India Journal 1
Tuesday June 17, 2008
Arriving in Jaipur.
My first days in India.
Tomorrow I move in with my Indian host family. Tonight I am at a 5 star hotel in a busy part of Jaipur, Rajasthan. The accommodations here, which in the states I might find unnecessary, have been instrumental in helping me transition to living in India. A safe, air-conditioned room (where I am right now) is such refuge. I can still hear the horns of rickshaws, buses, motorcycles, and autos outside my window...but I cant hear or see the homeless old women holding naked babies begging for change as they reach in through the car window holding empty palms. Their children smiling and saying hello in English. They never stop smiling, and they never stop.
The streets are potholed and full of muddy standing water from the heavy monsoon rains that come intermittently throughout the day and night: fierce downpours that would sink a ship and that turn the roads into rivers. There are heaps of trash on every block that fill the surrounding air with a stench that must be surrendered to. It isnt because the people dont care, it is because there is no effective removal system. There is nowhere else for waste to go. So it goes into the bellies of emaciated cows that amble along the streets and perch on the roadsides as bicycles swerve around them. Next to a heap this afternoon I saw three pigsone big, one medium, one smallall lying together, napping in the street. Their little pink butts all touching side-by-side in a row. Today a cow walked up to me. She was white and small, quite beautiful, and she bellowed a low tone; she too, was asking for alms to kill the pangs of hunger.
Maybe the image you have in your head is wrong. I have said cows and pigs: animals that belong in the countryside. But this is all in the middle of a big, populated city, with people and cars and sari shops, cell phone stands, electronics stores, tobacco shops, street vendors, vegetable carts and lots and lots of traffic. The traffic in Jaipur is insane. The sound of honking horns is only ever briefly interrupted: it is otherwise a very steady stream of abrasive noise. Besides the fact that we drive on the left here, there are no lanes. There are no blinkers. There are no crosswalks or bike-lanes. The system is based on a shove-your-way-through method. Today I saw a man get off the bus in the middle of the street as it was still moving. A rickshaw nearly plowed into him---and neither he nor anyone else saw any danger. People here just live and do, they dont ask for permission.
My hotel is in the epicenter of all this, however, my Hindi school and homestay are about 30 min out, in a residential neighborhood. Many of the characters are the same but the backdrop is one of pale stucco houses with leaf-green terraces from which drying colorful saris flap in the breeze. It is a nice area of middle class homes and small market shops. I can walk 1 and a half kilometers to school from my house. It is sunny and quiet there. It is safe and it is beautiful. All of what I have seen of India is beautiful.
My teachers at the American Institute of Indian studies are warm and kind. They speak a little English and they are very considerate. Each morning we take a break from class to have homemade chai and each afternoon we have lunch together. They cook lunch at the institute: homecooked roti, aloo-saag, lentils and rice served with milk curd and sliced cucumbers. It is hot and fresh, and tastes like it was made with love. There are 60 American students, in three different skill levels of Hindi. I have been getting to know the intermediate students well since our orientation in Washington DC and welcome in Delhi. They are all interesting and driven. Since we have been traveling in a large group on buses and staying in hotels, it has sort of felt like summer camp so far. That will change tomorrow morning when I move in with my family: the Kapoors.
The house where I am living is beautiful, one of the best ones we toured and got to pick from. The house-choosing was quite stressful: we all drove around to every house and then were put in a room and told to work it out for ourselves. We decided on a lottery: which left us with our fondness of each other and me with the best home. I will be living with a hospitable Sikh family, who have their own prayer room where I saw the grandmother sitting cross legged reading a giant text while I sipped the orange soda that their servant gave to us all. The family is a mother and father, both with degrees in physics and education, a 25 yr old son and a 21 yr old daughter. My room is one of three on the roof terrace. You reach it by a small, light-house-like, spiral staircase. It is quaint and open, with a bed and dresser, a wardrobe, and desk.
In the morning I can do yoga on the terrace, eat breakfast with the family and walk to school with the two other students who live there. In the evenings I can speak Hindi with the family, eat dinner with them, and then have some solace in my room on the roof. So far I have one orange and yellow Salwaar Kamiz (traditional Indian dress), and material that I will take to a tailor tomorrow. I am so happy with my adventures so far and there is still so much to look forward to. Every night when I have been overwhelmed and tired, covered in layers of sunscreen and bug spray, I have felt such gratitude for my cold water, bucket shower and the opportunity to be where and who I am.
Continue reading: India Journal 2