Three Weeks in India. I can go home now.

 The last time I saw my 'boss' before I headed off to India, he said to me, half-jokingly,  "please promise you'll stay at least three weeks?"  I know that he's never been to India, but I think in that moment he suddenly had some deep connection with the immensity of this journey he was sending me on.  And he's a wise, wise, man.
Because at the 3 day mark I was ready to pack it in, but I couldn't, because I promised.  At the week and a half mark, I was SOOO ready to come home!  But I couldn't.  Because I promised. And at the two and half week mark . . . yep, you guessed it:  I want my mommy, and I want to go home.  But . . .I bet you know what's coming: I promised.  So, here I am at the three week mark, and I can go home now, because I've kept my promise.

Funny enough, now that I have the choice, I'm ready to stick around and really experience this place. I don't know how Peter picked 'three weeks' as the magic number, but it appears to be just that.  The last week has been an emotional roller-coaster, dominated by frustration, impatience and irritability.  (To all my friends and family who have borne witness and listened to me vent, Peter and I thank you.) Something shifted last night as I slept, and I awoke softened, more open, more able to see what is . . .and what's possible. 

There is so much to learn from this incredible country, from its people, from its heritage.  When I pause to think about a place with thousands of years of history and heritage, as compared with my country that really only recognizes a couple of hundred years.  wow.

I won't say I'm smitten with India; just like Delhi streets, the relationship is just not that clean.  But, somehow, I'm hooked, and I'm ready to open myself to her.  And there are so many opportunities here to both look outside myself and look deep within as Mother India shines her mirror back at me.

The paradoxes and contradictions here boggle my mind. Every day I pass poverty on the streets like I've never seen. I spent Sunday afternoon with a friend and colleague at her golf & country club, surrounded by immense wealth, and had a powerful conversation with her about holding that place of paradox.  I know that part of my journey here is to make peace, hopefully once and for all, with the incredible wealth that I already have, and the freedom it provides me. (I have a Canadian passport.  I actually kissed it the other day, as I recognized just what privilege and freedom that passport affords me).   We talked about that balance, the ever grey lines around what is enough . . . and the implacable, painful realization that no matter how much we give, we cannot solve all the problems around us.

Literally, my head begins to ache as I think about these things.  Some part of me can't let go of the notion that there is a systemic solution or a system of solutions that could change how we all co-exist in the world . . . . like a series of threads that if we could just reconnect them, would return us to balance.  I am grateful to know that even as I get older, wiser, and generally more cynical, I remain an idealist.  May I never grow up or out of that.

And may I never be hardened so that I can't see and feel the pain of the children on the streets, or the dogs that limp along hungry.  And may I continue to open my heart to see the balance, rather than getting trapped in the sorrow.  To laugh at the simple joy of children playing; even as they weave amidst the traffic, trying to sell me things through the car window . . . and get distracted into playing tag when I won't buy.  Dogs, sleeping in the sunshine, looking content in that moment.  The cabbie smiling at me, surprised, as I give him a 20 rupee tip (about 50 cents).

I truly do not know what this journey holds for me.  I have spent the last three weeks struggling against the not-knowing, wailing against the injustice of the universe demanding that I surrender into trust.  I can't promise I won't continue to put up a fight occasionally, or that I won't continue to have moments of home-sickness, overwhelm, or just general India-fatigue.  In fact, I think I can promise that all of the above will resurface again and again . . . .but I'm ready for them.  I survived my first three weeks in India, and fulfilled my promise.  Now I'm here because I choose to stay, because I am willing to trust the path unfolding in front of me.  Because I can't resist, like a child in front of a christmas tree laden with gifts, the opportunity to unwrap the packaging and see what I find.

PS: Of course I know that I always had a choice to go home if I really wanted to, and I never really considered throwing in the towel . . . but it was touch and go for a moment or two, I'll admit.

My first week in India

How do I put this first week into words?  Delhi is a cacophony of sounds, smells and sights . . . perhaps in that order.  When I was in Guatemala, I thought San Marcos was noisy - I devoted an entire post to it, in fact.  Sanny M has *nothing* on Delhi.  Horns are a constant discordant melody over the rumble of the traffic itself.  At night, it appears that Indians like fireworks almost as much as Guatemalans.  I haven't heard so many dogs barking - outside at least, although they are everywhere on the street.  Inside I hear dogs barking, mind you, as the guesthouse I'm staying in right now has two yappy little poms.

As for smells . . . the air here is so think sometimes I am amazed I can breathe.  I am starting to wonder if I will ever get the grit out of my eyes, or if it's permanent now.  My lungs yearn for BC's beautiful fresh air.  The smell is mostly not as bad as I expected - I was warned that I would find it intolerable getting off the plane, and really it hasn't been so bad.  It is interesting though how markedly stinkier the city gets after dark.  I'm not sure what that is . . .but it's a sickly sweet smoggy icky pungent aroma that seems to envelope the roads as the evening sets.   As always when I travel, I came down with a cold this week and it has almost been a blessing in that I can't smell much.  On the other hand, I have a hunch that the air quality didn't exactly help my healing process.  Fortunately I'm on the mend, although I still don't quite have my sense of smell back.  I'm counting my blessings.

Maybe sights should have come first on the list - there are so many.  It is such an interesting place to be witness to; the paradoxes and contradictions are everywhere.  Hindus, Muslims; happy, cared-for children, poor, dirty children with no shoes; women in fine traditional silks and saris, women in western business suits and stilettos; shiny BMW SUVs, beat up old suzuki hatch-backs; hundreds of homeless people and dogs, wealthy people with servants and spoiled fru fru dogs; tenement style concrete block buildings beside stunning palatial houses.  What's most remarkable to me is not that these contradictions exist, but how they co-exist in such proximity of each other.

Much to my surprise, I was here almost an entire week before I saw my first cow on the street.  Apparently they herded both the cows and the beggars out of Delhi for the Common Wealth Games in October.  I think the beggars have resumed their numbers more quickly overall.

The same day I spotted the cow - meandering through the market, I also spotted my first elephant, walking along a main road.  Her (I am assuming it's a girl, not sure why) face was painted with beautiful blue and gold markings and she carried a platform and rider. As we drove past her my host, Ashish, graciously stopped to let me get a picture.  Turns out they walk fairly quickly, as by the time I got my camera out I ended up with a fantastic shot of her rump walking past us.  We zipped ahead of her again and then had to stop for a light, so I hopped out to get another shot, but the light was fading, so it's not very good.  In the mean time, as we waited for the light, she pulled up behind us in the traffic line to wait for the light also.  Ashish hoped aloud that she wouldn't rest her trunk on our roof - as no doubt it would collapse. What an image to contemplate!!  Fortunately, she kept her trunk to herself until we had pulled away and then she used it to reach up for a snack as she walked under a big leafy tree. It was really quite an awesome sight.

Ashish also made sure to stop by a place known as the "Lotus Temple" en route to and from the office this week so I could take pictures.  Once in the morning and once at night.  It's Delhi's Baha'i temple, and the building is constructed such that it looks like a lotus flower. It's really quite a remarkable structure, and it's amazing all lit up at night.

I'm slowly getting to know the little area I'm in, although I think I'll be moving to another neighbourhood next week.  As lovely as my hosts here are, I've found another guesthouse that feels like it will better suit me for a long-term stay.  It's in a little enclave, with gardens and grass, and more independent private space, including a desk and sitting area.  Given that I'll be working primarily from home that feels essential. Sitting in bed working has a pretty limited novelty. Really, how many hours a day can you spend in bed??  Admittedly, I get regular tea service in bed here . . . but still, the novelty is wearing as my butt gets numb and I begin to develop cabin-fever.  My body and spirit need to have a dedicated workspace, if not in another room, at least one that requires me to stand up and move to another spot in the room. I'm positive it's better for circulation and sanity.


A quick end-note to sum up my first week.  I spent a fair bit of time driving around this week. (passengering, actually.  I don't think I EVER want to actually *drive* here)  Zipping around South Delhi, I discovered yet another fascinating facet of Indian road laws:  As I watched all the motorcycles and scooters zip by with women riding the back side-saddle, I discovered that not only is that legal (you can't possibly straddle a moto in a sari!!) but the law also holds that helmets are required for men, but not for women unless they are driving. (Apparently this decision was made to honour women - the decision makers felt that women wouldn't want the helmet to mess up their hair)  So, women passengers and the children all piled on the bike are not required to wear any kind of protective gear.  I totally see the logic: clearly the woman on the back sitting side-saddle with a baby in her lap is not only far less likely to fall off, but surely she won't crack her head if that should happen. And children are resilient, they'll bounce. Surely. ;-)