"Wrapped in my lightweight sari with the yellow trim, I stood along the curb of Marine Drive, outside the Sea Green Hotel, overlooking the Arabian Sea."
"Puja smiled as Hollee handed her a balloon. She breathed life into it. Giggled as it squeaked when she squeezed out the air. Again, she breathed life into the balloon. Looked up at us. Breathe. Squeeze. Laugh."
It is amazing how these sentences, written in chicken scratch in my journal nearly three years ago, can take me back to specific moments, leaving me daydreaming about my days in India. I can remember the sounds, the smells, the sights, and how I felt at each exact moment in time. India was so new and sense-assaulting every moment of every day that I find it impossible to forget any detail of my time spent there.
"Puja smiled as Hollee handed her a balloon. She breathed life into it. Giggled as it squeaked when she squeezed out the air. Again, she breathed life into the balloon. Looked up at us. Breathe. Squeeze. Laugh."
"I sat in the backseat of the taxi with my window open, wind rattling my hair and my arm poking out, rising and falling slowly on the wind, as our taxi driver swerved the rusted black car between guard rails, across multiple lanes of roadway, and past hundreds and hundreds of people. It was the people that caught my attention. Nearly one o'clock in the morning, and there were more people out in the streets than I've seen even in Manhattan. There
were men pulling rickshaws on foot; men carrying loads of lumber four feet high
on their backs; men sitting cross-legged in circles, gambling; and dozens of
people crowded onto each square meter of sidewalk. Men, women, children,
babies. Heads propped up on elbows. Heads resting on rough cement. Legs curled
around each other in pretzel-like formations. Thin pieces of cloth tied around
waists, acting as clothing."
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It is amazing how these sentences, written in chicken scratch in my journal nearly three years ago, can take me back to specific moments, leaving me daydreaming about my days in India. I can remember the sounds, the smells, the sights, and how I felt at each exact moment in time. India was so new and sense-assaulting every moment of every day that I find it impossible to forget any detail of my time spent there.
While sense-assaulting at many times, my trip to
India gave me a deeper understanding of the world. I came to love the fact that
my feet were dirt-stained, that my saris clung to my sweaty back and
inner-thighs, that my hair was never once not frizzy, and that I had to dodge
traffic every time I crossed the road. Most of all, though, I love that every experience
I had was a new one.
Two and a half years
after my trip, and I am still processing my experiences in India, and I am
still searching for ways to show justice to the people I met and the
opportunities I had there. I don’t know that I will ever make India clear to
others unless they go themselves. I don’t know that India will ever be
completely clear to me, but I do hope that I can continue to learn and grow
from her, even from afar. Although I faced a lot in India that was difficult to
process, I have to remind myself that I didn’t go to India to change India. I
went to India to let India change me.
India is not a place easily forgotten. Her people are ones
you cannot quickly erase from your memory. She has a way of planting a seed of
lifelong excitement within you that grows and grows until you think you cannot
stand the thought of being away from her any longer.
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