One of the questions that I find most difficult to answer is “how is India?” I usually say “good” or “great” but that isn’t the whole story. Things are going pretty well, but India is a lot more complicated than “good” or “great.”
India is complex. The view from the temple on top of a major hill is beautiful at sunset, until you realize there is a growing slum community at the bottom of the hill or the sun disappears into the pollution on the horizon. People are extremely hospitable, making sure I get home safely, inviting me to join them for whatever they are doing, showing me the city, and answering my many questions. The culture of sharing is incredible—no one puts their mouth on the edge of a bottle of water; everyone pours a sip or two into their mouth and passes the bottle to the next person. I get stared at uncomfortably in the street and beggar children will stand in front of me asking for several rupees (with the exchange rate, only a few cents). Kids and young adults are innocently curious about who I am, where I have come from, and what I am doing. Others are more aggressive.
There are things I don’t understand. I don’t know how to bribe someone to get off the waiting list for a train. I don’t speak the local language and occasionally I feel illiterate. But the aunties who stay at the house and preschool teachers go out of their way to make me feel welcome with the English phrases they know. The two orphan boys staying at the house during their summer break teach me Hindi and Marathi phrases.
Poverty and wealth are extreme, and I don’t think I have seen the full spectrum. I saw a dog starving to death, a sick man lying on the side of a major road, and a dead cat on the sidewalk on my way home from work one day. I’ve been to restaurants and bars in the ex-pat area of town where you never see stray dogs or beggars. I get sick of paying the WGP (white girl premium). But I know the WGF (white girl factor) sometimes works to my advantage.
There are things here which I would not expect at home. I sleep on a mattress that is maybe four inches thick on top of a wooden board. (I sleep well.) There are tiny bugs in the kitchen at home and I’ve seen cockroaches and ants in the kitchen at work. (The kitchens are kept pretty clean.) There is no toilet paper. Streets are lined with trash and people burn garbage on the side of the road. Foreigners are charged ten times what locals pay to access cultural and historic sites. There are two computers at work in the volunteer office. When the power and backup generator go out (a frequent occurrence on Thursdays), the computers and internet don’t work so we go out for ice cream or chai.
It is different. But it works. Once you find how to fit into the rhythms and patterns, India is good, great even. But it is a lot more than that.
