An Open Letter

Last night while once again experiencing the utter joy of the very uneven Indian roads on an overnight bus to Bangalore, I spent all the hours that one should spend sleeping watching people's heads bouncing against their seats and beginning to compose two open letters: one to India, the other to Greyhound. First, to India:

Dear India,

Sometimes you are very beautiful and your inhabitants are extremely wise and helpful. Sometimes I climb mountains and there are monkeys watching me ( are your monkeys for or against me? I am not sure.) Sometimes, India, you smell like the Como Zoo. I love your varied and beautiful oceans, and your weird moon hills and ancient temples. However, India, your transportation sometimes keeps me awake at night (that, and the packs of feral dogs fighting, but you can't help nature, can you?) Three cheers for your two and three tier sleeper trains - those trains are the only way to go. But India, how do you withstand the driving you demand? Sometimes riding your buses makes me fear for the lives of all Indians. But I know you are watching out for me. India.

Masala! Jecca Namakkal

and an overdue ode to the Greyhound:

Dear Greyhound:

Although you many be the number one travel choice for all those Americans who haven't figured out how to rent a car or buy a plane ticket, I will never doubt your smooth road sailing again, even when the meth addict next to me wants to talk about Nietzsche. Let's be friends for life.

Regards, JNamakkal