Wednesday, 28 August 2013

Day 4: BOHOT, BOHOT SHUKRIYA DOST (thank you very much my friend)

I could feel the grain residue on my hands hours after. And its ideologies I imagine will stay with me for days. What a stunning concept to watch unfold. The entire community coming together to cook a dinner available to everyone. Even more amazing? They had a specific workspace designed to do just that. 
It is incredible to me to think that a group of people can conglomerate to form a microcosm of the entire country. A selection of multiple religions, "untouchables", wealthy, and young people can enjoy a meal as one. Furthermore, to find time in their day to set aside solely for that purpose. Prior to that, to volunteer sometimes multiple times a week to make it happen. 
Trying to imagine such a thing happening in London, or even back home in my friendly Baltimore, is near impossible. Setting aside ones ego for more than two minutes in a city such as London would be tragic, unheard of! 
I am realizing it's exactly that getting in our own way. All these stories coming out of western media criticizing India are the result of a stubborn jealousy routed in years of traditional superiority. An incapability to accept India's thriving economy. Nearly half the growth in 2008? Down to 5% from a record 9%? To quote Andrew Sopal, a representative of British government in India from the foreign office, "David Cameron would cut off his right arm to have 5% growth in these times." A refusal to accept their misconstrued people. "The story you don't want to hear," is more aptly named, "The story whose point is tired and bitter." 
It is sad to watch the West as they desperately grasp at former superiority. But it is thrilling to see Indian people eat their dinner, full and aware as they claim it, ending the night on whispers of "Namaste", and "Bohot, bohot, shukriya dost." 

Tuesday, 27 August 2013

Day 3: MAIN England SE HOON (I am from England): inspirations from an ex-pat

"[India] is a place on which foreigners have projected their own fantasies and fears...and can't seem to make up their minds." Sam Miller, BBC corespondent, wistfully read an excerpt from his book, Delhi: Adventures in a Mega-City. I'd no idea how inspired I would be by such a reading.
He ambled on stage, and accented his awkward fumbling over the podium with a jaunty smile. Never has anyone looked more like a journalist. He kept his glasses hung around is neck, and tilted his chin upward as he thought on an answer. 
It's a shame one can't capture the swerves in his accent as he navigates the question, occasionally lifting his hand from its comfortable setting on his hip to stroke his chin for a second, or scratch inside his ear. 
What a wonderfully charming person, I thought. It didn't surprise me that he is reluctant to confine India to the word "love" and label his tender connection with such a country. If his thoughts were as open as his actions, he could be in Zimbabwe next week. 
The first question he asked himself when writing his first novel, quoted above, was "When did I first set foot in India?" My answer? Yesterday. And, embarrassingly. I was immediately hit with a slap of culture when I realized my white, "western conservative" shorts were an issue. 
Lesson learned. 

Day 2: JALDI (quickly)

Old Delhi was shocking. I am not sure how I mean that. It was so profound to see so many things just  happening. A man sat across from another on the street, frothing shaving cream on his face and preparing to claim a few rupees wage. A woman rubbed her child's back with one hand, the other outstretched for any spare rupee her partner in shaving may have failed to collect. So manic, but everyone is so calm.
The latter is another thing that struck me. The roads were terrifyingly packed, but the people ambled on anyway. Ignoring insistence from rickshaw drivers that they move out of the way, so sure of their own safety. How does such a calm people create the chaos they live in?
Every building I pass in Old Delhi seems half-built, as if they managed to construct a semi-livable condition and decided to reward themselves by settling there permanently and daring Mother Nature to blow down their house with a wild monsoon.
There is an overwhelming amount of wires, as if they represent each person packs in this crowded city, or maybe they wait for the day they will connect them to a privileged life they aspire to have. 

Day 1: CHALOC (let's go)

Today I live my cliché. I sit anxiously in the Heathrow duty free area watching passerbys; wondering if they anticipate like me, or are as excited as I am. India. The golds and green leaves of corriander I wrote about in my application are about to gain a face.
This is a reminder if my own thoughts. I do not know what I expect of India, but I guess that's exactly it. Insight? Would be nice... But I think that's more to do with life than its location. I don't aspire to change while there. I don't want to come back a different person, like those on Catholic religious retreats, who have sworn they saw God on a crucifix, even though he's hung there the entire time.
I digress. I want to be my same self, just a version that smiles more, appreciates. Is thankful, like so many of the Indian people I will be thrilled to meet. 

Monsoon Season

Today we felt the rains for the first time, I am not sure why "monsoon" is confined only to a season where it seems to apply to the entirety of Indian culture. It is a rush of everything.
I saw a small boy as I peered through the open door of the auditorium on induction day. His slender hands rested on the striped awning, just watching the rain fall. He was so peaceful. I wonder what he thought in those moments.
This blog is an exploration of my time in India, an exploration of the changes in western thinking that I expect to encounter, the people, their cities, and ridiculously uncessary honking.