Two weeks in India

           I had a moment on the plane. One of those moments where you stop for a minute, just one minute to bask in the beauty of life.  I can’t accurately put into words what overcame me. I looked out the plane window somewhere over the Middle East and thought, “Wow…so this is where it all leads”. 

The past year has been a whirlwind to say the least. It’s been chalk full of failure, uncertainty, love, loss, grief and frustration.  But for some reason, all I feel is overwhelming gratitude. The things my former self might have considered failures have turned out to be the most incredible gifts I’ve ever received. That moment on the plane, I felt the gravity of that gratitude. For however brief my soul was overcome with thankfulness, I felt unadulterated joy, happiness; in it’s purest sense, and I cried.

I wish I could tell you every day since my arrival in India has been laced with the same sentiment.  My first week was overwhelming to say the least. My first “oh shit” moment came when the hot water in my shower (which by the way is a generous term for the spicket that comes out of my bathroom wall) didn’t work. It took a good 10 minutes of talking myself into the ice cold water. You’d be surprised how many excuses you can come up with for NOT showering.

India IS overwhelming. It’s overwhelming and confusing on every level. It’s brimming with life, and life is both overwhelming and confusing.  It’s real, it’s dirty, it’s smelly, it’s heartbreaking, it’s loud and yet at the same time it’s vivid, it’s vulnerable, it’s vibrant, and it’s incredibly beautiful.

Walking to work I literally run the gamut of human emotions. I pass a woman colorfully covered in a pink sari bending over a campfire to cook breakfast for her family, and I smile.  Almost simultaneously I turn the corner and step over the saddest dog I’ve ever seen. The balding patches on his fur reveal a bony skeleton and his eye is sealed shut by a thick layer of blood and grime. He doesn’t move out of the way because he doesn’t have the energy to. My hand instinctively covers my heart and my belly, anything to appease the sinking feeling I can’t escape. I feel helpless.

On the same road full grown men stop me to ask “Excuse me mam, from where are you from?” Their curiosity amuses me. I stop to buy oranges, 24 for $1.50 from the man with a limp and a lazy eye. Lately he’s been lighting incense in the middle of the piles, I guess it’s good for advertising?  His excitement to sell me a bundle of oranges dismays me.

A few meters further I pass a family of 4 living on the sidewalk under a heap of newspapers, cardboard boxes and dirty tarps.  This time I can’t keep walking. I give them my lunch of PB&J and a handful of oranges. Their gratitude for my meager offering humbles me.

Boys on bikes with bushels of dead chickens hanging off the sides and men with long poles carrying massive baskets of eggs pass me by.  Smells of roti and dhal start to fill the air as the street vendors begin their cooking for the day.  Everyone stares at me. I guess I stand out. They have no qualms about staring at the strange white girl as they sip their morning chai.

So this is India. This is my new home. It’s a crazy place. I’m sure I’ll have a few breakdowns. I’m sure I’ll laugh until my stomach hurts as I take in all the strange sights and inconsistencies. I know I’ll cry, but most of all I’ll be truly ALIVE.  I’ll experience life in its confusing, overwhelming and raw beauty.  As they say here “Let’s wait and see”.