I love Indian food, and that was the only excuse I needed to go to the Indian Festival today.
It was in Yoyogi Park, and the sun was shining and the dancers were shimmying. I saw more colours than I even knew existed in the gorgeous saris that Indian and Japanese women alike were wearing.
Obviously, I soon as I got there I made a beeline for the food stalls. Queuing up, I was bombarded by what sounded suspiciously like my brother’s shower singing. But no, he hadn’t followed me in a towel: it was the Indian food sellers shouting in Japanese. I had to reply (in very broken nihongo) that no I don’t want to buy all your beer, and yes I am underage.
Still, I left that queue happy with a vegetarian biryani (with yoghurt: genius!) in one hand and a mango lassi delicately balanced in the other. Somehow my eagerness caused the rice to stick all down my jeans, and I guess that was the reason that the small rat-that-was-meant-to-be-a-dog kept sniffing me.
Still! The food was so delicious that I followed it up with a samosa. Or two.
Then I did a lot of stall-trawling, looking through the beautiful clothes. To be honest I could have bought everything, but I settled with 5 packets of instant curry.
Did I mention I like Indian food?