The Human Connection

When I first arrived in India, I was focused on the place I was going. I highlighted monuments I wished to visit and states I was craving to explore. But in leaving India, it isn’t the Taj Mahal which stands out in my mind, or the diversity between the states I meandered through. It is the stories of the people whom I met during my travels that remind me of the precious moments in India where I felt the most inspired. 

My first friend in India, Hari, turned out to be a diamond in the rough. He was kind, and curious and forced me out of my comfort zone when I was jet-lagged and scared shitless. I remember the sound of his voice as he chided me on my menu choices, or the musicality of his laugh when we got our cross-cultural wires crossed. He showed me the gentle side to Indians. Pius, the owner of Adam’s Backpacker’s in Fort Cochin taught me about the authoritative Indian man and his interest in Western values vs. Indian. Through our conversations, I learned just how quickly a conversation can move from innocent to awkward at the first mention of anything sexual. Silvia and Javi, a Spanish couple I explored the tea hills with, showed me that authentic cultural experiences happen, more often than not, far away from major tourist destinations. I caught them in rare moments of public intimacy, being loving and supporting. These moments made me reflect on my own relationship and how it had lost that connection. 

In Varkala, I had an admirer named Libu. He was a young Indian working at a favourite restaurant, his lithe body leaning against the pillars as he gazed out over the Arabian Sea. He was shy, and didn’t speak until my third night when he picked a chicken flower for me and told me he felt very strongly that I was meant for him. He had such depth behind his eyes and if I could go back in time, I would kiss him. He showed me the romantic and poetic side to Indians. Shortly after, I received a ride to the train station by “Diddy”, a hip guesthouse owner who shared my love of kittens and fast driving. He wouldn’t accept payment, he said he just wanted to make sure I got there safe. Generousity and kindness are what I think of when I think of him now. Jaya was a woman who worked with Utthan, the NGO I visited. She had fierce eyes and didn’t smile easily in the company of men. But when I spoke to her out in the field, her eyes came alive with sparkles and she laughed and teased. I believe that Jaya had a hard life, and it’s difficult for her to be unguarded around men. She reminded me that women in India do not have the same rights or freedoms as I do. I felt blessed by every smile she shared.

Xabier, my Spanish travel companion, charmed an entire night bus full of Indians and tourists within minutes. His smile and beautiful nature drew people to him and I felt jealous because I felt that I couldn’t be so free as a woman traveling alone. But as we began traveling together, I began to know freedom. He afforded me the sense of security to be myself in India for the first time, and that was an amazing gift. Ashoke, our guide about all things India, had a dignified demeanor I instantly adored as well as a no-nonsense approach to understanding the history of India. When he spoke, everyone listened without breathing, that’s how poetic his speech was. It was an honour to learn from him. Delgit, a Vancouver-based film producer rocked my understanding of non-resident Indians. He broke every rule and made no apologies for it. He taught me to take advantage of every opportunity and to appreciate the many ways Indian culture is permeating Canada. Caromolina, an English girl I camel trekked through the Thar desert with, echoed my best friend’s quiet spirit and radiated kindness. With her there was an easy friendship, something I know is rare between girls. Daniel, everyone's favourite guy at 3M restaurant, who knew each of us by name and who shared his story and his music one balmy night in Goa. We couldn't have asked for a more beautiful and heart-felt send-off.

My cohort and professors, the people I learned with, laughed with, traded stories with, cried with and most of all loved with. Such a diverse group of people came together and not only got along, but treated one another with such respect. I learned an innumerable amount of things from each of these people. Too many to name here. But I am so thankful to have shared this experience with them. And last but certainly not least, Laura & Ruby, my two beautiful roommates in Ahmedabad and Goa. Two souls I was blessed to experience residency with, and whose friendship I treasure so much. With them I grew and was supported, and learned the value of listening and receiving love. Thank you Team Triple Threat.

Through these people, India became a home for me. Not just an exotic place I had to battle my way through, but a country full of friends and amazing shared experiences. I am incredibly lucky.

Namaste 

Baga Beach sunset. Just amazing

India as Emotional Bootcamp

I’m not embarrassed to say that I cried a lot in India. Nearly every day. Normally, I am not a Crier but rather a Repressor. This tendency to bury strong emotions, good or bad, has led to some problems in my life which I am committed to resolving. And I have India to thank for that. 

India doesn’t give a shit if you’re hesitant or scared. India will force you out of your own head and sweetly demand that you open your heart, scars and all. It isn’t India’s job to be respectful, or fair. India doesn’t owe you anything. I came to India to learn. Yes, with my cohort but also to test myself. And I learned a lot more than I really wanted to know. I learned that I am anxious. I learned that I will always believe in the kindness of strangers, even as they are groping me. I learned that I value the wrong things. Money doesn’t matter. Job titles come and go. Relationships are only beneficial when they are healthy. I learned not to dwell on someone else’s bullshit. I learned that my intuition is crazy awesome. I learned to listen. I learned that I can feel it when someone is being dishonest and I can also feel it when someone has the best intentions. I learned to trust my gut, literally. My stomach is strong; it took every gastrointestinal assault India threw my way! I learned that I am not an alcoholic; I just really like the feeling of a glass between me and the people around me. I realised that I am stronger than I thought, not physically but the kind of strength that can carry you through a dark place and into the light. I found out who my friends are. I learned to appreciate simple things like a smile from a stranger or a really great belly laugh.

Bollywood star in training

Most of all I learned to see the beauty in the seemingly random events in life. I was getting an oily, ayurvedic massage in a woman’s tin hut one day in Varkala. When it was finished, suddenly a huge clap of thunder shook the beach, we lost power and the hugest monsoon began. I had my laptop with me and was really far from my guesthouse, so she invited me to stay until the rain slowed down. She lit candles as her eight children rushed into the hut and away from the rain. We didn’t speak the same language, but we found a common love: dance and performance. The woman’s youngest daughter performed for us, singing in Hindi and dancing. Every movement told a story, and for four hours I sat there, mesmerized. Eventually she convinced me to get up too and I showed them some tap moves and ballet poses. I felt ridiculous and also accepted by these strangers whose lives I was able to penetrate for one evening in the dark. I felt honoured to have spent the time with her family. At home, I would have felt like an intruder, or felt anxious about being trapped in a hut with strangers, but it was one of those moments which I will always treasure. We had nothing in common but the rain and the fact that we both know what I look like naked, but we parted as friends.

I swear I wasn't holding them at gunpoint.

Accepting Imbalance

The thing I miss most about India is the feeling of accomplishment at the end of each day. The moment when I finally put my disgustingly dirty feet up and my head hit the pillow, I felt whole. “I didn’t die today!” I would think as I fell towards semi-consciousness. Traveling through India was enjoyable, sure, but it felt more like something to endure rather than enjoy. I’m guessing this is because it was my first time, but it really felt as though each day in which I survived was a small battle won. Communicating was a constant challenge and constantly having to have my guard up was draining. Accepting the poverty and pollution was an evolving process. And maintaining my own balance? Forget about it! I was never comfortable because I knew the moment I enjoyed a moment of equilibrium, something would be lurking for me around the corner to plummet me right back down.  I had to always stay neutral.

However, over time, the chaos of India became normal and even welcome. The constant fear of traveling alone dulled into a sense of exhilaration as I lived to “die another day”. I fell asleep quickly and easily, exhausted from the day’s events and happy to be safe. My lullaby was the sound of horns blaring, women wailing, cows mooing, engines backfiring and strange birds singing. I awoke with the dawn because I didn’t want to miss the colours of the sky over the Arabian Sea. And the best shit always happens in the morning in India! Village elephants are walked and bathed, devotees make offerings at the hilltop temples, pilgrims wash in the murky waters of the Ganges, fishermen cast their nets as feral cats prowl from afar… it all became the multi-hued palate of everyday India. I felt alive and connected to the energies of the world when I was learning about myself in relation to India.

And now I’m home. Huh. This home has changed so much for me. Normally, with reverse culture shock, a traveler returns from an epic adventure to find that they have changed substantially but that their familiar people and places have not. This was SO not true in my case! Within hours of touching down on Canadian soil, the things I had taken for granted, things like a comfortable home or a loving, kind partner, had changed. And I cannot imagine it being any other way. Returning to the same life, after such an altering personal experience, would have deflated me. In India, I challenged myself each day. I navigated an exotic world which wasn’t entirely safe. I overcame language barriers, learned new customs, shed my ingrained beliefs in order to adapt to a different way of life. I feel like that was preparation for my next stage, whatever that is.

So thank you India. Yes, you can be a real jerk sometimes, but I forgive you. 

Sometimes what appears to be a shitty situation is actually a heat source in the desert ;)

More Questions than Answers

Coming back from India was as hard as I expected. I didn’t want to leave. I felt as though my experience in India was incomplete. It didn’t help that I knew I was coming home to tough emotional hurdles but what I didn’t realise was that India had crept into my heart and planted roots there.  I don’t know what it is about the place that entangles you so, but India was like a self-destructive friend I couldn’t shake, nor did I want to. 

Cute AND corrupt, an awesome combo

Friends ask me what I loved most about India. That’s a difficult question to answer, especially on a superficial level because the answer is “nothing” and “everything”, all that once. What I loathed about India is what I came to love just as equally. Take, for example, the “annoying” habit Indians have of having no regard for line ups or a discernible queue. This initially drove me insane but on my last day in Mumbai, I finally accepted this as purely Indian. And so I overcame my Canadian-ness and I budged. It felt uncomfortable at first, especially considering I budged in front of a grandmother in the ferry line for Elephanta Island. However, she actually smiled at me and pushed on my back to budge in front of more people! On the other hand, I fell in love with the beautiful children who came across my path, all huge-eyed and blessedly quiet. But it would always be a con-artist-in-training kid who could ruin an otherwise brilliant day by aggressively begging for rupees or pick-pocketing me on a train.

Welcoming a stranger

My initial reaction to India was one of horrific wonder. Such a beautiful place populated with the most beautiful people! And then such terrible pollution, poverty and corruption.  The feeling when I left it was of awe. I had so many questions when I landed in India, many of which I still don’t have answers for. How does it even work? All those people, so little space, dwindling resources, drought, famine, terrorism, chaos. How do the people of India welcome people with open arms into their homes and communities? How do the majority of Indians live off of so little and consider themselves wealthy? How does the system of India work so seamlessly, as if there is an undercurrent of energy keeping the scales balanced?

  

I realise that I will have to return to India one day to find these answers. My first time in India was more about surviving than absorbing if I am being completely honest with myself. A palmist told me I would return in 2013, and that sounds about right to me. I’ve got a year+ to prepare. I think I’ll take up kick-boxing and a procure a year’s supply of hand sanitizer.

Cast Out of Eden

I don't even remember this being taken - Spaniard, Drunky & Bad Influence

The night that I first tried to leave India was emotional to say the least. My travel companion, a beautiful Spaniard who I am so blessed to have met, caught the brunt of it. If anyone has seen me at a wedding or post-barn dance, they will have an idea of what I was like. Essentially, I was having a temper tantrum fueled by one too many Kingfisher beers. Xabier the Spaniard (yup, that’s his full name), and I had spent my last night having great conversation over cheap beer in Bombay. At one point, a friend from my cohort and probably the worst influence ever, walked by randomly and joined us. Things got a little fuzzy for me after that but I remember back at our hotel, packing for my 4am flight, and throwing rupees around and crying not-so-prettily. There was ranting involved. I think I threw money directly at my Spaniard while yelling “Take it, I don’t need it anymore because I’m LEAVING. WAHHHHHHHHH”. Not really my finest moment. 

But Xabier was patient, and with a gentle kiss to my forehead, he put me in a taxi. I cried the entire hour to the airport. My driver pretended not to notice the emotional cripple in his backseat and happily pointed out landmarks along the way. With a heavy heart, I entered the airport, praying for a natural disaster to impede me from getting on my plane. I checked my dirty backpack with Korean Air, sullenly accepted my boarding passes and found the nearest seat to sink into.

I don’t know if I consciously sabotaged myself, but what I do know is that at 4:50am, when I woke up from an impromptu airport nap, I had officially become my own natural disaster. I had missed my flight. I have never been so panicked and simultaneously self-loathing in my life. The man next to me, sporting a huge turban and the sweetest mustache ever, was taken aback when the sleeping pile of booziness next to him jumped out of her seat and flew down the hall cursing loudly. I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I thought that going through security was a good idea. They stopped me there and pointed out that I was an hour late for my flight. And so began an intercultural exchange that I will never live down. I was dragged throughout the airport, into back offices, scary security rooms and all over the concourse as they shook their heads (no Indian head bobbles now) and tried to figure out what to do with me. I was apologizing the entire time, berating myself for my own stupidity and still in shock. I don't miss planes. I am hyper-organized and would never miss my plane. Was this a dream? My dad is going to kill me. Staff and airport security spoke in Hindi and only occasionally addressed the panicked white girl, usually to ask "why you so stupid Canadian?" 

I sat in a room of attendants while it was sorted out. They thought it was hilarious that I just sat myself down and passed out, not even considering finding my terminal to at least sleep there. I, on the other hand, didn't find it hilarious. But in connecting with them, I felt suddenly like everything would be ok. This is India after all. I had heard the words 'In India, anything is possible" all over the country whether I was trying to buy my way onto a packed train or covertly asked someone where I could find a decent steak around here (turns out, Pondicherry!) I slowly calmed down, and began to listen to their stories about their families, their friends and spouses. I quickly learned that they all wanted to come with me to Canada. They asked me if it truly was as beautiful as people say (damn straight it is!) and if there were many Indians where I lived. They asked how much I would pay them to clean my home or drive my car for me. Most had friends or family living in Toronto. They asked if I had any single friends who would like an Indian wife to cook for him, or perhaps an Indian husband to make the pretty babies with? I had such a great time joking with these people that I almost forgot about my bonehead move.

Gateway to India, Bombay Harbour

But this bonehead move was the best drunken mistake I have ever made. Korean Air was amazing, and laughingly teased the sleepy, drunk Canadian as they sorted out my fate. As it turns out, the same flight was leaving in two days. I could be on that one. They didn’t charge me anything. They sent me back into Mumbai as the sun was rising over the hazy city and I felt such peace. I had my carry-on luggage, my hand sanitizer, the clothes on my back and I was ecstatic. When I arrived at the hotel, Xabier opened the door, boxer-clad and sleepy eyed. But even in the early morning hours his grin and broken English line “I knew you would be back”, really cinched the fact that I was where I belonged.

Two days later, and much more sober and emotionally level, I did leave India. I was ready. I took in all the sights I wanted and made some beautiful new friends. And when I arrived at the airport, I felt like a rockstar. Everyone knew my name! It was like the t.v. show “Cheers”, only with semi-automatic rifles and baggage tags. People teasingly asked if I had a nap that day. Others asked how many beers I had consumed and if my father was as mad at me as I had thought he would be (turns out no, he’s awesome!) Korean Air staff even found me, pre-flight, as I was greedily eating my last masala dosa. They wanted to ensure I wasn’t nodding off in a corner somewhere. And when the wheels pulled up from the Mumbai airport tarmac, I was at peace. I was going home. Home to my family, my cat, my home and the awesome people I am so lucky to call friends.

Taj Mahal Palace hotel, site of 2008 terrorist attack and one beautiful monument

Build Me Up Buttercup (India, you can be a real jerk sometimes)

Have you ever been slapped by a motorist whizzing by you at at least 60km/hr?

I hadn’t either until three hours ago, and I still have the welt to prove it. India is a cheeky little fucker. I waltzed, no wait, I strutted into Jaipur three days ago, brimming with travelers confidence and emotional baggage from having to leave my most amazing cohort after an intense three week residency. I felt so bonded with these amazing folk, but a small part of me was glad to be on my own again with more space and time to think. My liver was thrilled too after the 1o days in Goa that we had (insert fist shaking at whiskey and Goa-specialty feni, a cashew liquor that goes down much too easily).

The famous Raj Mandir Cinema

I started out all piss and vinegar, unable to contain my glee at exploring another city and state so freely. I found a great guesthouse in the dead of night after my original choice was booked. I made my way through the city palace, the bazaars of the Pink City and climbed the monkey-laden hill to the temple in Galta. I attended the cinema by myself and not only was I NOT groped, but I felt like less of a spectacle as there were two other white girls there, and since they were a larger surface area of white skin, all eyes went their way and I was free to roam and appreciate the opulent theatre in a way I couldn’t anywhere else.

My cycle-rickshaw got lost one night, cycling in circles for an hour before I magically was saved by a tall and authoritative Egyptian/American hybrid I dubbed “St.Michael”.  I felt invincible but I should have known that would end, and soon. To quote the Adiga novel I am currently zipping through: “What a fucking joke!”

Men and asking for directions = a universal fail

 Today was strange because I literally had to force myself to leave my room. My guesthouse (Ratan Niwas) is nothing fancy, but it’s clean and safe. It also lacks windows and thus any semblance of natural light. So I wake up later and get pissed off at myself for wasting yet another sunrise in India. But a strange thing happened today.

The epitome of white guilt

Today is my last day in Jaipur and I had a list of things I wanted to do and see, but suddenly updating Twitter seemed more important. As was rearranging my backpack. Watching some terrible show about Indian women trying to look Western took precedence. I also decided to fung shui my room, moving the chairs, bureau and even the huge-ass wardrobe just a titch to the left to balance things out. It was 1pm before I ever left the room, and I only did it then because the power went out and sitting in the dark was not appealing. I spent an hour on the roof, eating aloo paratha and drinking tea, before I ever ventured beyond the hotel gate. And when I did, what did I do? I went to a fancy hotel and paid to use their pool! Ugh, I’m disgusted with myself even writing that. So I spent my last afternoon, lounging by a frigid pool, in the shade, surrounded by chubby, euro retirees.

Yup, I hate myself.

After the pool, I had just enough vim left to check out the Nargarth Fort so I set out to find an honest looking tuk-tuk guy to take me as far as he could before I had to hike up the steep hill. But before I found him, there was a motorcycle coming at me at an alarming speed. Three guys on the bike locked eyes with me but I refused to back down. They had the entire street (for once, In India, there was zero traffic thanks to the fact that today was a Muslim holiday) and I was off to the side of the road. They could stay on their side I thought to myself smugly and boldly continued to walk straight forward. Suddenly they zig-zagged towards me, I didn’t flinch, but the guy in the rear slapped my arm, hard, as they whizzed past laughing. 

He was NOT smiling by the end of our exchange

Now, if he had been going slowly, this would have been more of a playful smack. That’s my theory anyways. But because of their velocity, I stumbled backward and spun a little bit, my right arm smarting and turning a violent red as I turned to yell at their retreating, and still laughing, form. I mustered all the mystic powers I had and cursed them with bad karma forever. I stopped short of spitting at them though because an Untouchable was looking at me then, with such pity in her eyes. For a woman who is disgraced by her own society to look at me like that, well, it stopped my pity party right there. But I was still pretty pissed off and took my bad mood out on the next three tuk-tuk drivers who refused twenty rupees offer to get me back to the hotel.

What is the point of my rant? Nothing really. But it’s been four weeks since my last blog and I felt guilty about not communicating. There have been so many amazing moments in between, but it was the thoughtless gesture by this young hooligan (yeah, I know I sound 80) that made me want to spew words into my blog again. Hopefully my next post will be more positive.

Am about to board a night train to Jaisalmer, to ride through the desert on some poor, smelly camel and camp out under a clear and starry sky, a la ‘Arabian Nights’. That should be worth a rave review for sure but for now, I’m just annoyed. 

India… why do you build me up?

Rooftop sunset over the Pink City

My First Corpse. Welcome to Varanasi!

I’m now hovering above 38 hours without sleep. After a four hour bus ride, two flights, and a sleepless overnight in the grossest airport I have ever encountered, I am touching down in Varanasi, City of Light and public cremation. I find out from a Dutch guy on the flight (who spits when he talks and apparently doesn’t notice) that there is a huge festival in Varanasi this week and I am instantly regretting not booking a room in advance. Leaving any train/bus station or airport in India is chaotic enough, but not knowing where I am going, or if there is even a bed waiting for me at the end, is a trial I am not looking forward to. 

Outside the airport is a loud crowd of touters, all eager to earn some commission by hijacking me and taking me to their hotel of choice. I pick the frailest one, my logic being that if he attacks me, at least I have a fighting chance. He pulls me through the crowd, calling me his friend and talking on his cell in a language I don’t even recognize as Hindi, it must be another, even less familiar dialect. Great. He takes me to a rusty car (the jig is up, now I know he’s not a taxi driver), and the largest man I have ever seen emerges from the driver seat and plucks my bag off my shoulder like it’s a flake of dandruff, and throws it in the trunk. Before he slams the lid down I glimpse a long black canvas bag and a length of rope. Fantastic.

We are driving along the highway, a typical rural highway, but this time we are crawling along. The giant behind the wheel is the most careful driver ever, and rarely uses his horn. He doesn’t speak during the drive, but the frail “Kempo” in the passenger seat is still on the phone, obviously having trouble locating a room for me but reassuring me with every hang up: “No problem madam, I find you a room. And if not, you come and stay with me!" *laugh uproariously* Ummmmm....!

Some are waiting for a modeling contract before death... on the Ganges

I’m imagining the various ways these two could kill/rape/rob me when we crawl into a city that looks older than dirt. The sun is setting and a strange calm comes over me. Suddenly I don’t care if I die here, because the city is lighting up, seemingly from within the earth, as if a giant candle is bathing every crumbling building with its glow. I feel at peace.

And apparently if I did die here, I would achieve instant “Moksha” or enlightenment. All of my sins would dissolve and I would emerge in the next life, as clean as my mother’s bathroom. Widows and elderly folk come to this crossing place between devotees and deities to live out their final days. They are literally here, just waiting for death.

Preparing livestock for the festival ;)

Kempo does find me a room, a fantastic room actually. For the commissioned price of 800Rs ($16CAD) I have a large, clean room with a bathroom that has a hot water option, a luxury I have not experienced in India (nor have I needed a hot shower, especially in the South). I’m at PB Ganges View Guesthouse, efficiently run by Arvin, a man with a penchant for “magic” lassis and India’s “So You Want to Be a Millionaire”. He tells me that he initially told the touter no, he had no rooms, because he doesn’t like to support scammers. But something told him to pick up the phone and call Kempo back. Thank Shiva he did!

After so long without sleep, I eat a quick dinner on Arvin’s rooftop restaurant under his interested gaze (I discover over the course of my stay that he is fascinated with watching me eat – I have no clue why). I fall asleep at 7pm to the sound of wailing, singing and a preemptive rooster. When I awake the following morning, my first steps outside the guest house present the shocking experience of my first corpse. An old man has passed away in the night (hence the wailing), and women are gathered in the alley, in between pools of runny cow dung, human urine and dog vomit, washing his body in preparation of his (public) cremation. I tiptoed around him, apologizing (in English) to the weeping women as I did. 

This was my introduction to Varanasi, and three days later, it hasn’t let me down yet. Stay tuned...

A treasure within the maze of tiny alleys of Varanasi