Pube Potatoes

Recently I travelled to India. On my last day, I decided that I was going take risks and be adventurous. I saw a man selling fried potatoes on the side of the road.


Well, I decided. I’m definitely going to have some of those. They look delicious. I asked the gentleman above if he would be so kind as to give me some of his wares. I pulled a few rupees out of my purse and felt proud that after 3 and a half weeks in India, I was starting to feel less like a tourist.

He nodded enthusiastically, gave me a charming grin, pulled out a small aluminium bowl and scraped on the potatoes. With his bare hands. That had just been down his pants.

Sometimes in life, you just roll with it. This was one of those times. Yeh, his hands looked like they hadn’t been washed in 6 years, but this was INDIA. I needed to lose my western squeamishness and harden the fuck up.

The potatoes were delicious, fried and coated in exotic spices, I shovelled them into my mouth with gusto. Then I saw something that made me stop.

This is what I saw (look closely at the potato):

Pube Potato

I sometimes wish that situations like this one will go unnoticed. That I could somehow, just throw away the potato and pretend I had never eaten the rest of them. But life doesn’t work that way and it was only a millisecond after I had seen it, that my travel partner and best friend Erin pointed an accusing finger at the remaining potato.

“There’s a big pube on that potato”.