Random Groupings of Words

You know, I had a conversation with some yoga types recently, and upon realizing that my lineage is from India, they started talking about taking a trip to India. Among their reasons were a lot of metaphysical shit and finding yourself blah blah blah.

I’ve been to India several times and it’s weird for me to think of it that way because it rounds down to a 3rd world country when I’m there. But then I realized that there is a reason that I would love to go back to India.

To play basketball.

Yep, you heard me right. I want to go back to play playground level basketball at the high school near where my grandparents lived when they were alive.

I suck at basketball. Always have. My dribbling skills are poor, I can’t shoot, I can’t block anything, I can’t do a layup, and I’m quite small. If ever dividing up teams I will get picked last, and if there are more than 10 people, I’m most likely to sit on the side waiting to get in on a following game, knowing they have to begrudgingly let me because “I got next.”

Here.

But take this story to India and it all changes. At 5’11” and 175, I’m a mammoth giant there. Last time I was there I had longish hair, and someone told me I looked like a professional wrestler. I don’t know many pear-shaped pro wrestlers, but when you put it in perspective, we’re talking about people who probably haven’t eaten nearly the same order of magnitude of square meals that I have in our lifetimes.

So anyways, I’m a Shaq-like force when I’m playing basketball there. Always 1st picked for my sheer size alone. Then there’s the fact that I don’t dribble with what I can only describe as “pancake hands”, and I can practically knock a kid over with a chest pass. And when you can get about 1.5 feet from the bottom of the rim… well hell that’s almost a dunk to them! They have to practically climb me like a tree for any hopes to get a rebound.

It’s so unfair I can’t even begin to explain it. But I dream about it regularly.

But then I remember the last time I was there and got disentary from eating the tiniest amount of chutney made with water that hadn’t been boiled and cooled for my weak-ass American tummy, and I realize those thoughts will most likely live out their time in my head.