Why not?

Adventures in India

Part I

When I announced that I was planning a trip to India, more people said “Why?” than “Wow!” The ambivalence surprised me. At first, even my mother asked, “Why would you want to go there?” My answer: “Why not?”

I didn’t know it then, but “Why not?” is a very Indian attitude. I suspect it may be their stock answer when they don’t quite understand the question, but it seems to work for them. On our first morning in Delhi, Dave asked two men at the reception desk if we could get a couple bottles of water. One of the men answered (with the signature head waggle), “Why not?” Dave said “Great,” and waited for the water. The men behind the desk looked at each other then back at Dave, but neither man moved to get the water. Dave raised his eyebrows in question before one of the men shrugged and pointed towards the restaurant. Dave smiled and mumbled his own “Why not?” as he made his way to the restaurant. It became a sort of mantra for the trip. Should we trust the weird little man in a smelly sweater to show us around Fatehpur Sikri? Why not? Should we believe these carpets were hand knotted from the finest Himalayan goats? Why not? Should I try the funny looking cheese ball from the breakfast buffet? Why not? We came to rely upon the “Why not?” mantra becuase in a place like India, things don't always go exactly as planned.

It's true, India isn’t exactly a luxury vacation spot, but then again, that’s not always the point is it? I mentioned before I left that there is a distinction between travel and vacation. I spent a lot of time over the last two weeks trying to define that difference, and I think it boils down to this: You travel to broaden the mind, but you vacation to relax the spirit. It’s not impossible for the two to overlap – such as the three days we spent at a fancy hotel overlooking the beaches of Goa, or our night in a tiny Rajasthan village where we slept in luxurious “tents.” Those days felt more like vacation than say, the evening we walked through the Colaba market sidestepping goats and passing locals peddling produce and spices and live chickens, or the day we spent in a car going from Delhi to Agra – clutching our stomachs as the driver honked and swerved to avoid head on collisions with cars and yes, cows.

These memories are fresh enough to relay with accuracy, but I regret that I did not keep a journal during my travels. I fully intended to document my perceptions as they happened and contemplate how the experience was affecting me. I foolishly hoped that there in the land of the Dalai Lama and Buddha’s enlightenment that I would feel inspired to meditate on who I am and where I am and how I might become a better person. But it wasn’t exactly like that. Not only did I not keep a journal, but there was certainly no time for meditation. I did have quite a few conversations with my sister about where I am and where my life is going, but somehow I don’t think beer fueled self reflection between giggling sisters was exactly what the Dalai Lama had in mind. And as for how I might become a better person? Unfortunately, that was the last thing on my mind as I looked past countless children begging for money and turned my head from each homeless soul curled up on newspapers in the street. Between ignoring beggars and dodging con artists, I hardly had time to contemplate a spiritual transformation, though in retrospect, my response to both situations makes me realize that perhaps I need “enlightenment” even more than I realized.

I’ll be honest. The trip was exhausting. Exciting, yes. Mind opening, of course. But it wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be. Or maybe it was. It’s not like I hadn’t read about what to expect; the Lonely Planet was pretty accurate, I suppose. But there is a difference between reading about something that will happen and actually living it. Reading about the poverty and the constant begging is sad, but experiencing it right under your nose is heartbreaking. Hearing about the greedy guides and deceitful merchants puts you on the defensive, but experiencing it makes you question the human condition. Is there no good in this world? Is everyone simply out for a buck? That probably makes me sound like I’m up on my high horse, which isn’t where I want to be. Sure, it’s easy for me to condemn the con artists and pity the poor, but I’ve never been in their shoes. Then, of course, there is the guilt bred by the very fact that I haven’t been in their shoes. Seeing these starving people with nowhere to sleep or bathe or use a toilet – you can’t help but think about the random nature of this universe. How is it that I was born into a nice suburban American family and not some poor family in the slums of Mumbai? By what random twist of fate was I a child in a snuggly twin bed with a stuffed animal instead of a baby sleeping on a trash heap shared with the rats? Of course, the Hindus might say that I could have been that baby in another life, or maybe I will be in my next one. That thought terrifies me as well, because I’m not sure I could cope. I’m not sure I have it in me.

So, maybe there was a little self reflection in India after all, but that’s all I’ll torture you with at present. In the mean time, check out a few of my photos and perhaps next week, I’ll tell you about “The Curse of the Raw Chicken Breast,” or my hatred for Eastern toilets. And in a week or two, maybe I’ll be ready to share the humiliation of my “High Vis Massage,” or the triumph of the “All India Carrom Championship.” In fact, “Adventures in Africa” will be on hiatus for a few weeks while we give “Adventures in India” the attention it deserves…Why not?