Day 7 - Romanticism and Post-Hasar

"This is indeed India! The land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty - of genii and giants and Alladin lamps, of tigers and elephants - the country of a hundred nations and a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions and two million gods, cradle of the human race, birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great grandmother of tradition..." - Mark Twain. 

Before I came to India I carried with me my own idea of the place. I must admit, it was a romanticized version of India shaped from movies, books and the myths of Hinduism. Having this imaginary country with me, I was very curious how my romanticized version would compare with the 'real' India I would eventually come to know. And now that I have officially lived here a week, it's hard to say how that bridge is being made, if there even is a bridge. One thing, however, is certain: I am utterly fascinated by this place. The 'real' India has in no way weakened my romanticized notions of the country. In fact, somehow the contradictions I have come to know have only reinforced them. 

One way to explain this fascination is that so far in my time spent here I have acquired contradictory impressions of the country. One part of me is is drawn towards the Indian way of life, and another part of me is repulsed. Likewise, one part of me is so impressed with the Indian people, and another part of me is very much unimpressed. These contradictions create a mystery about the country I did not expect to feel, or at least not so strongly. But I think in order for me to better explain what I mean by all this, I think I need more time.  

Now, here is a little about what has taken place recently. I am back in New Delhi again, home of over 14 million people. For the past five days or so my team and I were living in a hostel in Hasar, a neighboring state northwest of Delhi. It was a very enjoyable time. I especially enjoyed the time spent inside the hostel. Picture a humble Spanish manor, but in India - a three story house with concrete floors, open, airy rooms, high ceilings and walls painted a mild-blue pastel color, a veranda to introduce the front of the home, impressive and spacious balconies accompanying the second and third floors, swinging double doors, and a quiet and dutiful group of servant girls from the school next door to attend to our needs. It had the romantic feeling of some novel or movie I had read or seen before. And on top of that, settled right across the street from the hostel, picture a structure that resembles a slightly smaller Space Needle, yet more modern and even more space-like looking, looking over us at all times like our own glass and metal guardian angel - quite the contrast. And there is a vague glimpse into the place my team and I spent in Hasar.

Some of my favorite moments during that time took place during the mornings and mid-afternoons. In the mornings I would wake up rather early (around 7 or so), sit out on the third-floor balcony, which overlooks the front of the property, and simply listen and watch the Indian morning go by. Squirrels would scurry along the ground darting from tree to tree. There would be the occasional peacock roaming about, that is until the stray dogs in the area would chase it away. And so many parrots! Green parrots with bright yellow-feathered tails were all over, chirping and jovially rustling the tree branches. The mornings there were very much filled with exotic tranquility. 

During the mid-afternoons, after we completed the activities for the day, I enjoyed sitting at the dining room table with a book or two in hand. And I would watch rather carefully as the Indian servant girls made all the preparations for the upcoming dinner. I did this almost everyday. While at work, the Indian girls would talk with one another in their native tongue, Hindi, laugh and joke with each another liberally, and occasionally give me an inquisitive look that I could not fully comprehend. We were strangers in the strictest sense. And though I could understand nothing of their speech, and perhaps they were even laughing at me at times, I found great pleasure watching them go about their work so dutifully and gracefully, all the while knowing that the girls practically ignored the fact that I was there. It was the closest I had ever felt to being invisible, but an invisibility desired, as if I was given the gift of witnessing authentic and unadulterated human behavior.

The train rides there and back were memorable. They were nothing like Darjeeling Limited, but they were nonetheless trains in India, and that was good enough for me. The most memorable moment occurred on my way to Hasar. For about a half-hour or more I watched the moving countryside of India through an open doorway in-between two train carts. I watched it with an Indian man, who was around my age, I met at that very spot. He didn't speak English very well, but he understood what I was saying to him for the most part. At least it appeared he did. He kept wanting to show me Hindi hip-hop on his cell-phone, and even though I wasn't too interested, I entertained the guy. 

I believe our souls were connected through traveling; we were friends on a different plane, and that friendship will only ever exist on the plane where you can feel the rush of hot wind on your face, see the moving of countryside and hear the sound of steel tracks below. When we parted I yelled to him, "See you on the next train, my friend." He laughed and then walked away. 

This has been India so far. I still have so much more to see, and I'm sure it will only further pique my growing interest. 

Until next time,

john sachs