I is for India

People ask me if I liked India.  I never know quite what to say. India was the most different country I’ve ever been to. There is no comparing it to any place else. In India, I learned that begging it the number one profession.  I saw children with elephantitis, one leg or arm, giant. I was told this helped them to be better beggars. On night busses back to the ship, I noticed the sidewalks I’d been walking that day were now covered with sleeping bodies. I wondered if any were dead. I felt constantly dirty, filthy. I’d blow my nose and black would come out. I could not wear my contacts. I brought granola bars and tried to consist on those for the five days we were there to avoid the dreaded Delhi belly. I didn’t avoid it. The noise in the streets was constant, like background music that never changes. India was full, packed, overflowing with people. I’d never seen so many people in one place.

I watched sacred cows roaming aimlessly among the people, adorned in gold.   I glimpsed beautiful women covered in intricate saris. I heard languages that sounded like songs.  I witnessed kindness on every corner.  I photographed the Taj Mahal. There is a picture of my in the only long skirt I brought, standing in front of the shallow pool in front of the tomb. My arms are raised up and out saying, ‘this is where I am.’ I am joyful and unbelieving.  I do not think I look like me. I held babies whose mothers or sisters or brothers thought it might be good luck to have the white girl touch her. I road rickshaws to markets I had no intention of going to. I wept, I smiled, I tried to understand.

People ask me if I liked India. I still, 15 years later, do not know quite what to say.