We're still friends. The foreign females, meanwhile, often appear neurotic, tormented by their experiences in India while schmoozing, slumming or trying to transcend. Some of these question-plagued women, including a timid US embassy official, become frustrated and emboldened enough to cast off their sheltered, geocentric upbringing and escape into the lusty and amazing world of the Indian subcontinent's chaos, while occasionally pondering obscure guidance from obscure gurus. Her stories also track India's absurd, contemporary culture clashes. Plots agonize over the lameness displayed by some US Embassy envoys based in New Delhi, and how everyone grapples with India's poverty and often-bizarre society.
Some stories entwine scenes of blushing lust.
Hari crouched low so he could see through the slats in the door panels. Her skin was the same hue as her white underpants, her stomach sagged, her breasts hung limply under her raised arms. Love-struck Hari, jealous of big boss Bob, aches for taboo Sara. Hari wants to upgrade. He'd gone to prostitutes but the rooms were filthy and the girls were sullen and bored and it was all over so quickly.