A word about creepy Indian men

One of the unique things about India is that many of the dudes here are quite willing to openly express their admiration for my physique. More often than not this comes if the form of indiscreet staring, but is sometimes also vocalized. Unfortunately, this not always done in an appropriately bro-tastic fashion, such as “Dude! You’re totally buff!” The complement is appreciated, but oftentimes it is expressed in a way that gives me the willies. The first time was worst. It was my first day in Delhi. At the Red Fort, I had a young twentyish man come up to me and sheepishly ask for a photo. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t asking me to take a photo of him, but that he instead wanted a photo with me. “Um, uh, sure” I say. He stands next to me, his friend takes a photo, and next thing I know literally a dozen other young guys show up asking for the same thing. The whole experience was a little surreal, and a bit awkward. But it was all OK up until one of the last guys grabbed a photo of me and says, “Ooooooooooh, you have a niiiiiiiiiiiiice, boooowdy!”, sounding disturbingly like Gollum from the Lord of the Rings films. This creeped me the fuck out. Not bro-tastic. Not bro-tastic at all.

I have become somewhat inured to this over the past 12 days. Usually, it’s a completely innocuous exclamation of “Nice muscle!” directed my way when I walk past some random guy on the street. This happens about 20-40 times a day (no exaggeration). Maybe about a half dozen times I day I’m asked if I work out, or am asked for workout tips, which I also have no problem with. I’ll also periodically get a “I like your body,” or a “I like you” (this latter one also gives me the heebie-jeebies, although I usually chalk it up to being simply a language issue). Then there’s my personal favorite, “Hey, James Bond!” Only about once or twice a day am I asked if somebody can take a photo with me. However, as with the Red Fort, these usually come in packs – when one is seen taking a photo with me, another 4 immediately come out of the woodwork for the same. I always accept, as I’d be quite a hypocrite to decline request for a photo given the amount of shots I take of the locals every day (done discreetly as possible, but usually without their consent). I then just pray that there won’t be any inappropriate, if inadvertent, homoerotic overtones to the conversation that will leave me feeling violated afterwards. Thankfully, there usually there isn’t. There was, of course, the guy in Khajuraho that upped the stakes by asking me if he had correctly guessed the size of my penis (not as completely out from left field as it might sound here since he was a tour guide we were just talking over lunch about the philosophical context of the erotic sculptures in the temples there, but still definitely not bro-tastic).

It would certainly be refreshing if I got a “Nice muscle” or an “I like your body” from a female for once. Alas, it’s only the guys that are telling me how much they like my pecs. The ladies are mum on the subject.