Incredible India!

Eighteen days in India.  Maybe it’s that we did so much while we were there and maybe it’s because we passed the halfway point during our stay but either way it feels like we were there for much longer.  When our journey was last updated, we were in Jaipur where we spent a few days checking out forts and monuments.  From Jaipur, we moved north to Agra, the site of the Taj Mahal.  Before I continue, I should describe our experiences on the Indian roads.  First of all, we had left our plush Mercedes bus back at the Iran border and now rode in a significantly smaller Tata (India’s largest automaker) bus that looked to be as old as me.  The suspension absorbed the constant potholes and uneven road as well as a wheelbarrow, occasionally sending the backseat passengers airborne. Constant jarring and shaking from the road made it difficult for even me to sleep as we moved, so time, like progress was slow.  Indian roads are a site to behold.  In the cities, the streets are a rushing tide of cars, motorbikes, tuk-tuks (small 3 wheel vehicles powered by lawn mower engines that serve as mini taxis) bicycles, buses, donkey carts, wayward cows, and pedestrians.  If you’re passing through a rural area, the roads are still a bit crowded, just with more cows and random livestock and fewer cars.  The chaos of the road is bad enough on its own, but the cacophony of horns is nearly unbearable.  In the states and much of Europe, using the horn is for either emergency purposes or to express outrage at another driver’s carelessness…not the case in India.  Using the horn is a courtesy in here, to make other drivers aware of your presence.  The majority of trucks even have “horn please” written across their tailgates.  After a day or so of observing, I was able to see why horns are a necessity rather than a courtesy here.  The reason: buses and trucks pass at even the slightest opportunity.  If you’re the type of person who’s prone to be on edge while riding in a car, or if you’re a backseat driver I recommend that you stay out of India altogether. A wreck won’t kill you, a heart attack will.  After about 10 near misses, I decided that the driver must know what he was doing and I’d just ignore our proximity to oncoming trucks. (At some point I heard the rumor that the prevailing attitude of Indians-perhaps Indian drivers is that of “when it’s your time to die, it’s your time to die.”  I might be crazy, but it seems to me that this attitude is reflected in the Indian driving culture, and though I believe in that to an extent, I also believe that our own actions can bring us to an untimely end.  So maybe this is an area where enculturation might not be the best idea.)  These driving conditions certainly took their toll on the group, so each time we rolled into a new city each of us were exhausted by the drive.

So Agra…

I’d say that between 99.9 and 102 percent of visitors go to Agra merely for the Taj Mahal, and I’m in that vast majority.  World famous monuments tend to be a letdown.  You see pictures and hear words like “breathtaking” and “picturesque”  and when you arrive your breath remains firmly in your lungs and the only pictures you’ve taken are obligatory.  Not the case with the Taj Mahal.  From the moment it entered my line of sight in the distance until I was standing at its threshold, I was amazed by the Taj Mahal’s regal beauty.  Throughout the day, I heard a variety of historical facts and interesting bits of technical data regarding the Taj’s construction (we‘re on a first name basis btw), but I lost most of them in the building’s sheer mass and beauty.  Even though the Taj itself lived up to its billing, it could have been even more grand if the surrounding area had been in better shape.  The lawn had a variety of man made streams and fountains that lay dormant, the approaching roads were covered with litter, and the adjacent river a murky shade of gray.  Unfortunately, this is more of a reflection of India as a whole as opposed to Agra or the Taj Mahal specifically.  Other than going to the Taj Mahal and Red Fort, we did little in Agra before we moved on to Dheli.

As we arrived in Dheli, my friend Laura looked in my direction and said dryly “It shouldn’t be ok to be able to stare at the sun should it?”  Sadly, Dheli is about the most polluted place I’ve ever been, and sure enough in midday, one can stare at the sun without consequence. Like a rainy day,  Dheli’s layer of smog gives the appearance of perpetual gray clouds, only no one is getting wet.   Even though the conditions outside made me want to acquire a vaporizer, stay inside and purify my lungs all day, Awal and I decided that we’d venture out catch what we could of the Commonwealth Games.  To do this, normal people would consult a schedule of events and hire a taxi to get to the arena.  Awal and I aren’t normal, we asked which general direction we’d travel to get to town and blindly walked off to find downtown Dhelituk-tuk to take us to the stadium.  Unfortunately, we arrived 5 hours before the track and field events started, and had no desire to pay $30 to see weightlifting, so we purchased track and field tickets for the bargain price of $5 and killed a few hours until the events started (In an attempt to discover more of the city in our free time, we managed to accidentally go right back to our hotel, prompting much head shaking, grumbling, and lamenting from each of us).  Despite an illogical access route to the stadium and overly cautious  security (you couldn’t take batteries in, thus rendering cameras useless.  So we have no pictures to prove that we actually went) we had a great time at the track and field events.  I enjoyed watching the crowd cheering on their home country, and celebrating their competitors even after a poor finish.  Though I cheered along with the Indians, I also found myself openly cheering for Kenya and the other Eastern African nations. (As much as this trip has proved to me that I’m thoroughly American, it’s also shown to me that Kenya is most certainly my second home).  The event was a great time…certainly worth our $5.

I’m left with mixed feelings about India.  I enjoyed the people…they’re friendly, helpful and inquisitive, but the overwhelming pollution and general chaos is tough on a daily basis.  My time in India wasn’t spent without gaining a new perspective, however.  I came face to face with urban poverty that I’ve never previously seen outside of Port-au-Price.  Urban poverty, to me, seems very different from the rural variety.  In an urban setting, those in need are surrounded with buildings, cars, nice clothes, good food, and tourists that all serve as perpetual reminders of what the poor do not have.  With rural poverty tends to come a simple life, estranged from conveniences and consistent reminders of wealth.  (I must say that I don’t see one as more or less difficult than another…just different…I still have thoughts to unpack, you’re just getting a stream of consciousness here) In a city, those reminders are unavoidable, so a sense of hopelessness lingers.  If you have no place to sleep in the bush, you can at least lie your blanket in the dirt or on the grass.  In an urban setting, you might have to settle for a makeshift mattress on a pile of garbage, as I saw a family of 4 do in Varanasi, India.

When I first set out on this journey two months ago, I had hoped that I would have a clearer picture of what I wanted to do next in life…vocationally speaking.  By September, I had so tired of the $700/mo life that I was thinking about just finding whatever job could pay me the most so that I could live more comfortably.  Now I realize that I have to do something to pay the bills, but I felt myself thinking about my own financial well being instead of serving the poor, the broken, and the hopeless.  All that to say that I’ve felt like a bit of a hypocrite…living the wealthy life of an international tourist while internally I’m wrecked by what I see.  Seven hundred dollars a month…that’s a fortune to most of the world.

So no, I don’t have any clear solutions to what is next for me, but I do know that I’m a little bit closer.  Whatever it is that I do vocationally, it cannot be for me.  I have a passion to serve those in need and if I neglect that passion, I’ll be restlessly pursuing greater vanity.

Farewell, India…you’ve taught me much.