Let me quickly tell you about a shaving incident I witnessed many many years ago in a sleepy, dusty little town called Pushkar in the state of Rajasthan, India. My boyfriend at the time, Christopher, and I were wandering the street (there was only one street to wander) and were summoned by a blind man and his son to step inside their barber shop for a quick (vetty vetty cheap cheap) shave. It was incredibly toasty on the street and their modest, carved-out hole of a place had a fan spinning air to cool sweaty white bodies like ours. We had awfully sweaty bodies in those days, still white. Christopher lumbered into the chair. The son handed the father a straight edge razor blade and, using only his voice (a soft whisper of Hindu) guided the father's hand across the contours of Christopher's face.
The very first email I ever sent
September 17, 1998
Dear Family,
We are in the dirtiest city I have ever seen in my life - Bombay. However, it is incredible. Um, the plane ride was long, but we got a lot of free food and a pair of slippers to keep our toes warm. Everything is extremely cheap here. The air smells of fish, poop, cows, incense and curry. It's zesty. We are having a great time so far. Tomorrow we are going to take the train to Rajasthan. It should be less chaotic there. Other than that we're fine and healthy and sleeping well. Please inform everybody of our safe arrival, and please e-mail me at this email address.
We will be in Jaipur in a few days.
I love you,
FF
