Are You Experienced?

For Georgie

Zeus who leads mortals on the road to understanding,

Zeus who has ordained that wisdom comes through suffering.

Aeschylus – Agamemnon

It feels much better than it ever did, much more sensitive.

John Wayne Bobbitt

PART ONE Bad planning

She’s acting differently

‘This seat doesn’t go back properly.’

‘Of course it does.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘Look. Let me show you.’ I wrestle with the aeroplane seat. It won’t budge. ‘You’re right. It’s broken.’

She smirks – in a half-hidden way, which is the most hostile way she could do it. She’s hiding it as if to say, ‘You’re a jerk who can’t take the fact that I’m laughing at you.’ A few weeks ago, she would have grabbed me by the ears, laughed in my face and called me an impotent chauvinist twat. Now she shows me just enough of a smirk to let me know that she’s noticed me being an idiot, but that I’m not allowed to share it with her.

‘Can we change seats?’

I don’t answer. I arrived at the airport on time, checked in (asking specifically for a window-seat), and waited an hour and a half for Liz, who turned up with minutes to spare,

and

didn’t even have any traveller’s cheques on her and had to get the whole lot at the airport and there was only one place open and if that had been closed I don’t know what we would have done. I’d… I’d have been travelling to India alone for three months. Or I’d have had to lend her my money for God’s sake – but we would have run out half-way through – it wouldn’t have been possible – and it’s not my job to lend her money. I wouldn’t have done it. She had weeks to get herself organized…

‘Can we change seats? You’re reading anyway – you don’t need to lean back. I want to sleep.’

She’s lying. We’ve only just taken off, and it’s a clear day. There are still excellent views. I specifically wanted a window-seat so that I could see the views – and I know it’s childish, but I love flying, OK? I’m not ashamed of the fact that I enjoy the view from an aeroplane. So maybe I am a bit old for that, but I don’t care. I just happen to be interested in it.

‘David…? Are you

listening

?’

She glares at me, her features arranged into a look of absolute scorn which says ‘I dare you to tell me that you just want to see the view. I

dare

you. Go on, say it. Then it’ll be out in the open – we won’t be able to deny – either of us – that you are a twelve-year-old in the body of a nineteen-year-old – that you have no shame about being an absolute prick.’

I’m not being paranoid – it’s all there, written into the curve of her nostrils and the squint.

The most annoying thing is that I wasn’t really reading. I was only glancing at my book, and was really looking out of the window. But now she’s caught me in the act I can’t tell her that I wasn’t really reading, because that’s exactly what she wants me to say to make me look selfish.

‘All right,’ I say. ‘In a few minutes.’

I close the book and pointedly look out of the window to demonstrate that I’m not selfish, and that switching seats is a significant sacrifice. I hear Liz sigh, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see her shaking her head. She’s fixed it so that whatever I do, it confirms what she thinks of me.

She hates me. She thinks I’m immature, selfish, bigoted and arrogant. I’m giving her my seat, for God’s sake – at some point,

I’m

going to want to sleep, and I won’t be able to because I’ve given

her

the reclining seat – and she’s sitting there shaking her head because

I’m

selfish. It’s outrageous.

I don’t understand why it’s happened. I don’t know what’s changed. A few weeks ago, we were best friends -we were almost in love. Now we’re stuck together, heading to India for three months, and she’s treating me like a piece of rotten meat. Maybe I

am

immature, selfish, bigoted and arrogant, but she used to like me. I haven’t changed. So I don’t see why I should alter my behaviour now, just because she’s acting differently.

Pure blind fear

I had heard the old cliché about how when you arrive in India, it’s like stepping into an oven, but this hadn’t prepared me for the fact that when you arrive in India, it

is

like stepping into an oven.

Delhi airport was… it was just taking the piss. That number of people simply couldn’t fit into such a small space and not end up eating each other. It wasn’t possible. And no one else even seemed to notice that it was crowded.

After queuing for several hours at immigration, we escaped the airport and discovered that it was even madder outside. The minute we were in the open air, several rugby teams of smelly men launched themselves at us and tried to pull us to bits, so that we could send separate limbs to town on different forms of transport. It was disgusting. I felt like I was being mugged. Mugged while inside an oven. And all the guys who were trying to get us into their taxis looked so poor and desperate that I just wanted to go home straight away.

Liz noticed that the other backpackers from our flight had got on a bus, so we breast-stroked through the crowd and clambered in behind them. The engine was already on, and we took our seats, relieved that we had made it in time. The driver pointed angrily at our bags, then at the roof of the bus. I noticed that no one else on the bus had their bags with them, so we got out of the bus and found ourselves back in a different crowd of people, all of whom seemed to be offering to put our stuff on the roof of the bus. I was convinced that they’d steal our rucksacks the minute I turned my back so I tried to climb up myself, but some guy with a red turban on, which gave him the appearance of being the chief bag-putter-on-roofer, pulled me off the ladder and tugged at my bag. I relented, and let him take our rucksacks. I watched him all the way and saw him lash down the bag with a rope. He looked as if he knew what he was doing, and there were several other bags up there already, so I decided that maybe it was all reasonably legal. When he came back down, he started doing a strange upward nodding gesture and saying ‘munee – munee’.

‘He wants money,’ said Liz.

‘Why should I give him money? It’s his job. I was quite willing to put it up there myself.’

‘Just give him some money, for God’s sake. I’ll get in and grab some seats.’