I like profiling people. Especially standing in the long line to check-in at the airport, there is nothing else to do. The terminal is dark and stuffed. There are people, people-fences, benches, luggage, x-ray scanners everywhere. The only interesting thing is to discover the gems of hot people in the masses. The counter for Air India was particularly crowded.

Most Indians had dark skin and $50 suits. Most Angelinos had $300 t-shirts and hot, sexy makeup. You could tell for the average India, wearing a suit propelled him to be an executive. And, they had no sense about how horrible the draping and fabric of their suit was. Au contraire, an Angelina would wear knee high boots that were shaped to dress around her calves smoothly. The material almost seemed wet, so fine was the surface. And then, she'd wear a mini skirt and a thick sweater. The sweater would be puffy with a lot of fluffed cotton. It had little penguin and snow flake designer logos.

What the little spy in me was really curious about was to find members of my group. I was on my way to India for a yoga vacation. Yoga people tended to have a certain kind of slenderness about them. The practice makes people slender, not just in a skinny way, but in a way that all muscles seem elongated. Their eyes tend to be clearer from the meditation practice and emotional releases. They tend to prefer warm, happy earthy colors. Then, there are certain brands like Lululemon and Prana that have certain cuts.

For example that tall blond over there: Her hair was about boob long. It wasn't as shiny and smooth as the typical Angelina. She probably used natural shampoo. She was wearing workout clothes. The pants hugged her thighs firmly. Her butt was probably beautifully shaped into two round mounds. I could not see it from the front. She had a kind of nervousness about her that suggested that she was unfamiliar in dealing with luggage and checking in. Yoga people can be space cadets.

She bent forward. Her purse fell of her shoulder. She opened a luggage pocket. She closed it. She searched for papers in her purse. She talked to an airline person. She seemed like a total mess. Then she walked away. I looked for her. I waited a minute. She did not come back. Her large suit case, bit carry on stood abandoned. They were both a bit scuffed.

The post 9-11 worry started rising in me like a boiling kettle. I looked around. There were throngs of people in lines going everywhere. An airline person tried to re-route one line. It was like tucking a snake body to make it create new geometric patterns. The mumbled public announcement system warned a second time about abandoned items.

I had to do something. I did not want to get blown to pieces in a crowded airport terminal. There was a police offer standing with his legs wide in commando style. At his legs, there was a German Sheppard patiently sitting on his butt. However the head of the German Sheppard was keenly aware. It kept sniffing and tilting around like a super smart dog. I waved at them. The police officer strutted at me with big military steps.

"Those bags have been abandoned."

The police officer tilted is head to the side. He spoke into the black intercom that was velcroed on his shoulder. Short words burst into the intercom. There was a moment of silence. The officer seized me up. I heard the clear hard beat of combat boots playing a rhythm on the airport tile. Within sixty seconds, a squadron of four National Guard soldiers stormed onto the scene in formation. They were wearing bright desert combat boots, camouflage. The Kevlar and utility pockets made them look big and bulky. They held assault rifles at the ready. They started pushing people back to create a secure perimeter. Really, I was completely dazed at what my thoughts and short moment of speaking out my thoughts had caused.

The yoga woman came running. Apparently, she was simply at the end of the line. I could not see through the people behind me. She had simply left her bags at the front of the line to avoid shuffling them every little step along the line. Fuck, I felt like such a tool. My stomach felt like a void.

"Are those your belongings," barked the police officer. His head was really large.

The yoga woman fell on her knees and hugged her luggage. Her face was red and white patterned. She cried a tear. "Those are mine."

"Ma'am, stay with your luggage at all times from now on."

The National Guard leader made a circle in the air with his index finger and pointed to somewhere. The squadron pivoted on their heels. They trotted off into the mass of people. Their boots played out the rhythm.

"Sir, you did a good job notifying us about the abandoned luggage."

The police officer walked off with his dog tightly at the side.

"I am so sorry. I just didn't realize that you were right behind all those people."

She just glared at me to give me a little taste of the boiling hot anger she inwardly directed at me. She pulled her wheeled luggage to the end of the line. The suit case seemed so heavy that her whole body had to lean hard to pull it. I just didn't know what to do. My face was flush red. Everyone around me knew what I had done. The police officers praise was nice. But, every civilian knew that I was a giant asshole.

So, I shuffled on in the line. I handed over my passport and ticket at the counter. I persevered standing upright through the hour long line for the security check. No matter, how bad I felt, my eyes could not help themselves and scan for sexy women feet or anything intimate that the x-ray inspections or pat downs would reveal.

Finally, the terminal was a respite after all the compression. Giant floor to ceiling windows gave a view of the wide open tarmac. The waiting planes always roused excitement about travel and distant places. There were pretty shops. People smiled again. I double checked the boarding time and gate.

The yoga woman was sitting at the gate already. She had a magazine folded in one hand and a pen in the other. I took all my courage together and walked up to her. She had a lovely, oblong face. Her lips were painted warm red. Her shoulders were bulky for a woman. She probably had strong muscles. I took a deep inhale.

"Look, I am terrible sorry about the trouble that I caused you."

"Look, I am not a rude person," she inhaled, paused, and started hissing, "but, fuck off and die already."

"Okay, I probably should leave. However, I have a hunch that we are both on the way to the same yoga vacation. If that is true, I would really want to repair the damage. Because we'd both want to relax and things not be weird."

"Oh, Jesus, I try to get away from all the LA yoga douchebags. And, the biggest of all follows me to India."

"Tell me what to do to make it up. Anything!"

"Let me breathe for a moment. I really believe in my principles. Honest repentance should be accepted. If you are on the yoga tour, you will hand carry my luggage everywhere. You will be my little errand boy. For starters, finish this cross word puzzle for me. It's frustrating me. And, do it over there. I don't want to be near you right now."

I took the folded magazine off her hand. "Oh, cerebellum – that's the part of the brain that knows the difference between what is part of your body and part of the outside."

"I'm going to say this nicely."

"Okay, I'll be over there."


India, India, I love you! I was in the New Delhi terminal. Oh, every woman had such beautiful golden jewelry and colorful clothes. I could not get enough of Henna paintings on hands. The hands would swoosh past me in rhythm with people's steps. I'd glimpse an ornate hand region for something in a vendor cart. Hmm, I could already smell the rich spices of the food in the air. The tall hall with the historic, cathedral like windows were amazing.

Oh, and I had no luggage to pull. That tool of an idiot was pulling two big suitcases through the thick mob of people. That treats him right for being such a tool. He had a nice firm ass though.

Look at those rings! A tiny, cute stand had dozens of little itsy boxes with a ring in it. The rings had these beautiful exotic shapes of Indian letters and chakra symbols. The lady behind the cart was such an artist. She had taken skinny bronze sticks and bent them into shapes. It was kind of like playing around with a paper clip to make shapes. There was a Ganesh elephant. It fit on my fingers. I paid 300 rupees. Their money is so colorful. I kind of want a dress made out of their money. So silly, I know.

At the curb, a yellow bus picked us up. It had a sign for us, as if we were Hollywood stars. The bus was round like manatee. We passed an elephant in the crowded road. Imagine, somebody was picked up by an elephant! This is India!

A warm, happy person hugged me from the side on the bus. I just melted into her warm embrace. I could feel her big, round, soft boobs against my side. My cheek was resting against hers. Her hair tickled my face a bit. I pointed out the house with the golden roof and the millions of carvings on the side. She excitedly rubbed my belly with the arm around me.

"Oh, it's so wonderful to have met you, Coco," said I.

"We'll have such a good time, Sam. The life force is so strong in this country. This is the land of the saints. You never know, when somebody touches you in the street, if it is a saint blessing you. Miracles happen here every day!"

"Oh, shoot, I forgot to buy tampons."

"Don't worry, I have extra. I am always so organized. That comes with the territory of being an office manager."

"Oh, that is so cool. I work for a non-profit that feeds kids in Africa."

"You are such a kindred soul."

"I've got these yoga rings. They make the practice more powerful. I want to give you one."

The hotel was sumptuous. It had this colonial era charm. The chairs had cute embellishments carved into the wood. There was gold plated bellhop bell on the check-in counter. The porters and my tool handled everything. Within minutes, I was in the state room of the hotel. The walls were festively carved. The men of our group had pushed the tables and chairs to the side. We were the hippies. We sat on colorful yoga mats in lotus pose.

The teacher wore a tight spandex pant and t-shirt with shoulder straps. He announced: "Yatris welcome to this special journey into the depth of India's mystic land. We will travel into the foothills of the Himalayas. We will stop in Rikishesh on the way. Our final destination isUttarkashi. There are so many ashrams and holy people that you can touch the heavy energy in the air. Only a day inhaling that exalted air counteracts all the poison of the Los Angeles air of a whole year."

"You all have been traveling in cramped seats in an over pressurized tube shooting through the sky. It's time to decompress. Let's all close our eyes and take a deep inhale."

His voice was so gentle. I felt innocent like a baby. Upward dog made my heart open. I could feel my love energy spreading into the room. Exhale and into downward dog. My butt bone cracked. Oh, it was a release. All the tension from travel fell off me. Love was all around the room. Bliss and sweat was our life.

The teacher returned from a bathroom break. Coco turned her head to me. She was in plank pose. She whispered, "oh my god, look at his crotch." There was a dark circle. His penis outline was evident in the tight spandex. The dark circle was right at the tip of his penis. He hadn't wiped in the bathroom. I rolled my eyes.

One moment, we were chanting. The next moment, a soft wind lifted up the front of the teacher's yoga mat. We held our breathes. The mat lifted higher and higher. We were breathless. The yoga mat hit the teacher in the face. Sure, the windows were wide open. However, nobody could feel a strong enough draft. And, then everyone's mat started lifting. I held my breath. The front of my mat lifted magically by an invisible hand.

"The spirits are welcoming us! Let's dance with them!" called out the teacher.

Everyone swirled, jumped, waved. I stretched out my arms. I was an eagle soaring around everyone else. Smiles everywhere. Coco grabbed me by the shoulders. Her candy pink lips kissed me. It was a full, wet smack on the lips. She jumped on to kiss the next person. My heart was singing. I hugged the person next to me. I was so full of love that my heart had to pour out into another heart.

After practice, we socialized in the hotel lobby. We were sweaty and our bodies relaxed. The yoga had been deeply cathartic. The regular hotel guests had stiff shoulders. Their faces looked worried. I felt so bad for them. They were in doom. We were in bliss.


The bus ride was rough. The shocks were shot. Every pothole hit me like a baseball bat hits my lower back. There were plenty holes. The air conditioning was a single duct next to the driver. It barely did anything for the front row. Here in the back row, we were stuck in sweltering hit. Opening the window was like choosing between the lesser of two evils. The dust from the road had already covered us in a thin layer. Fuck, the seat under my butt felt like a weak bubble upheld by the last spring standing.

Next to me was a foofoo. He wore a skull cap in fucking India. The fabric was so smooth and silky like a man should not be wearing it. I don't know how he did it. His face looked smooth and tended to like a fragile French garden. I shave in the morning, too. Mine doesn't look like that. He held his chin a little higher, as if he were a king in this dingy little bus.

"So, Steven," I asked him, " what are you doing for a living?"

"I'm a fashion designer. Oprah just bought us out. I got a great payout. So, I'm just going to travel around for a few months."

"Wow, that must be nice. I'm a scrap metal trader."

Steven gave me this oh-look and remained silent.

"We have some hot girl in the group. I can't believe, we'll be staring at yoga pant butts all week!"

"Oh, yeah, that girl with you is so tall, like an Amazon. Her hugs are like being hugged by the entire world. I love it!"

"She's not with me. We had some problems at the airport that connected us."

"You gotta tap that, Harold-boy."

The rickety bus stopped in front of a white washed single story building in Rishikesh. The veranda was full of turban wearing guys. Everyone flooded out of the confines of the bus. We stretched and made nice faces at the ashram members. The women of the ashram were inside the single large room of the building. They had been busy cooking.

There were big piles of yellow, brown, and green stews. The food was meant to be eaten family style. There was a tall stack of chapatti bread. Simple wooden stools were available. Decade old posters of Hindu deities covered the walls. Our teacher encouraged us to eat, "This food has so much love in it, you won't believe it."

I had to split from the party. There was a little outhouse attached to the building. I had to go all the way around the house and walk on a little dirt path. The outhouse was made of exposed concrete. There was a single hole in the center of the little room. Based on the horrible smell, there was a pit under the hole. Strangely, there was a bucket of water in the room. It was a little colorful kiddie toy bucket. There was water inside. I had no clue what it was for. Oh, and there was no toilet paper.

I carefully peed into the hole, desperately trying not to miss. I realized that everyone had to share this hole. And, if nobody cared, it would quickly become a cesspool. I just kind of wiped my hands on my pants. I gingerly touched the door luck, knowing that everyone taking a shit would touch it as well.

Back in the house, everybody was already eating with a big grin of happiness. The food smelled really good. A friendly ashram woman pushed a plate in my right hand. I eagerly grabbed a chapatti from the tall stock and put it on my plate. There was something strange about how the ashram woman took the pile of chapatti away from the table right after I took one. She dumped the whole thing into the trash and started making new chapattis. Three ashram men standing around me glared at me with hate. I was so taken aback that I went to the other side of the room.

I sat down with and elder ashram guy. He had a full beard. It was salt and pepper colored. His turbine was tied in a fashion, where it looked very asymmetrical.

"You have a very beautiful ashram."


"The food is so delicious. You must be very happy."


"So, how do you like it here?"


I had the distinct feeling that he did not like me. His pronunciation was very clear. It didn't seem a language thing. All the other ashram people were in deep conversation. I was really glad to get out of there, when our bus pulled on.

Back in the back of the bus with Steven, I asked him: "Those ashram people gave me a weird vibe."

Steven smirked back at me, "you don't say." It was like he could barely stifle his laughter.

"Maybe you know, that bathroom had a strange kiddie bucket of water. What is that for? Is that to flush?"

"You don't know nothing about primitive toilets, do you? It's to wash your hands after you wiped your ass with your hands. They don't have toilet paper."

"And, they all share the same bucket?"

"Yep, pretty disgusting, isn't it. That's why they use their left hand. And, that's why they never touch food with their left hand."


"Yeah, oh! You kept using your left hand to put food on your plate. That sweet ashram woman said nothing, nothing at all. She quietly threw out all the spoiled food and started cooking again. The ashram men were ready to cut your throat. That's why our teacher left early, before our yoga session."

"Oh, shit."

I felt horrible. My lower back that had been beating by every pothole was stinging sharply.


I loved the wonderful journey. It was like watching the most beautiful National Geographic documentary, only it was real. We drove to the outskirts of Uttarkashi. Beautiful, giant trees passed us up the little hill to our ashram house. One of the big round tents behind the house was for us girls. We got to roll out these Indian mattresses. Our mattresses made a star. Our feet would have a little feet party in the center of the tent. Oh, this had sleepover party so written all over it. All the other girls were getting ready for yoga class.

Just like sisters, we were sharing the same room. We took off our clothes. Coco was wearing these soft cotton panties. They were ringed light pink and white. The rings made her butt look like a bumble bee. She saw my glance, "You like those, hein!" I smiled. I was so glad that I went shopping at onGossamer before the trip. I was wearing a layered luxe lace thong in saphier blue with black. "Sexy, baby," smiled Coco.

After a change, the room looked like a battlefield. It was clear who the organized girls and the messy girls were. Some had everything neatly packed back into their suitcase. The others had left nests of underwear and clothes on and round their mattress. A box of tampons had already spilled out. Makeup boxes showed a preference for Bare Minerals among the girls. Maybe, I should put on a little makeup. These girls weren't all hippie. They were sexy yoga goddesses.

It was the morning yoga session before breakfast. The teacher had told us to get into locust post. That's belly on the floor, arms at the side. Then, raise the arms, legs, and head of the ground. Hold them there. Only the belly presses against the ground. My back muscles were tense. My body quickly started shaking. Oh, lord!

"My yatris, the ancient yogis and yoginis used locust pose to warm up. We will hold this for twenty minutes. You will be utterly hot at that time. Fight through the pain. Fight for your destiny. Let your spirit rule your body. Don't let your body rule your spirit!"

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bycowboy109© 3 comments/ 20087 views/ 5 favorites

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