My sisters and I at my brother's wedding. First time in a 

           sari, certainly not my last.

When I picture India I think of two certainties. One involves an elephant. The other an angry mob of monkeys.

The string of images goes somewhat as follows.

I am meandering through a vibrantly stocked jungle, enveloped in humid air and foriegn perfumes. Picture the Jungle Book. And yes, that means the animals can talk.

Back to the story, I am suddenly whisked off my feet by a trunk. The ash-colored limb procedes to carefully place me on a similarly hued stretch of leathery skin. The air is smooth as honey and I am blissfully entertained by the grid of branches above me. 

But then I feel an emptiness. No, not in my heart. Worse. It's my right pocket. I panic and take a landscape view of my surroundings. I see a monkey. Six more swing into view. They are dressed in furry brown coats, their collective stare promises nefarious business.

Mind you, this all happens before I leave the airport in Mumbai.

More educated people would call this essentialism. I call it my prerogative. Either way, what I'm getting at is that I'm terrified to be sleeping on something called a 'board bed,' because I'm sure the 'board' part does not refer to board games, but rather to the less exciting plank of wood my back will grow intimate with. I am also not looking forward to shining like E. Cullen in a sea of cinnamon, but then again, I've had practice in Panama.

I am however looking forward to an adventure. So I'm going to embrace it, hug it tight so I don't fall apart. India better be ready to be squeezed.

Six days and counting.