Going up stream

Its very difficult for me to express the feeling of being in India. It involves lots of noises like "AAHHHHRRRGG", with hand and arm waving that is precisely coordinated with facial expressions that involve bug eyes, and cockeyed grins and grimaces.
I spent last weekend looking for a drinking hole. My first challenge was in determining if people call it a pub or a bar, I found that people will use one while not knowing the other but with no consistency on which one. As a drinker you are treated like you are a fine dinner, once you slosh down your glass the bar-waiter, intently watching you, will move it back into its optimal grabbing location, with a chipper smile. They are a bit fancy and people drinking are well to do men, who may get up and dance to the techno or 70's disco if the mood its them. After I made it to two places, by luck, I met some fellows that (after yelling at them first if there was another bar for some time, then pub, until they took me outside) took me to a huka bar. As they became gooked, I very tastefully tried their selection of beer (after gins on the rocks, it seemed time) and proceeded to have a loud conversation about American influence on India. The loudest (actually only two talked, the others just stared at me) a baby faced fellow, who may or may not have been sober, made some very interesting points, that completely evade me now. They did make it very clear to me that they loved Harry Potter and JK Rowling (and LOTR) and that there was another book written by an Indian that rivaled the actual series in its excellence, where Harry does something else. I took this well, being from some tie wearing business Indians. The next day, being Valentines and all, I was off to a club that these seemingly nice fellows told me to go to, hoping that it wasn't a gay bar, pub... whatever. As it turned out I couldn't find a single rickshaw that knew where the damn place was, if it really existed, and after walking around, I became very tired (partially from not sleeping the night before) and passed out. Drinking has, again, moved to the backseat and I have proceeded to spend most of my time in a Jabba the Hutt position.
This week (before reaching the rankest smelling fish market) my shirt gets soaked daily with more foreign sweat then a punk concert in the summer (or my 21st birthday...ok not that much). Thank you Indian Trains. Yesterday I was freaked out more then usual due to an old, short man, looking as if he may be dying, continually coughing in my face and all over my left side. And today I almost lost a birkenstock (luckily it flew on to the platform) due to me being pushed out of a train as it was taking off. Here you are an ant with other ants crawling all around you, over you, or trying to go right through you. I dont think that I will ever get over the amount of people. Dont come to India if you are claustrophobic, or maybe you should.
One last thing: Taking a pill everyday fucking sucks ass! My brain is suffering from some kind of block (I might be hypnotized, which I have become increasingly interested in/worried about) because I cant remember to take my Malaria pill. Thus I will take several every cuppla days. And even more when I found a huge grouping of red bites all over my ankles (the perpetrator is a mystery). Oh well, whats a really bad fever and possible death anyway, eh?, at least its not a kid.