, my favourite kind, put it in my bag, and biked out to a cliff face (off-roading with my rabbit, like i said, very sneaky) where i watched the sun set and munched away, happily, on my coconut. Then I made my way over to 'sunset point' to watch the light fade, and made friends, i think, with the watchman, who sleeps in a little rock hut there. He mumbled at me for a while, and was upset that i was reading a book called 'India: a wounded civilization' ("India no wounded! Why?! India no wounded! Who says wounded!?). He thought the photo of VS Naipaul on the inside cover was Salman Rushdie, and I didnt want to argue with this guy whom i now realised was an insane hermit. Watchman, sure buddy, i have to go now....

That evening I was taken to Jamat Khana (Ismaili mosque for my dorio friends) by a young Ismaili boy wearing a see-through shirt. His friends kept telling him he looked 'very sexy' in his see-through shirt, and I had to laugh. Khane in Diu was interesting. I was stared at throughout ceremonies by the row of little boys in front of me, who paid no attention to anything going on, but were keenly interested in me. And at the end of ceremonies, I was almost run over by the mad dash of people trying to do their dua. Why the rush? I don't know. Prayer is a daily duty in India, i suppose, not a once-a-week fashion show as it is in Canada, although my companion wouldnt have been out of place at Bayview Khane circa 1992. Hence the rush to pray and leave. Dua, by the way, was said at record speed, the words blending into each other like a kid reciting the alphabet (el-em-en-oh-pee, one word).

By the time I left the hotel the next day, I knew a good number of the staff's name, and had become good friends with some of them, especially Husain, chief of staff. One final story about the people at Hotel Apna:

I discovered that the entire staff of the hotel knows Yasmin Lalani, a girl known to my relatives, and who I have heard was in India recently. The staff described her fondly, with accompanying lewd gestures. One young Farooq (13 years old) asked me to send his regards to Yasmin (will i ever meet this Yasmin, will she live up to the legend?), in a very formal manner, repeatedly. I think he thought I was corresponding with our Yasmin every night, because he would constantly remind me to pass on his regards, and he was very specific that I should pass on ONLY HIS REGARDS, and nothing of the sort that I may have been suggesting with my winks and nudges. The staff, all of whom are my age, had fun giving Farooq a hard time.

I took an overnight bus from Diu back to Ahmedabad, sharing my tiny cot with a soldier returning to shoot some Pakis in Jammu and Kashmir. He wasnt carrying anything with him. He slept absolutely still, like a mummy. The bus ride was unpleasant.

I am now very hungry, and would love to write more, but need to eat food and collect my energy so that I can bombard you with my brilliant revelations (re: Indian politics and economics) tomorrow as promised.
- posted by aziz @ 11:13 a.m.