Half-Way Into India

The last month has been a mixture of traveling, and delving into new routines to fill my days spent alone. It has been interesting to find that despite my efforts to ‘find myself,’ and to throw worry and schedules out the window, I am still struggling with finding a sense of inner peace. It was brought to my attention, however, that I have gone about this task all wrong – I am trying to find balance and happiness by comparing myself to unrealistic goals. I came to India with a very tangible to-do list, but I’ve spent my time exploring and learning mostly intangible lessons. The problem arises when I still expect to complete the former. Despite the coolness factor that I could gain by being Wonder Woman, I happen to be fresh out of red boots, cape, and gold leotard. I need to re-evaluate what I’m doing in India, and realize that I’ve come a long way from the numbness I felt even 60 days ago. I have regained my excitement for life, re-introduced myself to a few of my old passions, and am overall, more content with where I’m going in life. Plans are in motion. The pieces are beginning to move. I’m taking control, and it’s great. 

 

 

My time in India is at the half-way mark, and Joe and I have a strange contrast in feeling like we’ve been here forever, and an aching for home that almost leads to picking up and leaving tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling, and all that it requires. I like all the new faces, the languages, the awkward moments that make you want to fade into nothingness, and the amazing ones that make you feel on top of the world. All in all though, I’ve been in India long enough to make a fair judgment about the country as a whole. Here it goes.

 

I’m not really a fan. It’s hard living here with such a poor infrastructure in place, guiding the people into chaos and ritual that is only practiced because others did it first. People don’t think for themselves, relying on rules and regulations, most of which come from strict Hindu and Muslim traditions. The people are tough though, I’ll give them that, and the way they live with almost nothing is respectful in my privileged, American eyes. The driving here in Hyderabad, and most other Indian cities, is still horrible, long, and the crowds are enough to make even the grand palace of Mysore a miserable experience. Indian food is another topic altogether. I have left most of the taste-testing up to Joe, as I’ve never been too interested in eating in general. Even he feels that it’s all the same, and that Indian food in the US tastes much better than even what his bacteria obsessed Google cafeteria serves. The choices revolve around various colors of smashed vegetables watered down to make it the consistency of soup – add some Nan which is really just a substitute to the fork or spoon, as it’s the only stuff that will soak up the ‘main course.’ This is a large generalization, I know, but Joe and I have yet to see Indian food that looks appetizing. The air quality too is something between campfire smoke, LA smog, and wet dog. Once you get into the countryside, burning trash becomes the toxic fumes burning the inside of your nose. Oh how I miss the beautiful shores of Lake Michigan from my hometown! I’m not complaining as much as I’m trying to convey how uncomfortable living here can be at times – I love this experience, and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I never would have expected the frustrations that come with living here. My time living in Italy was a breeze, comparatively! 

 

I think it’s hard for the Indians too as they are stuck somewhere between deeply embedded tradition and modern influence. Other nations are most likely similar in this juxtaposition, but I haven’t been there, so all I can comment on is India. To my credit though, when we had dinner with a relative of Joe’s who has been all over the world (more than once), he admitted that India is by far the worst country that he’s been to. ‘Wow,’ was all that came to mind. It’s a comment that falls somewhere between disheartening and depressing, with a twist of hope that the only place the country can go is UP. The women in their sari’s are still beautiful in their strength and wispy yards of material, the herds of goats walking beside the freeway construction is always surprising, and the communal living still challenges my ideals of space and privacy. So, despite my squabbles about living here, the last few weeks have been entertaining and always, eye-opening. I suppose that’s all one can really ask for as a lover of travel.

 

Dynamicism

Walking through the world as we do, much of our surroundings are taken for granted. We move through space as though we are in charge, and yet, in the back of our minds, we know that we are nothing but a speck on a spinning earth set amid a sea of sparkling stars. We think. We act. We criticize and appreciate. We also react, and on occasion, we let go. When I say let go, I’m referring to stopping the mental chatter racing across the synapses of the brain, and to simply look. Taking a rare moment to open ourselves up to the world in this way allows for the beauty and dynamic movement of life to be realized.

 

A sense of awe spreads across your body because this feeling is not just a mental one, left to the confines of the brain, but it is physical, and emotional, and even metaphysical. It is similar to the grandiose feeling in which we regard the heavens, or outer space. It consumes you, pushing your logical mind to find an explanation, and your emotional heart to greedily take it all in, making it your own so that the world seems slightly more manageable. Lost in this moment of dynamic contemplation, you find yourself slightly detached. You are simply there. You are existing in the moment, and rather than acting or reacting with what’s around you, you are acutely aware of its essence – the space it takes up in the world.

 

Walking around tonight, I would look up toward the sky, and in the hazy evening mist, I was aware of the physical space between the top of buildings and the atmosphere above. That sounds strange, I know, but it just seemed so big. Even the area around my body, and my body’s relationship to the buildings or trees lining the road’s edge seemed different. It seemed bigger. It was like I could reach out my hand, and I would be reaching forever through this misty space. The closest experience I’ve had outside of this moment are the times I’ve been under water. I open my eyes, and the relationship between the surface, the ocean floor, and rocks scattered along the rippled sand seem distorted. I lose the understanding I have with my physical world, the one I’ve relied on since I came into this world as a child. I wonder if newborn’s experience this awesome realization of how dynamic life really is.

During m walk, I was so aware of colors, and the way shadows danced across surfaces. I watched the reflections of the 10-story apartment building in the calm waters of the pool below. The way in which the branches of the palms and bushes met the purple haze behind it seemed to yell out with a cry of ‘notice me.’ Black against a starry purple. The vines growing down the building’s surface seemed to pop out as though they would grab me as I walked by. I noticed every branch along the way, and even how fluidly my body maneuvered around a large metal gate obstructing our way. As I walked, I noticed the geometric designs of the tilework, and the perfect lines separating the pieces of cement. These were in such stark contrast to my body which moved organically across them, swaying, and undulating, proving once again that I am alive, and dynamic in my own right. Looking into the street lamp’s glow, I notice not only the bugs flying in frantic confusion, but the thousands of dust particles rising through the sky. This is the same air that fills my lungs with every breath I take. Can India really be this dusty, I wonder to myself. It is another moment where I am reminded that this isn’t home. It is also a moment where I realize that it is often in these experiences away from what I know, that I become cognoscente of the very act of becoming aware. 

I’m not describing the feeling of being on top of the world, where pride and excitement for life leaps from the heart, making even the impossible seem possible. I’m not relating this awareness to that of spiritual enlightenment, or a moment of humble gratitude for the act of living. My senses are simply completely aware – I notice everything. I hear every note floating through the air, feel each wisp of wind and particle of dirt rolling across my body, and see detail that I’ve overlooked time and time again. I wonder what else I have missed in my lifetime without this deep and raw sense of connecting to the earth, allowing it to guide me.

Will this awareness last? Will this dynamisism continue to be the rare gem of this life, forever sought after by the philosophical and spiritual alike? The only conclusion I come to is that it is the act of stepping out of oneself, out of our thoughts and feelings about the world, and into a curious and open mind frame for experiencing time and space in physical form.

 

 

Look at the Pretty Leaves

I looked out at the courtyard today and watched the wind move through the elongated leaves of the trees below my balcony, dancing wildly like twenty-something-year-olds at a nightclub. They seemed so free, uninhibited by the worries of daily life. They moved without hesitation, and yet were connected to something larger. The tree itself moved with the leaves, sometimes countering their urges, sometimes moving in perfect harmony with their movements. How similar things in life truly are. I often feel like although I choose to follow my own path, move my body in a fashion that seems acceptable to my own consciousness, I am part of a larger whole. We all move together, our lives intersecting at times, and at others, repelling one another like the backside of a magnet.  

 

Today I feel the wind on my face, and feel alive. Yesterday, I hid in my room, afraid to accept my discomfort and enjoy the act of simply being. I was battling the feelings of attachment, loss, physical discomfort, and unrealistic expectations. I missed the conveniences of living in the U.S., I wanted to be with my family, I felt ill, and I wanted to be happier than my emotional state was ready for. Today however, peace has overcome me. I’m just hoping it sticks around! 

 

 

India Fever

I made it through my first day of ‘India Fever’ – the sentiment of screaming to your internal self, ‘what am I doing, why am I here, I want to go home, and I can’t stand myself.’ This first full day of India Fever happened to come on my birthday. How appropriate. I suppose absolute dread and discomfort is one way to remember your special day. I had felt like this over a week before, on the third day of being completely alone, but I chalked it up to jet-lag and the immediate feeling of detachment when you go somewhere new.

The emotions which hit on my birthday however, were more like invisible fire ants, crawling along the crevices of my body, stinging their way toward my insanity. Opening up to the world by moving to another country, and choosing to engage in self-exploration for over three months is a large undertaking. I knew that living in India and spending most of my days alone in thought wouldn’t be all flowers and puppies. I knew that it would be hard. Agonizing at times. Uncomfortable. Confusing. Ups and downs, and frustration all around.

 

Devoting our time to self-reflection is one of the most underestimated tasks of life. We allow our lives to become so full, so busy with to-do lists, meetings, and people, that we forget to keep some time set aside for ourselves. Call it ‘me-time.’ We don’t give ourselves that luxury of discovering what makes us happiest, and eventually, we lose it. We forget about our hobbies, our talents, our dreams, and even our loved ones. We begin to feel lost, that classic moment where we truly give up and throw in the towel. We figure that since society is pressing so hard to mold us into somebody else, that we should just play along, and become just like everyone else. That’s what society does. ‘It’ wants you to be normal. It asks you to make the most money, to be the best team player, to be the prettiest, to accept struggle as a necessary part of life. That’s bullshit. We shouldn’t put up with that. We should be unique, excited for every moment, happy, and encouraged to take time away from the pressure to remember what makes us those things in the first place. The marvels of traveling to a far-off land, of essentially running away from the matrix of your life, and exploring something or somebody new is exciting. It is the bait that ends up ensnaring us all. In the end, the strong of will realize that they need a break to explore the beauty of the world, and they simply walk away.

 

For these reasons, I don’t regret jumping on a plane to live in the middle of southern India. It’s definitely far enough away from my life at home to really learn detachment, independence, and a new level of self-awareness. Overall, I’m happy to be allowed so much ‘Me Time.’ On days like my birthday, however, I am reminded just how hard this experience is. I came to India with the realistic expectation that I would have many days of India Fever, and overall dread for my current situation. I knew the hard lessons of self-confidence and self-acceptance that I would be learning, and for that, I knew the instant beauty and pleasure associated with flowers and puppies would not be a reality. I was more weeds and chameleons. I’m just a mess of tangled emotions, changing each day to match some new lesson India has decided to teach me.

 

Beware of India Fever – it might just kill you…or me. The jury is still out.

 

 

India Claims Another

It’s 8pm on Sunday night, and while the sun is rising over American soil, the Indian moon has begun its climb in a sky that shows no stars. The television of my somewhat lavish apartment is currently a flashback of 80’s-style pop mixed with modern-day sex in its display of India’s comical Bollywood music videos. Top actresses lip-sync to songs, adorned in neon colors, with dancers moving in synchronized formations around their scantily clad body draped in ribbons and leather. Top actors serenade them with open shirts, hair full of gel, and an ego the size of India itself. The original musicians are inconsequential, or so it seems.

 

I arrived to Hyderabad, India late Thursday night, Sept. 4^th, after two 8-hour flights that were rather uneventful. My new address is that of Jayabheri Towers, a Las Vegas-style housing complex that has employees from Google and other American companies inhabiting it. Four 10-story towers surround a central courtyard with gardens, benches, and small children who spend their day giggling, lost in the land of pretend. It is peaceful watching their antics, and the carefree attitude with which they regard life. The apartment is nicer than most hotel rooms I’ve been in with its floors adorned in white marble, king-sized beds in each of the three bedrooms, private bathrooms, four balconies, a large kitchen, and a well-stocked fridge full of junk food and soda (the American dream, right?) A housekeeper named Rameesh spends his day tidying up the already spotless apartment, changing bedding, managing laundry, and ensuring that the place looks as though no sign of life has graced its halls in years. Being brought up in the hard-working, practical family that I was, all of this leaves me feeling a bit confused. Not doing my own dishes? Having someone help me into my chair? Who knows, he might even carry me if I asked him nicely enough! Drivers are available to take me anywhere I want to go in the city, well-planned ethnic dinners are provided every night, and there exists a book where I can request any food, service, or toiletry item, and magically, it appears. It’s my own version of a genie in the lamp. Despite the adjustment of having everything handed to me on a silver platter, I can see that traveling with a Google employee won’t be all bad. 

 

                  

 

The city of Hyderabad is best described by a constant state of juxtaposition. 10-story apartment complex’s or office buildings sit directly beside a small community of tents made of corrugated metal scraps and tarps. Women in beautiful, sparkling sari’s walk alongside those balancing bags of rice on their head’s, while even the color of their dark skin contrasts sharply against the vibrant hues of their clothing. Construction is going on all around the city, and yet the roads travel more like a roller coaster from Six Flags then anything resembling asphalt. Cows roam freely down the streets alongside auto-rickshaws and overflowing buses while traffic signs and lights dot the street, but are never heeded. Drumming and singing from the Ganesha Festival floats through the air, cutting the peaceful silence that resonates from the heart of Indian culture. The stoic and hardened faces of local women are transformed into curious expressions at the sight of a white foreigner smiling at them, our Hindi and English language barrier reinforcing the fact that we are from different worlds. I find a sense of constant juxtaposition in myself as well. I walk through crowds of people, eyes toward the ground in a form of cultural submission, while all the while, my heart struggles to fight against the loneliness of being so far from home. I want to see everything, do all that Hyderabad, and India has to offer, and yet, I find myself lost in introspection and quiet observance. The movement of this place, both organic and mechanical, is steady, but hectic. I am constantly surprised, and could never have expected the vibrancy that I have come to know as India.

 

Since my arrival to India, I have been spending 12 hours a day lost to the task of inner reflection and meditation. My first week alone was a wake-up call to the pressure America places on us as individuals to always be busy, to have a goal, and to be as productive as possible. I am still uncomfortable with the idea of doing whatever I want – sounds easy, but it isn’t. We all wish that we had the time to devote our attention to a single task – to do that and feel good about it later, we have to abandon the very ideals that provides a sense of structure to our daily life. These include time management, responsibility to others, and a sub-conscious level of judging which activities are worth our time. We also stay busy to avoid having to face our personal demons. I am becoming acutely aware of just how complicated improving oneself can be! (and if my computer dies on me, my own mind will swallow me in a gulp of self-reflection…then, I’ll really be in trouble). Much of the next three month’s writing will be reminiscent of the searching we all do on a daily basis, both externally for something to keep us satisfied, and internally for a sense of peace with who we’ve become. I apologize if I get too out of touch with the daily grind of home – it’s easy to do being so far from my previous reality.