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Thumbs
-
Up
is
an
Indian
soft
drink
,
sort
of
like
Coca
-
Cola
,
but
with
about
nine
times
the
corn
syrup
and
triple
that
of
caffeine
.
I
think
it
might
have
methamphetamines
in
it
,
too
.
It
makes
me
see
double
.
A
few
times
a
week
,
Richard
and
I
wander
into
town
and
share
one
small
bottle
of
Thumbs
-
Up
-
a
radical
experience
after
the
purity
of
vegetarian
Ashram
food
-
always
being
careful
not
to
actually
touch
the
bottle
with
our
lips
.
Richard
’
s
rule
about
traveling
in
India
is
a
sound
one
:
"
Don
’
t
touch
anything
but
yourself
.
"
(
And
,
yes
,
that
was
also
a
tentative
title
for
this
book
.
)
We
have
our
favorite
visits
in
town
,
always
stopping
to
pay
respects
to
the
temple
,
and
to
say
hello
to
Mr
.
Panicar
,
the
tailor
,
who
shakes
our
hands
and
says
,
"
Congratulations
to
meet
you
!
"
every
time
.
We
watch
the
cows
mill
about
enjoying
their
sacred
status
(
I
think
they
actually
abuse
the
privilege
,
lying
right
in
the
middle
of
the
road
just
to
drive
home
the
point
that
they
are
holy
)
,
and
we
watch
the
dogs
scratch
themselves
like
they
’
re
wondering
how
the
heck
they
ever
ended
up
here
.
We
watch
the
women
doing
road
work
,
busting
up
rocks
under
the
sweltering
sun
,
swinging
sledgehammers
,
barefoot
,
looking
so
strangely
beautiful
in
their
jewel
-
colored
saris
and
their
necklaces
and
bracelets
.
They
give
us
dazzling
smiles
which
I
can
’
t
begin
to
understand
-
how
can
they
be
happy
doing
this
rough
work
under
such
terrible
conditions
?
Why
don
’
t
they
all
faint
and
die
after
fifteen
minutes
in
the
boiling
heat
with
those
sledgehammers
?
I
ask
Mr
.
Panicar
the
tailor
about
it
and
he
says
it
’
s
like
this
with
the
villagers
,
that
people
in
this
part
of
the
world
were
born
to
this
kind
of
hard
labor
and
work
is
all
they
are
used
to
.
"
Also
,
"
he
adds
casually
,
"
we
don
’
t
live
very
long
around
here
.
"
It
is
a
poor
village
,
of
course
,
but
not
desperate
by
the
standards
of
India
;
the
presence
(
and
charity
)
of
the
Ashram
and
some
Western
currency
floating
around
makes
a
significant
difference
.
Not
that
there
’
s
so
much
to
buy
here
,
though
Richard
and
I
like
to
look
around
in
all
the
shops
that
sell
the
beads
and
the
little
statues
.
There
are
some
Kashmiri
guys
-
very
shrewd
salesmen
,
indeed
-
who
are
always
trying
to
unload
their
wares
on
us
.
One
of
them
really
came
after
me
today
,
asking
if
madam
would
perhaps
like
to
buy
a
fine
Kashmiri
rug
for
her
home
?
This
made
Richard
laugh
He
enjoys
,
among
other
sports
,
making
fun
of
me
for
being
homeless
.
"
Save
your
breath
,
brother
,
"
he
said
to
the
rug
salesman
.
"
This
old
girl
ain
’
t
got
any
floors
to
put
a
rug
on
.
"
Undaunted
,
the
Kashmiri
salesman
suggested
,
"
Then
perhaps
madam
would
like
to
hang
a
rug
on
her
wall
?
"
"
See
,
now
,
"
said
Richard
,
"
that
’
s
the
thing
-
she
’
s
a
little
short
on
walls
these
days
,
too
.
"
