I have a crush on an Indian lad. 

Now, I’m not adverse to males of other cultures; I had a turbulent on-off relationship with a Samoan stallion for a good three years, and there was a brief interlude with a Maori boy when I was 18. But Indian men have never really done it for me attraction-wise. I’ve just never been into my Hindi hunks. 

Then along came Rajeesh.
I just want to pick him up and put him in my pocket. He is the cutest, smiliest man I’ve ever met. His sunny beam literally lights up the room, and the rays just bring me such joy. I look forward to our 4.30pm yoga class everyday and always arrive upstairs a good five minutes beforehand so I can engage him in banter and chat. 

He is incredible at teaching and really knows his stuff. I especially love it when he comes over to correct our positioning, tweaking us here and there to be engaged in the perfect asana. (I only align myself wrong on purpose every so often, I swear most of the time it’s unintentional and not a sly attempt to get him to yank my hips back). 
And he’s also a bit of badass. He rocks up to the ashram on his motorbike, glasses glinting in the late afternoon sun. When I hear the roar of his arrival as he guns it down the driveway my heart dances. 

The other day he was leaving just as I was going for my run. 
“Nice wheels,” I remarked. 

“Why thank you,” he said, all bashful and shy. A humble, non egocentric man?! Yes please! 
Then he followed me up the driveway on his ride, tooting and cheering. (I hope my bum looked good in my tights). 
This afternoon Eva and I managed to get a few more details from him; 28 years old (he honestly looks no more than 21), not married (score!) and he lives 9km away in Rishikesh. 

I mulled it over in my head. I could definitely overlook (no pun intended) the 10cm I have on him in height. They make discreet platform shoes for the shorter male form nowadays, don’t they? And I could always subtly stand with my knees slightly bent too.
He could move to New Zealand with me and we could start our own yoga school! The authentic Indian experience. But I wonder if he’d be ok to relocate across the globe? Maybe he’d want to set up shop here? While I’m loving India, I don’t think I could settle down in Rishikesh for good. I could definitely do the whole sari thing though. Maybe in NZ I could have a vast array in my wardrobe to remind him of home?
And what about visas? Would we have to get married in haste to avoid deportation? I’m unsure how the whole residency thing works in regards to Indian immigration. I just know it’s a long process and sponsorship is needed. As his partner, would I still be able to sponsor him in a working capacity? Or would as his wife be a much more rapid process? Such a conundrum. I don’t want to be seen as harbouring an overstayer – our relationship would need to be legal in all aspects. I guess he could always get a job at the Fruit & Vege shop until we suss out our sanctuary.

This was all flurrying through my mind as I worked my way through tree pose, swinging palm tree pose, sun salutation, boat pose and savasana (dead corpse pose; as it sounds, you are lying flat on the floor. After one of Rajeesh’s more strenuous classes this has come to be my favourite). I was just pondering what his last name might be when he instructed me to “expose my chest”.

Was my love being reciprocated in kind?! Oh no, he was just correcting my positioning. 
A girl can dream. 

Sorry Hank. 


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