Namaste India!

Ahhh! I’m feeling stuck. Normally I type my blog for the previous port slowly during the voyage to the next country. But now we’ve reached the point in our voyage where we will be arriving in ports after only 2 or 3 days at sea. In a few hours we will be arriving in Malaysia, and here I am just beginning to collect my thoughts about India. How quickly the time flies!

Our Cultural and Logistical Pre-Ports did a great job in preparing us for the port. We learned how to haggle with rickshaw drivers; we learned that even the bottled water in India can be polluted and make us sick; we learned about the dreaded “Delhi Belly” and what to do if we contracted explosive diarrhea (a lovely thought, huh?). They painted a dire picture. On the flip side of the coin, we learned about the rich cultural history of India, including its colonial heritage, independence, and religious diversity. We learned about all the amazing music, and cuisine, and the bright clothing like saris for women and kurtas for men… the Admin Team squeezed a LOT of info into very little time. During the Logistical Preport a bunch of the RD’s were recruited to provide some levity to the presentation. We were brought in pretending to be members of a sacred ashram. Each of us demonstrated techniques from a “newly identified” chapter of the “Kama Sutra” that would aide travelers in India (i.e. how to choose safe drinking water or apply bug spray, etc). We were dressed by our visiting interport lecturer and students, and had bindis made of Pepto-Bismal tablets. All I was wearing was a white bed sheet tied around my waist like a dhoti, or the loin-cloth type of outfit that people associate with Gandhi. Lucky me, I was given the task of demonstrating how to use the squat toilet. So picture it… I walked out in front of all 800 passengers in my loin-cloth dhoti, and then demonstrated and instructed the entire shipboard community on the proper way to squat and do their duty (pardon the pun) without soiling themselves. I was even given the privilege of explaining the concept of the “pelvic tilt” that is essential for women when urinating (I must admit, I don’t quite understand the physics, but I explained it nonetheless). I practiced the maneuver for quite sometime beforehand so I would give everyone the best info. While this was quite possibly the most embarrassing thing I have ever done, it was hysterical for everyone. They were howling with laughter, and I have definitely not lived it down. During the next day, people stopped me constantly and asked me to demonstrate the maneuver for them again. I always obliged since it was, afterall, a public service that I was glad to provide. Ever since, students, staff, and faculty have been coming up and telling me about their pooping experiences with squat toilets, and leting me know that they thought of me when they squatted. I’m still not sure how I feel about being associated with taking a dump, but in a way it’s fitting. I’d like to thank Doctor Matt for giving me the dubious honor (and choosing my wardrobe). I’m going to finish this anecdote, by reporting that I managed to avoid “Delhi Belly,” and that I used the squat toilets a number of times and am proud to say I pooped with pride! My favorite locale was on the train, where the toilet was just a hole in the bottom of the train leading right down to the tracks. Yuck! Ok, and now on to more serious matters.

So, India. Wow. What a place. I experienced major sensory overload. I don’t think a chronological blow-by-blow would do justice to my experience there, so I am going to just go free form. I have to admit, I cheated before I got to India. I went back and re-read the blogs of past friends who have done Semester at Sea before I arrived in India to prepare myself (forgive me!). After my time in this culturally (if not economically) rich nation, I’ve decided that ex-RD Danelle really described things best, so I will quote her here: “They say you either love or hate India. Either way, you will have strong feelings - there is no middle of the road. I’ve been told to ‘brace yourself for the sights, smells, and sounds of India, as they can be very intense.’ Everyone I spoke with seemed to prepare me for the worst. Don’t drink the water, watch what you eat – you will get sick, and don’t swim in the ocean or walk on the sand, it’s dirty. Wear closed toe shoes, take your malaria medication, use bottled water to brush your teeth, and beware of pickpocketers, con artists, and people begging for money. I had envisioned a filthy, foul smelling, chaotic, seedy society; what then was there to love?” Didn’t Danelle paint a great picture? Well my experience mirrored hers. All the preparation I mentioned, and information we received scared the bejeezus outta me and the rest of the voyagers. But I think we all steeled our reserves and prepared for the worst. In some ways, I am thankful, because it allowed me to be pleasantly surprised by everything that transpired.

The morning of our arrival, I came out on the deck of the ship to watch the harbor come into view, and though we were still miles away, I got my first smell of India. I must admit, that I had all sorts of preconceived notions about how I would feel about this port of call. After hearing so much about the poverty and pollution of the country, I expected to be overpowered by a stench of sewage or filth. I wasn’t prepared for the industrial smell of burning coal and smoke which was intense and present throughout the entire stay in India. The air on the deck was humid and thick, and there was a haze settled over the city of Chennai. It was difficult to make out the buildings in the distance because of the pollution and smog that was settled over the port, but slowly it all came into view and as we pulled into the port, we were welcomed with the sounds of Indian drums and horns playing a haunting and eerie tune that sounded distinctly Indian, and yet somewhat ominous as well.

Walking around in India took some getting used to. People are constantly assaulting you with demands for attention or money or information: auto rickshaw wallahs (read: drivers) demanding that you get in their rickshaw for exorbitant prices; or beggars relentlessly grabbing at you for food or money; or store owners shouting at you to come buy their wares for “special price, just for you” when we were knew that they marked up the prices 500% when they saw our American faces. I know I was not the only person who felt violated by my first experience into the port. My friend Dia described it really well when she said that being in the port for an hour was exhausting. You just wanted to get back to the ship, and hide there in your little pocket of the western world and not come out until it was time to leave. In my first outing, a couple RDs and I went to a popular shopping area called Spencer Plaza and were overcome by the lack of anything familiar. It wasn’t just a matter of culture shock, it was complete culture deprivation. In every other port we’ve visited, there was something familiar, something that you could point to and be reminded of home, or at least of something you knew from the US. But in India, nothing is familiar. In other countries, there are pockets of poverty amid areas of culture, but India is a culture of poverty. It is pervasive in everything. The languages, the foods, the smells, the sounds, the lack of personal space, the pollution. None of it was like anything I had ever experienced before. It was downright scary at first. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being out of my element. I did not come on Semester at Sea to be comfortable. I wanted my learning curve to be vertical, and it surely was during those first few hours. The joy in this discomfort was that, for the first time, I felt like I was truly abroad. I had completely left behind the world I knew, and entered a foreign domain.

That first day, I returned to the ship and was covered in filth. The crew on board the Explorer put down tarps and plastic on all the carpets and I thought that was a bit extreme, but I quickly realized why. By the time we left India, every surface on the outside of the shop was covered in a thick layer of grime. Every surface that had previously gleamed white, was now dark brown. You could slide your foot on the outside deck, and move a film of sediment that was sometimes half an inch thick. There is no way to feel clean in a place where you are constantly covered in sweat. Every time I returned to the ship my hands were filthy, my hair was dirty, my clothes were gross. India invades your body. It gets under your fingernails (and doesn’t go away till you chop ‘em off), India gets in your nostrils and your lungs and has to be coughed and sneezed out. It’s as if the country is trying to mark you as it’s own, and make you a part of the culture. I loved that. At the end of each day, I felt like I belonged a little more as a result of being further imbued in India.

There are more than a billion people in India. A billion people! That is a number that is incredibly difficult to comprehend. What it meant for me is that there are people everywhere, and these people have almost no concept of personal space. There is no personal sphere that people respect. They are in your face, on your body, touching, groping, stroking, and being near you. This was sometimes the case b/c there was just nowhere else to be, and other times it was just true because it was the custom. I met many Indians who were fascinated by me and my presence in their country, and my trip around the world with Semester at Sea. They were fascinated by how tall I was, and how freckled my skin was, and how straight and white my teeth were. I watched as our blond students (especially the women) were treated like celebrities. Indians would constantly stop them for photographs or to stroke their hair. It was intense. The point is, there were people everywhere, and always right in your face.

So, lemme take a minute and talk about transportation. Immediately after leaving the port area, we had to show our landing cards and passports to the armed troopers stationed outside the dock. Security was tight due to the train bombing that took place near the Pakistani border a month back). Once we cleared that hurdle, we encountered transportation in India. In India, there are three options for getting around town (not including the bus). First, there is a taxi, which is a standard car, sometimes even air conditioned. Next, there is the rickshaw, which is a bicycle with a seat behind for the passengers to ride in. Finally, there’s the auto rickshaw, which resembles a golf cart, only smaller, with three wheels. These auto rickshaws move around the streets of India (they are in every city) like pinballs banging around inside of a machine… or better yet, like mice running around inside a cage (if the cage was crammed full of mice, and the mice were all on crack, and they all had horns that they used CONSTANTLY). The streets in India have almost no traffic signals, and very few delineated lanes. They are just broad boulevards full of vehicles, and a free-for-all ensues. I feared for my life on many an occasion. I was careful to never let any appendage stick outside of the rickshaw, and always braced myself against the sides, or fellow passengers, at risk of injury or mortal peril from oncoming traffic. Miraculously I was never in an accident, though I saw many of them take place around me (Yikes!).
So, as we cleared the port, we were always surrounded by a horde of shouting auto rickshaw drivers vying for the privilege of conning you out of as much money as they could to go from point A to point B. It was so frustrating because we knew in advance how much a local would be charged for a given journey, and the drivers always demanded 3, 5, 10 times that amount because they thought we didn’t know any better, or because they felt like we were rich (which comparatively, we all were) and therefore needed to share that wealth with them. The frustration really stems from the fact that I did not like feeling taken advantage of, and that was a regular occurrence, especially with the rickshaw drivers. They would often say they knew where you were trying to go even when they had no idea. This would lead to wild goose chases in completely wrong locations and then they would inevitably try to charge you more for the extra time and gas. Grrrr. The other frustration was that the rickshaw drivers would constantly stop at stores and ask you to shop in them before they would continue on to your destination. We knew it was because they got a kick-back commission when you made purchases in these stores. The problem was, the merchandise inside was marked up to cover their commission and pay our “stupid American tourist” tax. During my first trip in an auto rickshaw, our first driver asked us to stop at “his cousin’s store” 32 times during a 12 minute drive. We declined each time, but that didn’t stop him from asking again and again. Those kinds of shenanigans was what led to my frustration. But on the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel bad for them. They earn very little money, and are in generally desperate financial positions. In the end, if a ride should cost 100 Rupees ($2) and they charged me 150 Rupees ($3) should I really be that upset? Or should I give up that frustration to the universe and hope the good karma comes back to me later? I wish I could say I always left those interactions feeling good, but that would not be true.

Not all of the drivers were bad guys. In fact, in each city I visited, I eventually found a great driver, and would hire him for the day to serve as a driver/guide/friend for the day. Oddly, I discovered something about religious diversity in India through my drivers. My first day in Chennai, my driver, Arun, was proud to be a Christian and had huge “Jesus will protect me” stickers on his rickshaw. In Delhi, I took a bicycle rickshaw driven by Robi, who was a Hindu. When I visited Agra, my taxi driver’s name was Abbal, and he was a Sikh. In Jaipur, Sonu was my rickshaw driver, and he was a muslim. This was totally by happenstance that they were all from different religious traditions. I laughed to myself that I would surely encounter a Jewish driver when I returned to Chennai. I was wrong, however, because my driver the last day, Muthu, was a Jain. How cool, huh? Five drivers, five faiths. I was astounded. (me and Abbal & Abbal's friend in the pic below).

My friend Shayla and I went to dinner my first night in Chennai to a great chain restaurant called Saravana Bahvna. (They are a couple in Jersey/NY if you’re in the neighborhood). We were the only non-Indians there and had amazing food. It was fun to watch the Indians watching us. Shayla being a curvaceous African American, and me the tall freckley white guy… were certainly a sight for all the locals. While the food was amazing (I am in love with Indian cuisine, especially anything with paneer (cheese) and aloo, dosas, idlys, samosas, mmmmm!) we enjoyed some people watching of our own. The strangest thing about the evening was getting used to the head wagging maneuver that Indians do. It is their way of indicating “ok, I understand” or “its all good.” But having someone use this head wag to communicate is such a strange thing to integrate into your everyday interactions. The most difficult part, is that when people do the head wag, they also get a non-plussed look on their face. The combination always made me feel like they were giving me a look of sarcasm, or like they were communicating a joke I didn’t quite understand. Replicating the head wag and the non-plussed look was (and still is) a personal mission. Everyone in California better be prepared for it upon my return. On the way back from dinner, Shayla and I agreed that it takes a special kind of person to enjoy travel to a place like India. Not everyone can deal with the intensity of this country that grabs you and forces you to engage. It was in this conversation that I realized how much I was engaging in my experience in India, and how much I was enjoying it.

The next morning, I began my journey across the country. Everyone I knew made plans well in advance for their Indian adventures. They were either on S@S planned trips, or were heading to the coast, or off to home stays and service visits. In the end, everyone had plans before I got around to making mine. I decided to be brave and travel independently, and alone through India. I have to admit, that initially I was pretty terrified to be traveling alone in a country so foreign from my western sensibilities. The only plans I made in advance were my flights. I flew from Chennai to Delhi (through Hyderabad) and then knew I had to catch a plane in Jaipur three days later to fly back to Chennai (through Mumbai). Everything in the middle was up in the air. When I arrived at the airport, I realized my flight on Spice Jet (SOOO cheap, especially for such a nice efficient airline) was packed with S@S kids doing their own independent trips. I was friendly and said hello to all the folks I knew, and then I made a point to sit away from them. Once I arrived in Delhi, I found myself a ride to the New Delhi train station and booked some tickets from Delhi to Agra and on to Jaipur. The two trips together cost me about 900 Rupees (a little more than $20), and I splurged for a sleeper car for the second leg. Clearly dollars go a long way. In the train station I encountered more S@S kids and realized I was going to be seeing a lot of familiar faces if I stayed in touristy areas. The funny thing was, while they were all so astounded that I was traveling alone, almost every one of them told me how jealous they were. The students went off to find markets and malls, and to look for touristy spots, but I wanted a truer experience. I discussed the area with a backpacker I met in the station and walked through the Main Bazaar of the Paharganj area, and shopped among the stalls. This area felt like the true India. The lanes were very narrow, and crammed full of Indians buying and selling all sorts of bright clothing, and saris, and fabrics, and instruments, and foods. It was intense. Add to that auto rickshaws, and bicycles, and blaring horns, stray dogs, and children and you begin to have an idea. By far my favorite element in this milieu were the sacred cows. There were a bunch of them along Main Bazaar strolling down the avenue, munching on the trash and rotting vegetables strewn on the ground and in the alleys. They were unfazed by the masses of people, the blaring horns, or anything else. People and rickshaws unquestioningly accepted their presence made a point to go around them. These cows were everywhere in India. Eventually, I lost count and stopping photographing them b/c seeing them was pretty routine. (this is a pic of the Paharganj).

I met some incredible travelers on my trek across India. Here’s a brief chronicle of them. In the Delhi train station I met Shaoul, an Israeli backpacker who had been traveling in India for the last three months (that's the back of his head in the pic above). He looked like he hadn’t shaved his whole time in India, but gave a lot of great advice about getting around. He and I palled around for a few hours in Delhi before he caught a train for Varanasi. On the train to Agra, I met four Argentinians who were spending a month in India after finishing their studies in Buenos Aires. In the Agra train station I met Laurel and Stephanie, two Canadian gals who were spending three weeks backpacking in India after teaching English in Taiwan and before starting grad school back in Canada. They were especially glad to see me, as our train out of Agra was late, and we were on the platform for almost 3 hours. The two of them were tired of being stared at and groped by the aggressive Indian men, so I played the role of the male escort for awhile. On the train, I shared my sleeper compartment with a French woman who was a Hari Krishna. I never got her name, but we laughed a bunch at the Indian men who were in the adjoining compartment snoring in ways I have never heard before. All of these folks helped make my experience all the more enjoyable. They also kept me from ever feeling lonely, which had been my fear traveling alone.

I have to thank the lovely people at Lonely Planet for creating such wonderful guide books. LP was my Bible crossing India. In each city, it was how I knew what sites to see, it was my map and my hotel directory. I’m a big fan. The places I stayed in India were… well… bohemian at best. I purposefully did not want to stay in posh western hotels because I didn’t think it would allow me to really experience India. So, I went for the backpacker hotels and guest houses. I got advice from my friend Travis, who did study abroad in India and knew to check out multiple places and ask to see the rooms in advance, and then to bargain on the price. This was also invaluable information. Thanks Travis, I owe you big time! In Delhi, the first place I found, in the Paharganj was scary. LP said it was pretty good, but the room (it was really more of a cell) they showed me had no window, was damp and had a moldy mattress with a wet and stained sheet on it. The bathroom was equally frightening, and they asked for 500 Rupees for the night. Thankfully, my next stop was Hotel Shelton, when I paid 450 Rupees for a sparse room with a clean double bed and a clean bathroom. Sure the bed was really more of a cushioned board, and sure the shower didn’t actually have water pressure or hot water, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. In Agra, my driver helped me secure a room at the Shanti Lodge for 500 Rupee. It was supposed to be one of the best places to stay in the Taj Ganj area, just south of the Taj Mahal. The place seemed ok, and my room had a balcony with a Taj Mahal view, but when I turned on the light, I saw hundreds of mosquitos flying around inside. I hoped for the best, but am still suffering from all the bites (were talking hundreds of ‘em). In Jaipur, I stayed at the Atithi Guest House, which was the nicest of my hotels. It was clean, and had a great bathroom and real shower, and even had a nice little garden. The best thing about it, was that the owners wouldn’t pay commission to the auto rickshaw drivers, always a good sign. None of these places would have registered as even a 2 star hotel in the states, but in India, they were deluxe. In the end, what did I care? I was always exhausted, asleep by 10pm and up by 5am. I wasn’t lookin’ for luxury.

I saw some amazing places on my journey. Of course, I loved the Taj Mahal. It was one of those places that you worry won’t live up to the hype, but it was magnificent. Abbal, my driver/guide, strongly suggested I time my visit for sunset, and I’m glad I did. I got to see this beautiful building change colors from gleaming white, to a blazing gold, and then turn grey in the fading light. Trust me when I say it looked as poetic as I am trying to make it sound. It was built as a monument to love, and is worthy of all the accolades. The gardens, and mosque, and side structures, and minarets all serve to make the area a highlight. The white marble has friezes and inlays that are astounding, especially when you consider how long ago they were installed.

Look... I had the Taj at my fingertips! (yes, Drew is a dork).

While the Taj Mahal was great, I saw many other cool sites. In Agra, I saw the Itimad-Ud-Daulah, which is also known as the Baby Taj. It is also a beautiful tomb, and is interesting because it was built a few years before the Taj Mahal, and has design elements that foreshadow the famous building. I also visited the Agra Fort, and the fortified ghost city of Fatehpur Sikri 4 km outside of Agra. It was once the Mughal capital and home of the great leader, Akbar the Great. The city was amazing and the mosque attached was huge and beautiful as well. In Delhi, I visited the Red Fort, and the Jummah Mosque, which is the largest mosque in India. I had to wait outside the mosque until the afternoon prayers were finished, but it was worth the wait. Sitting on the steps and listening to the call for prayer was another instance where I felt like I was in a very foreign locale. It really gave me chills. Being inside the mosque, I felt dwarfed by the immense scale of the building and the intricate details that were put into it. You could also feel how important a place it was for all the followers of Islam who were inside. My driver, Robi, also had me stop at the Lotus Temple, or Sistanj Gurdwara. I have had very little exposure to the Sikh faith, and had expected to be treated as an outsider, but was welcomed into their temple by many different people who were eager to explain the significance of the beautiful building and the ceremony taking place inside. In order to enter, I had to cover my head, remove my shoes, and walk through a fountain to cleanse my feet. I can’t really describe the ceremony, but it was very rhythmic and entrancing, especially given the heavy incense. Jaipur was probably my favorite city of the four. It felt more organized, and better scaled. I saw the Hawa Mahal, which is an artisitic honeycomb hive of a pink building where the Maharaja’s wives could look out upon the city without being seen. I also really enjoyed visiting the Amber Fort, which is 10 km outside the city. This fort is set atop a large mountain, and was exquisitely crafted by Akbar’s Governor Maharaja Man Singh in the 1590’s. The structure was ornate, and used ingenious techniques in order to cool the palace and irrigate as well.

Part of my thrill was to ride an elephant at Amber Fort. I had heard the elephants were grossly mistreated, so I watched them for awhile and am glad to report that they were being well treated and given regular breaks. In fact, they are only allowed to work for half a day. Sadly, none of my pictures turned out from that part of the day b/c other people used my camera to take my picture, and the Indians who helped me out didn’t really understand how to work my digital camera, but the elephant was quite gentle and had fun designs painted on her face, as the Elephant Festival took place recently. So even though I struck out in Africa, I got my elephant encounter in India. I also came face-to-face with some camels and monkeys in Jaipur as well.

In Chennai, I got to see a few cool places. Fort St. George was ornate and unlike any military fort I have ever seen. I also really enjoyed visiting the Kapaleeshwrar Temple, which is an active Hindu temple with brightly colored statues all over its high tower. At the temple, I gave an offering to Ganesh, the elephant-faced God and son of Shiva. In return, I was given some ashes of burned jasmine and lotus blossoms to apply to my forehead. The temple was most fascinating b/c there were all sorts of Dravidians chanting and lighting candles all around the temple complex.

From Kapaleeshwrar, I visitied the San Thome Cathedral. This is a soaring Catholic Church in India, which is famous because it is built on the tomb of Saint Thomas the Apostle (which happens to be my church at home in Tucson). There is even a relic, one of his teeth, on display in the church. The site is important because only 3 churches in the world are built on burial sites of apostles. St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City, a cathedral in Spain built on the burial ground of St. James, and San Thome Cathedral in Chennai India. That was a piece of Christian history I never expected to encounter in India.

I bought a number of cool souvenirs on my trips. I continued my trend of purchasing instruments and got a bamboo flute made in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta), and a tambura, which looks like a sitar or guitar instrument and is native to Southern India. I considered buying a sitar, b/c I really enjoy the way they sound but a) they are huge and very ornate (read: expensive), and b) I learned the sitar is not native to India. It originally comes from areas north of the country, but is often associated with India b/c it has since become important to their musical heritage. I also purchased a wooden idol of Ganesh, and a metal Natraj (which is what the Hindu God Shiva is called when depicted in a dancing pose). In addition I got a piece of sandstone that had been ornately carved like the stone screens on many of the temples. It holds a votive and reflects all sorts of colors. I picked up a small tapestry, and some other knick-knacks, but am proud of my new kurta. The kurta is the long shirt that many Indian men wear. Mine is white and comes down past my knees with slits up the sides to my waist. It is white and has some embroidery around the collar. I wore it my last couple days of traveling and got many compliments from Indian on the street who were glad to see me wearing the shirt. In fact, one of my flight attendants complimented my kurta as an opening to a sexual proposition. (Yes, this really did happen… it was a quite uncomfortable situation but a funny story that wouldn’t translate well here).

Professor Judyie spoke with the Students of Color before we arrived in Chennai. She told them was hoped she would be able to keep her eyes open and unaverted while in India. Her words really stayed with me during my travels. It was too easy to hide in the back of rickshaws or taxis, or to avoid people begging on the streets. The comfortable thing to do was always to look the other way or ignore the poverty that was present everywhere. But it’s impossible to deny how serious a part poverty plays in the culture of India. I realized that I was hiding and averting my eyes during my first day in Delhi. It was part of the reason I took the bicycle rickshaw. It became much more difficult to hide when people could see you and when you weren’t zooming past quickly in a taxi. Making eye contact always seemed to encourage people to make a target out of you, and I also became conscious of the fact that I was hiding behind my sunglasses. Once I took them off, I was able to smile at the people walking with me, and then they asked me questions or showed me where they worked or lived. It allowed me to see more than I would have otherwise. The downside was that I was more exposed to people who wanted money from me. I decided not to ignore them and instead acknowledged them and though I declined to give them money, I always made a point of bowing my head and saying “namaste,” which is used to say hello and goodbye, but essentially translates to “I honor the divine in you.” I picked up this habit during my second day, and it was the funniest thing. People would be relentless in their demands for money regardless of how many times I said no, but the minute I said “namaste” and bowed my head to say goodbye, they would just stop altogether. Invariably they would smile and bow in return and that was it. I think they were surprised to hear it from a guy like me. Maybe they thought it was funny. I don’t know, but I felt as though we both left the conversation in a better way that if I had just ignored them altogether. Why didn’t I give people money? Well, we learned in our pre-ports and Global studies, that some Indians will hurt and use their children in order to make people sympathetic and give them more money. When travelers give them money it reinforces the practice. Instead, we were told to give money to community organizations that could put it to better use. It was really difficult to see how people lived in Chennai and Delhi, and the other cities I visited. You see movies that depict poverty, or commercials asking for aid, or even read news stories, but it is different when it is right there in front of you. I realize now I had no real understanding of poverty before my arrival. This new understanding is something that will follow me for a while.

So, now the $64,000 question. Did I love India, or hate it? I definitely am on the love side of that equation. But, that doesn’t meant I enjoyed everything about the port stay. It doesn’t mean I could spend significant time there. India was tough. It wore on me, physically and emotionally. I am convinced that it is not possible for a person to visit India and leave unchanged. This country indelibly marks those who visit. How have I been changed? This is where I am not so sure. What do I do with my experience? How can I continue to process how I feel about what I encountered there? How can I acknowledge the privilege I enjoy, and make sense of the poverty I witnessed? My friend Yas wrote about her experiences in India when she was here with S@S as an RD a couple years back. Like Yas, I know I have room for personal growth and improvement, but I feel good about how I’ve lived my life up till now. I hope I can use my experiences in India to provide insight into ways I can live better, better understand other people’s experiences and realities, and how I can help them in my own unique way… in a way that fits me and is genuine, and where I know I can be have an impact. Yea, I know… heavy stuff… but that’s what a week in India seems to have brought out in many of us.

Well, that and the ability to go #2 on a squat toilet. There’s always that.

Love to all back in the states. XOXO
-Drew