“I yank my hand from his, pick up my backpack and storm towards the plane. He yells after me, 'You, madam, you come back to India, you come for love, you love it, you love us again.' I break into a run, push onto the plane and sink into my seat. As we take off I give smog-swirled New Delhi the finger. 'Goodbye and good riddance, India, I hate you and I'm never, never, ever coming back." Holy Cow, Sarah Macdonald.
The first time I travelled to India, I hated it. Absolutely hated it. I was sad that I’d disrupted my life to come to this dirty, brown country where young boys begged me for ‘just one kiss on my penis’ and each day was conducted within the framework of knowing that I was being ripped off. I hated the pollution. I hated the way children, women and animals were treated. I hated the chaos. Then, as my trip wore on, my perspective changed and I realized that what I really hated about India was myself.
I remember the moment when I decided that the reason I was brought to India was to discover that I didn’t like myself very much. Watching the sun set over the ghats in Pushkar, I realized that this judgemental, complaining, negative person wasn’t at all the person I wanted to be and I resolved that the lesson I would take from India was to shut up, stop complaining and just see things. As simple as it sounds, it marked an epiphany for me. After that, I loved India. Loved it then and love it now.
India acts as a mirror. It’s one thing to be flexible, tolerant, and open- minded from the comfortable structure provided by home; to pretend I’m not attached to material needs when my car sits parked outside and I try to decide what to wear to work that morning; to think that I’m patient when interactions with people in my community can be measured in seconds. India challenges all of these notions. That first trip I learned that it’s possible to accept things without endorsing them, that to accept that something doesn’t mean I agree with it, it just means that it is what it is. It was a very necessary lesson at that point in my life.
The passage below is from the end of my journal from that first India trip. This time, I have two months to see what kinds of lessons find their way to me.
“Have I been ‘beaten down’ as I once wrote I’d have to be in order to accept things here? Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just experienced the surprises, thrown my hysterical fits to no avail,and simply know what to expect. I don’t think it’s resignation but, rather, acceptance. Maybe that’s the difference. I accept India. I don’t know that I like it any better but I stopped fighting it and was able to enjoy it. India is what it is - that’s that.” Me, India, August 2000
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