The Obnoxious Indian Tourist

Imagine lolling about in an azure blue pool on a pleasantly warm day, a glass of red wine in hand listening to the soulful music of John Denver performed acoustically by local talent in the background...ah, sheer bliss!!!
That was yours truly soaking in the best of Goa.....

Suddenly, with no warning, my reverie was rudely shattered by a shrill voice intoning ' oye sweeeeettttuuu, beta aaja....'. I watched dumbfounded as a corpulent vision in pink and blue, laden plate in hand, proceeded to chase a not so little 'sweetu' around the length of the pool with entreaties to eat a calorie loaded snack. Trying hard to block out the strident tones of sweetu's mum, I took a few deep breaths, downed my wine, and tried to float to the music...But the fates willed otherwise. For, if sweetu's mum blared from across the pool, right next to me, an animated argument seemed to be in progress between a member of the hotel staff and two guests. Apparently, a family comprising of a young couple, the bride's parents and her brother wanted to dive into the pool completely dressed and, to my relief and their apparent disgust, were being restrained. And, therefore the heated debate between the host and the guest. To my amusement, the husband and father-in-law slithered into the pool in what looked like synthetic cut off pants which they vociferously insisted was appropriate swimming gear and even invited the bewildered staffer to feel to validate their claim.......
While people around me directed their dirtiest looks at them in utter disgust and instructed me to do the same, I just could not help laughing at the scene enacted in front of me. I mean, come on, just how many people would actually invite a rank stranger to feel their soaking garment just for a swim?

Later that evening, at the DJ night organised by the hotel for its guests, I sat ensconced in a corner with my wine mesmerized by the antics of a group of drunk, boisterous men who had invaded the entire dance floor. They were loud, comical and, for the want of a better word, repugnant. Much to the disgust of the other guests, these clowns had cornered the poor DJ into playing loud punjabi pop numbers. I watched open mouthed as they flapped their arms and hopped drunkenly about to the pulsating rhythms. All efforts to change the music to more popular numbers was shouted down by Twinkle Toes. One enterprising chappie even attempted to lip sync and stage a dramatic Bollywood dance routine for his demure wife, who dutifully cheered her husband on.

Things came to a head when a young nubile nymphet took the mike to belt out a Fleetwood Mac number. The truculent clowns angrily grouped to shout their protests, and were rendered speechless in the presence of this vision. In all fairness, they probably thought it was the resort's version of Bips or Mallika Sherawat performing an item number. By the time they recovered their composure, the song had ended but one particularly adventurous chappie did manage to shake and kiss the baffled nymphet's hands.

Mildly drunk, I mused over this extraordinary day which had brought three different comics my way and then, it suddenly hit me that I was actually gaining first-hand experience of an emerging breed of Indian middle class namely the Obnoxious Indian Tourist [OIT].
Talk about enlightenment striking one in the uncanniest of places!!!

As I watched the antics of my fellow compatriots, I wondered how I could have been so blind to the presence of OITs. They were all around us in Goa....in the pool, at restaurants, buying Feni in the liquor shop, cruising through the river Mandovi, on the dance floor, at the beaches....Name the place and there would be one too many OITs of all sizes, shapes and ages, crawling out of the woodwork.
Other memories flooded my mind....

On a sight seeing expedition into Old Goa, we were surprised to see a purposeful beefy man stomp into the coach clutching a dessert glass of chocolate and strawberry mousse in each hand. By way of a general explanation to those of us who were trying to conceal disdainful or baffled expressions, he blustered that there was no way he was missing out on his dessert or his sightseeing trip. Akhir paisa tho vasool karne ka hai, na?

At an Eat As Much As You Can Buffet, we were very amused to see a young female yuppie carefully carry back a laden plate of goodies from the dessert trolley, and then head back to start her meal with the soup. Considering that the F&B staff were working overtime to refill the serving platters, we just couldn't fathom out the convoluted rationale of a person who would hoard the choicest dessert pieces much in advance of the actual requirement. Again, paisa vasool but this time, with a deep rooted fear of being deprived, I guess.

But the icing on the cake was a trio of grossly obese women, outside Miramir Beach, who were blithely washing their sand encased feet with bottles of Aquafina while most of their co passengers peered out of the coach windows in utter disbelief and dismay. Apparently, they had used up the entire group's supplies of drinking water on their ablutions and were quite oblivious to the silent fuming of their co-passengers.

There were many other instances, which I shall have to refrain myself from expounding on for the fear of converting this into a novella. Different though these people may have been, they had all evolved their own little growth paths and had managed to refine being obnoxious to a fine art. As our vacation drew to an end, my OIT spotting skills were refined to perfection and my husband had begun to shake his head as he recognized the feverish gleam in my eye as my grey cells worked overtime filing these memories for future use.

The OITs added much fun to our vacation, probably because they were a novelty for us. We returned back to Chennai relaxed, rejuvenated, raring to attack the work week ahead and also, with a whole new way of viewing the irritating antics of some of our compatriots when they need not be on their best behaviour. I guess dark clouds do have silver linings after all.