You might be in India if...

We took a bus the other day which had higher population than Dawson City in wintertime. Seriously, there were at least 150 souls packed in; we were literally hanging off the rafters, leaning into each other for support, and too often banging together like pinballs trapped in an arcade wizard's super-extended bonus play.   Of course it probably didn't help that our bus driver's favorite bumper sticker read: "The Devil is my Co-pilot." He cranked the Hindipop, laid on the horn, and damn-you if you were on the street (unless you were a cow).   As the bus careened wildly around the streets of Trichchiruppalli, usually shortened to "Trichy" for obvious reasons, I just had to laugh at another one of those experiences we might only have in India. Hopefully.   So, with mad traffic as inspiration, I bring you the list below.   You might be in India if:   Your bus screeches to a halt to keep from shmucking a dozen wildebeests on the highway;   A cow blithely joins the sunbathers at a swank beach resort;    Most of the businesses with "hotel" or "inn" in the name are actually restaurants with no accommodation whatsoever;   Your hotel posts the following warning: "Inmates who Violate Themselves Will be Intimated to the Police;"   Advertising for a local haberdashery reads: "M.A. Jestic: Seller of Opulent, Extravagant, and Jealousy-Creating Sarees;"   Local restaurant ad-boards proclaim: "Hotel Lakshimi: Tastes to excite tongue and mind" or "Come and provoke your taste buds";   You go to a restaurant and they expect you to eat with your hands (and preferably only your Right one);   You don't open your mouth in the shower for fear of dysentery;   You find a fully-framed picture (with intact glass) of Krishna as a baby on the beach--or, more specifically, under the water (yes, this actually happened to us in Varkala);   A policeman demands that you pay 100 Rupees to take a photo of the outside of a temple;   A queue at the train/bus station is more reminiscent of a scrum at a rugby match;   Instead of toilet paper, the better hotels provide kitchen sink spray nozzles just to the right of the commode (for clarity sake: this nozzle is intended to be an aid to wiping with one's left hand, and sometimes there is only a plastic bucket and one's imagination as to how to use it).     More to come. I'm sure.   NB