15 Minutes of Fame
Unlike the large city of Bangalore, where the locals have more exposure to westerners on a regular basis, historic Mysore attracts Indian tourists from many rural areas - regions where it’s likely they’ve never seen a westerner and certainly not a blonde.
At the Royal Palace, I received far more attention than in any place that I can ever recall as a result of my blondness.
Exiting the palace, a group of sari-clad teenagers and young women approached me and asked for my autograph. Perplexed, I obliged by signing the palms of their hands. They giggled, asked my name and then I asked theirs. Laughing and smiling they showed off their autographs to the ones not fortunate enough to have received one.
While this was the first time I’ve been asked for my autograph in India, I’ve had countless boys and girls approach me to ask my name. My long blonde hair is such an oddity that even a one year old toddler was tugging at it as I sat with my back to him in a restaurant. His mother apologized profusely and I smiled at the attention.
Although it was nice to have my 15 minutes of fame, on public transportation and in smaller villages, I will be sure to wear my hair up and leave the autograph signing to the Bollywood stars.
Beth and Jon,
I have enjoyed following your progress in India and reading Beth’s entries. When I read today’s I decided to respond. Jon may or may not remember, but my parents (Uncle Chester & Aunt Doris Lee were in the Peace Corps in India.
During the summer of 1970, I traveled to visit them there. My dad was 6′ 3″, and really stood out among the Indians. (Mom who was 5′3″ and had rather sallow skin did not.) At 5′10″, I also stood out, and although I was never asked for autographs, I certainly felt a bit on display, especially in the more rural areas.
Will continue to look forward to your reflections. Cousin Rosey
Although I am not blonde, I had a similar response to my curly hair in India. It had become very long after three months, and at dinner one night with a Tibetan family, I noticed that one of the little girls, age 8, was looking longingly at me and asked if she could touch my hair. she fairly grabbed handfuls of it. What to me looked like an unruly rat’s nest was beautiful to her. How about that? Meg