Dispatches
DISPATCHES illustrations by nicola mcneil
INDIA zero centimetres
Even as the bus lurches over hills and sweat seals my thighs to theirs, it’s a treat to be this close to women.
Some mornings, Lee wakes me up by laying his entire body on mine, matching my sprawl perfectly, like a cut-out. His cheek is on my forehead. “Wake up, cucumber,” he laughs. We take 20 minutes to make breakfast and eat it on the couch, legs tangled, before the day startles awake.
one centimetre
The Indira Gandhi airport in Delhi is a necessary jumping point to get further south. The Goan beaches and Kerelan backwaters beckon, though really all I want is a slice of pizza. Pizza Hut, sadly, will do the trick, but not the men in line with me who stand so close their arms brush against mine. When the cashier hands me my pizza, I realize it isn’t the only relic of home I’m craving.
zero centimetres
When the bored-looking girl at the ticket counter gets fed up and slides the window closed, the line at the Mudumalai Tiger Reserve in Ooty, India becomes the New York Stock Exchange trading floor. People surge forward, their bellies to my back, money clenched in their fists. They demand to see the animals! I extricate myself just in time to watch, across the sloping hills, a wild boar disappear into the woods.
11,130 kilometres
Boarding the plane to leave India, I can’t say I’m sad. I’ve planned what I’ll tell curious friends and coworkers: “The place was certainly a challenge.” I’ll laugh in a way that says, “But that’s travel!” I’ll tell them about the lack of personal space, a nicely packaged anecdote. And then I’ll re-adjust to the much wider measurements in Vancouver—the way people apologize when they pierce your space, the fact that I’ve never spoken to the other people who live in my apartment building, the echoes of the city at night.—veronica ciastko
0ne centimetre
There are only men in Panaji. Every waiter, tuk-tuk driver, mango-cart guard, and silk sari merchant. When I just barely catch the bus from Vagator, there are two women at the back who part wordlessly to let me sit in between them.
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