The thing about my life here in India is that it is rarely conducive to writing a simple blog entry. Or to using logical thought patterns for that matter. For one reason or another, I feel like I've been just a little bit off kilter ever since I stepped off the plane.
I'm not talking about a full-on meltdown, though I've certainly had those. I'm talking about that feeling you get when you go to the rollerskating rink for the entire afternoon. You skate your ass off to the Cranberries and 4 Non Blondes. Then it's time to leave and you take your skates off. For about the first 10 minutes after you pull off your too-old-to-be-vintage patched, brown rentals, you've got the sea-legs. You can still walk, but it feels like your feet are lighter than air and they move in all the wrong ways. Yeah, I feel like that.
It's the little things here that throw me off kilter. Have you ever been in a really, really grumpy mood because that woman in front of you at the grocery store has two carts full, she's next in line, and she decided at the last minute to send her husband for some dressing ("Don't forget to get the fat-free stuff, dear. And make sure that it's the Spicy Italian, not just the regular Italian. Ooh, and pick up some croutons on your way back too, but make sure they are the garlic and herb, not the tomato basil.") But behind you there is the cutest little kid in the world, and she's laughing at something mundane and somehow gets you to chuckle too. You aren't sure what it is, and it weirds you out a bit, but suddenly you aren't so mad anymore.
In India, that kind of stuff happens all the time. I was on the bus the other day, and it was 107 degrees. There were three men on the seat for two, somebody's armpit was rubbing my cheek, and a man was sitting on my lap. We pulled up at a stoplight, and there was this enormous bull sitting on the curb. Standing a few centimetres from its nose was a big blackbird. The two were staring at each other like they hadn't moved all day. The cow was totally nonplussed, and the bird was enchanted. I laughed about it for the entire rest of the trip. But I don't know why.
The stress of getting a richshaw ride is the best. You finally find someone willing to take you, and you spend 10 minutes, walking away at least three times, to get them to rip you off ever-so-slightly less than they tried to at the beginning. After this process one day last week, and five minutes into our trip, the richshaw driver turns around with a perfect American accent and starts asking about my life, my family, and my travels in India. Turns out he also spoke German and some French. What is this place?
The most disorienting feeling is when you leave spaces that go out of their way to be non-Indian. We went to an Italian "trattoria" tonight. It was the works, there was even a man with a guitar and tassled poncho singing Joan Baez and John Denver for us live. He was the owner. Twenty minutes later, we're back in India, rolling three-deep on Dan Mike's scooter and stuck in a traffic jam, with the hot wind and dust blowing at us from all directions, and destitute children begging us for a rupee or two for food. This is India.
Somehow this entry seems to belittle my feelings. I fear I will regret the post, because "off-base" does not begin to describe how disoriented I feel. It is the most wonderful thing ever, and it changes me every day.
Flown by mariposa at 11:33 PM on April 30, 2005
Some experiences can never adequately be translanted on "paper". However, good writing can be measured by it's effect on the reader. I for one can attest that this is one of your best postings. You might not be able to fully convey exactly how you feel, on the other hand I can never fully appreciate it. Somehow we both benefit from the experience.
