Another day, another litre of sweat

Being an International Woman of Medicine and looking like a cross between an overripe strawberry and a prune which has been in the bath too long is not an easy look to carry off. I find, looking supremely unconcerned about the nudges, stares and smiles hidden ineffetually behind hands is an essential art to master. On the bus into Vellore today, I could, however, quite see what was so funny. The windows of the bus have no glass, the seats are the size and height of a small footstool and the locals are microscopic. I was one of the first on the bus and therefore sat by the window. Taking up the entire space. Actually more than the entire space. My head was cut off by the top frame from my nose upward, my shoulder and arm were billowing out of the bus window and my boobs were invading the personal space of the two local ladies in front. It must have looked like an Ogress was taking a jaunty little bus trip with the fairies. The man who initally looked delighted at the opportunity of sitting next to a foreigner, soon realised that there were serious repercussions as he had to bounce along clinging to the tiny seat by one buttock whilst being wedged against a metal pole. He still managed to fall asleep, however, despite sitting over the wheel, which gives the effect of being in a shotgun everytime the bus rocketed over a pothole, of which there are many and various.