I'm in India, on an extended visit with some other people. We seem to be doing business. We have quarters and an office in a sort of self-contained bazaar or arcade, all indoors. [You could think of it as a crude Apparel Mart.] I am about to have a class in some physical discipline with a very distinguished teacher - it's not yoga or karate, but it has elements of both yoga and martial arts. I'm arriving at the "gym" - they wouldn't call it that, but this room is for this kind of stuff and it does have some fixtures like bars installed. I'm wearing a dress and daytime gear, and my big black wool cloak with the pointed hood with a tassel. [My real one has a round hood, no tassel.] The teacher is there wearing draped robes, he's on the small side and looks like you might picture such a person who's a master of an Oriental discipline - serene, calm, still, inscrutable, eyes that you know are watching your every move - wiry, looks slight but can move like a cat and real strong. He has a couple of guys with him, much larger - I'm thinking of them as his bodyguards, but they're probably not - just his entourage, I guess. Anyway, I bow and say hello to him and get ready to change clothes. Not wanting to waste any time, I've taken off my cloak and draped it over this structure (It's part of the "gym" equipment but I don't know exactly what it is), and I take off my shoes and a couple other things when I realize I'm not wearing any underpants. I'm shocked. I'll be putting on shorts and a T-shirt [the same navy and red I wore yesterday] and I can't not have underpants on. I hesitate for a minute, then say "I'll be back in a minute" and run out. Around a corner is our "shop" - Bonnie is there, sitting behind the counter/window, adding up figures, I think, and I say, "Where's the key to the house? I need to get in, quick." She doesn't respond. Or, rather, she says, "Just a********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************ht add, there must be a large community of them here - they're not permanent residents, I know that, but on long visits, perhaps with businessman husbands. Most of these women look like typical suburban mall shoppers; various ages.) They're all grabbing things off long racks, holding them up and saying what-do-you-think? to their friends, then dashing off to dressing rooms. Someone even tosses something at me, saying, "Isn't this great? It would look good on you!" It's a sort of straight dress, white with polka-dots or a similar pattern in navy, with wide straps squared onto the top. Frankly I can't see it on me, but maybe she's right... I toss it over my shoulder and think about looking for a dressing room, poke my head into a workroom and realize it's too much of a hassle, and it's already half an hour past the time for my lesson. I toss the dress somewhere and get back to the "gym". [I had grabbed my cloak back and put it on when I left.] I'm standing there in my cloak, apologizing to the teacher and saying I can't do it today and I hope I can have another appointment, and am very curious to find I've got my shorts and T-shirt on now. I don't remember changing, I didn't have time. Still don't have underpants on, though. I realize this all looks very peculiar, but I just don't see how I can do this class without underpants. [I am, by the way, worried that the teacher may not let me have another class.]