Bangkok Indians: ‘You Are Lucky Man’

In the Big Mango, the extremely friendly prostitutes outside the “massage” shops on the street all tell me I’m “so handsome man.”

Related: Critical Insights: What Makes Thai Prostitutes Superbly Talented

The strange Indian men who prowl those same streets all tell me I’m “lucky man.”

Lucky and handsome!

I feel so fucking special every time I step outside.

(Forget SSRIs or self-medication. If you’re a farang in Sussex or Cincinnati or wherever feeling low on self-esteem, a holiday to Bangkok will set you right as rain.)

Anyway, as for why the Bangkok Indians on the street are kind enough to inform me routinely, I’m a “lucky man,” I haven’t stuck around long enough to find out what the shtick is all about.

Clearly, it’s the beginning of a sales pitch; I just haven’t indulged them.

Contrary to perhaps the popular conception of Thai demography, Bangkok is home to a massive India diaspora that immigrated in waves beginning in the 1920s.

By and large, as is the case elsewhere in the world, they appear to not have integrated very deeply into Thai society.

Most of them, by my own estimation based on years of observation, either run tailor shops where they sell subpar Chinese sweatshop cloths that they swear to God is imported straight from Milan, or else Indian restaurants that may or may not be money laundering fronts.

*Don’t let the Biblical name fool you; as far as the tailor shops go, they’re all Indians, all the time.

In addition, a lot of them, I assume for the seed money capital to start their very own tailor racket, seem to wander the streets and introduce foreign tourists to a variety of other scams they have invented.

For a long while, I noticed while out for walks that Indians around Sukhumvit Road, a major thoroughfare, would constantly make eye contact, point to their eyes and then to me, as if to convey that there was something wrong with my eyes.

Understanding there would be a sales pitch as the punchline for a product I would have precious little interest in, I never indulged them.

But my wife’s brother, less acquainted with Bangkok scammers, did once as we walked Sukhumvit, and so we came to learn that they are selling some magical potion made with ayurvedic herbs or whatever to clean your eye area up.

Mystery solved.

We didn’t purchase the magic Indian street potion to report on its efficacy, unfortunately.

But give it a whirl if you’re ever in Bangkok and interested in some Indian street cosmetics.

I haven’t asked why yet, but the latest scam is them looking at me and telling me “you are very lucky man.”

I assume the punchline is Mumbai lottery tickets that are sure to be winners or whatever.

At least the “massage” girls jack you off in the end, leaving you satisfied and with lifelong memories.

With the Bangkok Indians, you mostly just get fucked.

Benjamin Bartee, author of Broken English Teacher: Notes From Exile (now available in paperback), is an independent Bangkok-based American journalist with opposable thumbs.

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