It's hard to write about India without sounding like a travelogue. The land of contrasts, deep historical roots astounding art and riches and heart wrenching poverty. Making eye contact here ensures an interaction be it a hard sales pitch, a desperate plea for help or, just as often, a warm loving smile behind which lies thousands of years of cultural spiritual practices emphasizing that all there is is love.
The filth and grime of so much of the subcontinent takes a lot of getting use to and there are many westerners who could never see beyond it. Garbage is everywhere and it is burned in small fires on the roads. In cities the air is always hazy and usually smells. It is the dustiest place I have ever been. Open sewers, animal shit and men pissing road side are omnipresent. In the train stations are many rats, and young beggars no older than 5 do acrobatics on the dirty platforms their skin so steeped in grime I wonder if they could ever be clean again. And then there is the traffic. Cars, busses and trucks, tuk-tuks, horse carts, rickshaws, bikes and motorcycles, oxen, camels, water buffalo, Brahman cattle, goats, cows, and pedestrians all vying for the space just ahead in a confusing but efficient dance where no one gets hurt and no one gets angry.
Sounds terrible, and there were a few times when it got to me and became a hellish visage, but for the most part we are loving this part of our trip beyond any expectations. For one thing, despite the dust and noise and poverty, everywhere you see contentment. The children, whether dressed in adorable school uniforms or mostly naked clothed only in dust, are full of energy, laughing and playing, open and joyful. Then there are the woman. Rich or poor they adorn themselves with amazing clothes and jewelry, the colors perfectly matched. The men, be it emaculately dressed Sieks, or bone thin holy men with matted hair and beards, all carry themselves with a calm composure signifying inner peace. The Indians I have met are among the most earnest and optimistic people ever. They seem to uniformly love their history and their country. They have great tolerance for other cultures and religions. This does not imply naievity. Even the taxi can drivers seem to have a deep knowledge of national and international affairs far exceeding the typical insular American's.
Because there are so many beggars I sometimes, as instructed by locals, act as though they do not exist; no talking, no eye contact. This is a difficult exercise for me and my bleeding heart. Yesterday approached by two boys around 7 or 8 years old, instead of ignoring them I faced them and, putting on my best demonic face I snarled at them which sent the screeching and laughing away. Maybe it's true what a local told me, that I look like a Bollywood villain.
I cannot even begin to describe my experiences here. As you drive you see a million vignettes: old men sleeping on bamboo cots in the shade, woman shelling beans, holy men crawling on knees in pilgrimage, a naked toddler splashing happily at the village well. It all feels right and according to some ancient plan. I mostly feel so fortunate to have been able to come here. Namaste.
