October 10
First day in India
I though I was going to hate India, seeing as it is the port I was the most scared for. I could not even make it through Slumdog Millionaire, so I was sure I was going to last 2 minutes. At all of our pre-port meetings, everyone described it as an assault on the senses. Meaning that at all times, your senses are on overload, and as an American who has a great respect and regard for germs and things of that nature, you are going to be overwhelmed. I pictured myself openly weeping in the street due to stress, because of how everyone kept talking about it. All of my thoughts were mostly true. Except that rather than hating India, I fell in love.
My roommate is going to see the Taj, so after a bitter farewell, I set off on my own, which is weird because we are becoming connected at the hip. Three of us were supposed to go to a lecture for class, but that was cancelled so we were allowed to leave earlier than planned. We all have early mornings tomorrow, so we decided to keep it mellow. We hopped into the mode of transportation, and were off like a prom dress. What did we hop in you ask? Well, the most prevalent vehicle on the roads are what are called rickshaws, which is essentially a covered scooter. It has three wheels, is bright yellow, has the motor of what I assume to be a lawn mower, and is steered by a joy stick. It reminds me a lot of Barbies Jeep, size and all. Not only are you flying around the city in what you think is an open aired tricycle, the drivers are absolutely nuts. I mean crazy. Lane lines are there solely for decoration, and stops are there to frustrate you. I though going to school in California was bad, oh no officer I for sure paused. But here, there is not even a pretense of pausing at stop signs, it appears to be a game, who can go through fastest. And on top of all that, there are about 4 cars per lane, so I could have held hands with the person in the next rickshaw had I so chosen. I literally had to keep my elbows tucked in. It was terrifying. There was never a moment quiet enough to talk, let alone think. Horns were constantly laid upon, people were screaming profanity for having just been cut off, and it appears that all roads are under construction, or at least someone with a jackhammer is going at it every corner. The smells range from carnival bathrooms to the best curry you could ever imagine, all within having driven 3 minutes.
I asked our driver to take us to a craft market so I could get my hands on some bracelets, and instead he took us to this weird tourist strip that sold tons of little statues of gods and goddesses. When I walked into the shops I was blown away. The stores were no larger than the Kate Spade store at Fashion Valley, but there were hundreds upon hundreds of these statues. There were also solid elephants that came up to my knee, rugs, candelabras that were taller than me, teapots, jewelry, tables, tapestries, and anything one could dream of when thinking about Indian trinkets. We walked to a few of these shops, then went for lunch.
This is the part I have been looking forward to, just about all my life. One time I had the misfortune of having the flu, but not knowing until after I went to Indian food with my parents that night. Let me tell you, chicken tikka masala is not as enjoyable the next day. So I had to forcibly quit Indian for a while. Now I am back in the game. I also have the problem of my food never being hot enough. To the point where my mom knows to bring the bottle of straight horseradish out on Christmas dinner. My theory is if you think you need to call the hospital for me because I am crying in the corner, then my food is hot enough. But I have met my match with India. I ordered the table one tandoori chicken, one chicken tikka masala, and one butter chicken. One girl did not like spicy food, so I had to order her butter chicken so she could eat. I told her to just eat naan, she ignored me. When I ordered I told our waiter to make it hot, and boy did he deliver. Within 5 bites, after I cried tears of joy, I cried tears of pain. My friend and I were both sweating and swearing, but there is no stopping with Indian food, the heat just accumulates. So we trudged on through our death march, until we could stop and drain our waters. After the meal they brought us these little sugar looking balls, that actually tasted like laundry detergent. That was a fun surprise.
After the day of eating and shopping, my friend and I went to the welcome reception hosted by SAS. We were shuttled to a hotel, and upon arrival we were greeted with traditional music, red dots on our forehead, and good dousing of rose water. We mingled with college students who study in India, got henna done, ate, shopped, and watched traditional dancing. It was amazing. Even though it was so hot and disgustingly humid, I could not have had more fun. I am all hennaed up, my right hand has intricate orange designs on them, but at one point I forgot and closed my hand so a part of one of my flowers looks a bit like an oil spill. I had real coffee, great Indian desserts, and saw beautiful traditional dancing. It was a lovely evening, experiencing the culture, and having my senses assaulted. Because even though it is a culture shock like no other, I do not think I could ask for anything else. Having ones senses assaulted awakens something in you, something that is calling for adventure and change. So I am going to let India change me, for better or for worse, my soul will always have a piece of India.
Gypsy Soul. 