The Indian Studley

I often get asked whether I meet many other tourists. European tourists, not many. Indian tourists, thousands and thousands. I love the fact that they love to travel their own country and make full - sometimes too much - use of all the attractions that India has to offer. Practically every place of interest I have visited has been besieged by Indian tourists, and as far as I can see, they fall neatly into 2 categories: NRIs and Studleys.

NRI stands for Non-Resident Indian. Talk about feeling like a foreigner in your own country. It seems as soon as you leave your town, you're granted NRI status. Go into a bank and it will have a separate 'NRI Services' counter. Tourist attractions might even have separate NRI rates, as they do with we 'foreigners'. NRI is different from PIO - Person of Indian Origin. So now you know.

What is a Studley? Well thank you Emma Cawkwell for coming up with the perfect moniker for this very distinct, and highly visible Indian Male.
A Studley is a young, single man probably between 18-25 years old. They have left school but are not yet married and as girls and boys don't seem to mix socially pre-wedlock, they're out in the big, bad world on their own, but probably still living with their mothers.
So, like any other manly youths, they hunt in packs but unlike our own young men, are not trying particularly hard to prove their masculinity. If only. Studleys are extremely affectionate towards each other, thinking nothing of holding hands in the street, or perhaps a friendly arm-over-the-shoulder swagger. Being gay in India is illegal with up to 10 years imprisonment (!) but I do wonder how you're supposed to spot the difference when you see them merrily strolling through an park, swinging their conjoined hands, ne'er a lady friend in sight.
Appearance-wise, they are very, very thin with extremely tight, but wide-legged trousers, usually fashioned from the kind of denim you didn't even know existed. I'm talking all the different washes in one garment; dark leading into heavy stone-wash, with perhaps a large front pocket with some bold embroidering. The trouser is worn high - really high - and belted tightly enough for said belt to wrap around the waist almost twice.
Their shirts tend to be louder than the standard male-issue of the yellow/brown paletted checked number, often with trendy slogans and always horrendously trouser-clashing.
Not yet ready for an arranged marriage, they hang round together in large groups, and go and do stuff, taking endless pictures of each other in the process. The photo-processing houses of India could exist on Studley pictures alone as they can go through a whole film in one afternoon - reclining on the lawn, perhaps with one knee up; thumbs up next to a statue, or my favourite, posing in trees together. It's all very Kay's catalogue and utterly hilarious.
Almost every day, I am in up to 20 of these pictures. The words I dread most "excuses me Mem, one photo?" will haunt me forever, as it never is just one. Each will want to pose with you separately, perhaps to show their mother that they are capable of making female friends. "See me here Mamaji, I have my arm touching her shoulder!" I wouldn't mind so much if their waists weren't two thirds the size of mine.
How I would love to see the UK's hoodie population taking to leisurely strolls in the park, perhaps a wildlife sanctuary, or a Thread Garden....