Days when India drives me crazy

There are days where India just drives me mad. Three days this week, little boys have thrown water balloons at me (balloons that twice found their target). They’re celebrating Holi, a festival where people throw colored powders and urine and dirt at each other, early. I shudder to think that the whole next week I’ll be a target until Holi passes.

But even when it’s not crazy festival time, India can be frustrating. Take just now. I walked to the nearby market to look for a restaurant that had left a takeout menu at my door. Bhutan Kitchen’s address: 85, Humayan Pur. Now, you’d think that the 80s will come between the 70s and 90s, but not in Humayan Pur, apparently. Goes right from 77 to 95.

Eventually, I found the 80-block. Now, you’d think that 85 would be between 83 and 86, but not in Humayan Pur, apparently. I called the restaurant.

“Are you guys a sit-down place? Do you have a restaurant, or are you only delivery?”

“Yes, we have a restaurant. We are behind 610-A, by the chicken place.”

There was not a chicken place in sight. I asked some men in a store if they knew where the chicken place was. No. And what the hell does 610-A mean?

I gave up, and ate Chinese instead.