Tiger Tales: A Valentine's Day Escape from Stupid Cupid to India's Wild Heart (Part one)

External Validation

Ah, Valentine’s Day. The time of year when love is in the air, and sales of chocolates and roses skyrocket. For the 1998 version of me though, the 14th of February was not a time for heart-fluttering optimism or romance. Experience had taught me that it was a gut-wrenching emotional rollercoaster of a day. For back then, my self-view was heavily and unhealthily reliant upon the approval of others. Not receiving some crappy 'I love you' stuffed toy from the office sleazeball or a wilting bunch of carnations from my regular Friday night post-pub snog clearly meant that I was a worthless piece of crap with looks akin to Medusa, and I should basically crawl under the nearest rock and stay there.

After years of having to feign Valentine happiness at the sight of workplace flower deliveries (always destined for the prettier girls) I finally decided that enough was enough. I couldn't face the utter disappointment of being left on the shelf like a packet of suspiciously green looking minced beef. No! This year I had to do something to take back control of February 14th, to stick two fingers up at stupid Cupid and his nauseating band of cherubic friends. It seemed I had two choices...retreat to my bedroom in my parents home to eat my own bodyweight in heart shaped biscuits...or run away. Never one to do things by halves, I chose the only logical option. Run away to India on my own.

Maladaptive Mechanisms

There was an unusually clear blue sky that February 14th in 1998. Mum and Dad tried to be brave as they waved me off through passport control, commenting that I'd get a lovely view from the aeroplane window. I was too terrified to think about the beautiful vistas I might glimpse from my Caledonian Airways flight, and shaking with fear and lacking in suitable coping mechanisms, I decided that the best thing to do would be to head straight to WHSmith and buy a packet of ten Silk Cut cigarettes and a lighter to ease my nerves. Probably not the best idea for a non-smoker but like I said, I had no idea how to deal with my feelings. Like most Generation Xers with a diagnosis of clinical depression and anxiety in the 90s, I just didn't talk about it. Instead I sought solace in cigarettes, alcohol, and food. The ONLY coping mechanism I had back then was an artificial brave face and an unshakeable determination to show the world that I was a strong independent woman.

Shock to the system

Arriving in southern India (my first port of call) I was met with an assault on the senses. Steamy heat, swathes of tropical vegetation, and a cacophony of car horns and moped engines. When the bus dropped me off at my B&B there was only one thing on my mind. I must call my parents to let them know I had arrived ok. Only one problem with that...there was no public phone. Of course this was back in the day when mobiles were purely for the super rich or CEOs of multinational companies, so sending my Mum a quick Whatsapp photo, pretending to look happy and 'just fine' to ease her panic was not an option. Instead I was told by my over-friendly host that I'd have no choice but to walk into the nearby town, half a mile along a country lane with thick jungle either side, being sure to take care as I went, as lone female travellers were something of a novelty around these parts. The only thing I could do that made any logical sense to me was stick my room key between my fingers (a self-defence move that every Gen X woman will relate to), put my steelier-than-ever brave face on, and tell myself it was sink or swim - and I wasn't about to let myself sink anytime soon.

No One to Save the Day

The walk to what can only be described as an old fashioned telephone exchange was more anxiety-inducing than I could have ever imagined. I was hyper aware of my femininity and vulnerability as I ran the gauntlet of leering men whizzing by on mopeds, enthusiastically wolf-whistling and beeping their horns. There was no one around to look to for help and support, and crucially no one around to 'do it for me'...I was truly on my own for the first time in my adult life. If I could have had the option to turn around and run back to my B&B I would have taken it without a doubt, but the thought of my Mum going out of her mind with worry made me push on.

The dark and stiflingly hot telephone exchange was an office located on a busy dusty street. I put my big girl pants on and ventured through the door, eyes adjusting to the sudden dimming of light, and became aware of several male heads turning to look in my direction. The heads didn't look away, quite the opposite, in fact more male heads suddenly appeared from back rooms, expressionless and vaguely intimidating. Not one of these observers appeared to be about to offer any assistance or a reassuring 'fatherly' glance. It was in this moment as I became accustomed to the darkness and the heady aroma of burning incense that I realised how inexperienced I was at standing on my own two grown up feet. There'd always been someone there to mollycoddle me if things got too much, a friendly face, a kindly relative. But this time that wasn't happening. I had never, ever had to be self-reliant to this extent before in my life, never had to swim back to the surface as tidal waves of anxiety overwhelmed me. Someone had always pulled me to safety before I drowned. As I stood gasping for breath in that office, sweat dripping down my forehead, I knew that the lifebelt wasn't about to be thrown my way. There was only one person who could save me now and that was me.

Well this is pants

Eventually, what appeared to be a staff member, snapped out of his hypnotic trance and ushered me towards a bank of land line telephones. I'd make my call and pay afterwards at the heavily 'manned' desk in the corner. There were people either side of me, chatting away loudly and animatedly in their native tongues. I tried to ignore the fact that I had no privacy and dialled my parents' phone number with a somewhat shaky index finger. The dialling tone sounded different and for a minute I wondered if I'd pressed the wrong keys on the keypad, but suddenly and to my immense comfort my Mum picked up with a panicked "Hello??". "It's meeeeeeee!" I replied with a sudden burst of joy and relief and proceeded to lie to my mother that all was well and I was loving every second so far. I could almost feel her shoulders relaxing down the telephone line, she was so happy to hear from me and hear that I was safe and managing to do 'adulting' alone in a foreign country with relative success. I reassured her that I would be getting a good sleep in my B&B and preparing for the tour that I had booked myself on to, taking in Jaipur, the Taj Mahal, and Corbett National Park...home of the Bengal Tiger. I also lied to her and told her that the walk to the phone had been a piece of cake and that I was looking forward to the stroll back.

The road to the Telephone Exchange, February 1998

Leaving Mum reassured, I paid my dues to the multiple male receptionists and left the telephone exchange with a sense of achievement. I'd managed to do something I'd never done before and I'd actually survived it. This was the first of many trips outside of my comfort zone which would later serve as valuable lessons in resilience-building, something that hitherto I'd not done much of before. Healthy coping mechanisms don't consist of hiding away and running as far away from problems as humanly possible. Instead they involve problem-solving, looking for solutions, and digging deep within oneself to find out just what strengths lie buried deep down. With this is in mind and my newfound sense of empowerment, I placed my key back between my fingers and set off walking. The beeping and whistling began once more but I managed to focus on the sacred cow up ahead of me, meandering its way along the hot tarmac, stopping occasionally to chew on the roadside grasses. My bovine friend was a welcome distraction and somehow made the journey back an enjoyable one. As I neared my room I noticed something had been placed on the doorstep, something I didn't recognise. As I got closer I realised just how much of a novelty my solo presence must have been for the local lads, for lying there in a neat little pile were a pair of oh-so-sexy men's Y-fronts. A belated Valentine's show of admiration from afar perhaps? How charming. Red with a mixture of embarrassment and rage, I kicked the undies in to the bushes, went inside and put a chair and all of my luggage behind the door. This was going to be one steep learning curve of a trip!

To be continued.....