The City of a Thousand Temples

Kanchipuram was the capitol of the Indian Pallava Dynasty and today is known as the City of a Thousand Temples. Though we only visited two of those temples, our day in Kanchipuram was the most difficult day of the trip for me so far. Of course I still greatly appreciated the experiences I had visiting two incredible temples, this day was the first time I had an emotional, physical, and internal struggle in India.

Like every day in India, it began auspiciously. We arrived in Kanchipuram after driving through substantial rain, but the weather was perfect when we got to the first temple of the day, Kailasanath temple. It was drizzling just enough to where our scarves could keep our heads dry and the temperature outside was the most comfortable I’ve experienced in the whole trip- a refreshing mix of breezes and warmth. Archana immediately began opening up her incredible wealth of knowledge before we even had a chance to take off our shoes to step inside the temple. Honestly, how that woman knows so much never ceases to amaze me. She says everything with such enthusiasm and excitement that I personally can’t help but reciprocate those emotions whenever she begins to speak about something (even though I can only ever fully grasp around 70 percent of what she is saying at any given moment).

We’d done a bit of reading about this specific temple but hadn’t yet talked about it. I had come with opinions and confusions about the place but the temple began to explain itself to me as we walked around it. I realized not only how much physical exertion was required in the building of a temple, but also the tremendous amount of thought and attention that must go into it’s development. This specific temple, Kailasanath, remains my favorite probably because of how I came to understand it and it’s many dynamics.

The architecture of Kailasanath was something that I found to be really unique and brilliantly symbolic: a yoni (a shape that symbolizes feminine sexual energy and a literal vagina) and a linga (a phallic shape that symbolizes male sexual energy). The temple was built in a way that the outer structure was in the form of a yoni and the inner structure was in the form of a Linga- the former provided walled protection of the temple and the later an authoritative towering shrine. We walked clockwise, simultaneously within the walls of the yoni temple and around the Siva linga temple.  The walls consisted of 64 ornate mini shrines to the goddess and to Siva, each shrine was so full of meaning that they seemed as if they were talking to each other; balancing the reputations of the gods by revealing their many forms and interdependencies. It was really a beautiful place.

It took us quite a while to even make it half way around the temple because there was so much to be said for each stone. By the time we did make it all the way around the temple, I started to feel a little overwhelmed and a bit lost. I felt like we had been in the temple for ages and had forgotten about the crazy world that existed outside its walls. We left for breakfast but a few of the kids really wanted to return to see the temple service so we loaded up the van and headed back. The service was brief but took place in a small dark room located in the middle of the Siva temple tower. All 17 of us piled in to witness the priest illuminate Siva before our eyes. It was beautiful and really cool but I could feel my mind begin to race the second I crossed the threshold into the shrine. After we left the service Archana decided to give everyone 15 minutes to do their own thing and go meditate in one of the 64 shrines around the walls of the temple, but going from the dark small room to the bright white granite boxed enclosure around the Siva temple really disorientated me. I walked around the temple alone trying to find some spiritual connection to anything that could distract me from how I was feeling, but I’m just not that type of person I guess. All I could think of was that India was around me, with all it’s chaos, noise, smells, faces, and strangeness and I was trapped in a quiet, bright, sterile box that was forcing me to make acquaintance with Gods I had just met.

By the time we left Kailasanath I was ready to just get in the car and go on the road, I had hoped that the worst of that anxiety was over with. Apparently not, because the next temple we visited is a complete daze to me. I remember walking around this new temple and thinking to myself that everything was going to be fine and if I could just concentrate on Archana’s voice I would be distracted from my anxieties. Sri Vaikuntha Perumal Temple is a Visnu temple, its architectural brilliance was that the temple itself signifies the body of Visnu. Each of it’s three stories depicts one of three positions of Visnu: in the first he is seated, on the second he is laying, and on the third he is standing. As you climb the temple stories it is supposedly as if you are climbing through the body of Visnu.

Our class experienced two temple services here, one on the first floor in another tiny dark room and then again on the second floor after climbing very narrow steps that wrapped around the shrine tower. My body felt weak and my mind almost drunk at this point, the world would move around me seconds after I did. Standing became difficult and all I wanted to do was to keep my head still. Archana must have seen me because she made me sit down with a bottle of water and suck on a ginger candy. I was so embarrassed, especially because I couldn’t explain what I was feeling to anyone and I knew inside it was a form of anxiety. I’m sure dehydration, exhaustion and slight claustrophobia created the issue, but the temple architecture and ambiance definitely made everything I was feeling more defined.

Maybe the state of being completely disorientated and isolated is efficacious for religious activity- especially devotion. And maybe it is my lack of devotional tendencies, or my inability to just zen out and be swept away by the supposed spirituality of a place that caused me to just shut down. It took me until the next morning to finally feel like the same person, I actually woke up on Monday feeling fantastically refreshed and even more excited to be where I was… in India!

A Serious Relief, Continued.

Saturday the 14th, Part 2

After spending time at The Great Relief site, we loaded the vans back up and headed about a mile down through the little town towards the beach for a visit to the Shore Temple. The town of Mamallapuram reminded me a bit of Tijuana Border in that it was crammed packed with rickety stands that sold souvenirs and random trinkets for probably double their worth. Clearly Mamallapuram is a tourist destination for Indians and foreigners a like.

The moment we got out of the van a tremendously cute little boy began trying to sell us very unfashionable beaded necklaces. I couldn’t take my eyes off the kid, something about they way in which his small raspy voice wanted 500 rupees then 100 rupees then 250 rupees revealed how little he knew what he was doing. It really pained me to ignore him as he followed our group the gate of the Shore Temple asking each one of us to buy the necklaces he had draped from his little arms. He seemed used to it, but it broke my heart. I know that there are children that live in practically the same situation in the States, but by no means are there so many of them. It reminds me of a side of India that is so easy to forget when all that is so good about the country has swept me off my perpetually dirty feet. The reality is that this country, like almost every country, has terrible problems. The little boy outside the Shore Temple lives a good life compared to a good deal of children in India, but what about his schooling or his chance to succeed in life? I guess this is a subject for another time… something I can’t forget about but also can’t get stuck on.

Back to the Shore Temple!

It was brilliant, of course. What I find to be the coolest part about this particular temple is the fact that it is the last standing of 5 (?) temples, the rest are submerged below the surface of the sea. The other four can be visited by catamaran on days that the local fisherman don’t find inauspicious or dangerous, which was the case for us. L

This particular shore temple had both a Siva and Visnu shirne. Apparently, the Visnu shrine was built first but when Sivists came into power they built a bigger shrine to Siva in front of Visnu to block him from being as easily recognized. This happens all the time in temples… instead of tearing down a temple built to a different deity, Indians simply build bigger shrines to other deities in front of the original one. India is so passive aggressive, I love it.

After our visit to the Shore Temple, we checked into Hotel InDeco. The hotel was a super cool experience, it felt like it had been a really nice resort around 30 years ago but had been abandoned and then the night before we got there the staff went around removing coverings from all the furniture and cleaning all our rooms and making our beds with fresh sheets for our arrival. I’m sure it wasn’t like that, and it did seem to be kept up quite nicely… but that’s the type of impression I got from the place. There were old artifacts from the age of British Colonization everywhere and everything seemed outdated and old but in an intentional way.

We had breakfast (or second breakfast? Hot Breads were eaten at around 4am so they don’t count) then napped then had Lunch. Everything was served buffet style. I have one problem with Indian food, and that is that it is just all too damn good. I was waddling after lunch I was so full, but how can you turn down any dish that you know is vegetarian, you have never had before, and could easily never have again in your life?  You can’t.

After lunch we were supposed to go on a boat to find the other sunken shore temples, but Archana said that every fisherman told her that it was an astrologically inauspicious day to go to sea… whatever that means. As much of a big bummer it was to not go boating on the Bay of Bengal, we instead had an awesome shopping excursion to this little crafting village where we got to see and meet the people who made tapestries, stone carvings, reed carvings, bangles, pots, jewelry, and a bunch of other things. It was a pretty cool experience and I was able to pick up a few things for family members.

After the craft village we went home for dinner, almost died of food comas, Alexa and I walked down to the beach to dip our feet in the water and freak out over how lucky and psyched we were to be in India, went back to our room, took (cold)  showers, and passed out.

How auspicious is my life right now??

A Serious Relief.

On Saturday the 14th we all gathered in the hotel lobby at 4am to load up the vans and head off for Mamallapuram, a sea town that we had been reading and talking about all week. 

There's something quietly exciting about rising hours before the sun and loading up a car to head off for an unknown destination. It's kind of a nostalgic feeling for me, I get the same little sleepy butterflies that I used to have when my mom would stir me and my sister from sleep to transfer us into the back seat of the car while my dad would load up the trunk for whatever camping expedition we were embarking upon. 

This time, it was the beeping of our dinky little indian cell phone that brought Alexa and me to our senses at around 3:30am so that we could change, brush our teeth, grab our backpacks and head downstairs. Even at that time in the morning it was steamy with heat outside, not in a way that was bothersome but in a way that warmly reminded me how epic it was that I was going on an Indian field trip. 

After double checking for passports, cameras, cash and our text books, we loaded up the van. From nowhere, Archana appeared with these big auspicious looking boxes. "Hot Breads," they said.... Maybe 30 seconds after the engine started, the Hot Bread Box in my van was open. Big beautiful pastries were passed all around and a Bollywood film was popped into the van's DVD Player (we're fancy, huh?). Road trip Bliss.

Helena, holder of the Hot Breads box!

We arrived in Mamallapuram right as the sun was rising and were greeted by The Great Relief, something we had been adamantly studying all week. It's got more allusions, intentional ambiguities, religious iconography, political statements, and farce in it than you can even imagine. This is why going on a school trip to India is actually a super cool way to see the country- it's nothing like going on a tour or going with friends and family but rather a living, breathing, readable version of a textbook. 

After analyzing grainy black and white images of the Great Relief and so many other fabulous cave reliefs that are scattered around Mammalapuram, seeing it all in person felt almost like a magical experience. 

Stoked on the elephant.

Practicing Aestheticism. Serious Business. 

Running around Mamallapuram really was like running around the pages of our book, and Archana was reading aloud to us the whole time. We got there so early that no one was there to tell us not to scamper down to the bottom of the Great Relief so we could touch it with our own hands, and we continued to really take in the art, beauty and significance of the surrounding caves for quite a while. 

Archana knows everything about everything. 

The sun was just coming up, we were so happy to have 'Hot Breads' in our bellies, the weather was supreme, and the religion and history of the place seemed to dance before our eyes.... India made a home in my heart that morning. 

Sonia, Mitchel and Michael climbing things.

Really beautiful Pallava Script.

Chillin' with Becky in a little meditation nook.

Climbing Visnu, nbd.

Stoked on the auspicious life. (Please ignore my pants.... ahhh indian clothing is stressful... more on that later.)

Alexa and I overlooking Mamallapuram and the Bay of Bengal.

So stokedddd.

Lovin' us some Visnu.

Group meditation sesh turned yoga tournament turned album cover photoshoot.

This all happened before 8:30 in the morning. We had yet to have breakfast (Hot Breads didn't count, apparently), see the Shore Temple, take a nap, have lunch, go to this wonderful little craft village, have dinner, and finally head down to the beach to put our feet in the water before going to sleep. 

How auspicious is my life right now?

India Stretchy Time.

India Standard Time is hilarious, Archana calls it India Stretchy Time. I swear this country exists on a dimension of it's own.

With that being said: there is no such thing as an unusual day in India. Time passes much slower than usual, yet unusal things happen much more quickly and frequently here. Does that make sense?

Here's an example: walking home from a trip to the alteration shop today we passed these guys on the road.

Of course no one on the street blinked twice while I stood there fumbling for my camera so that I wouldn't miss yet another ridiculously awesome photo opp.

I don't know how to explain it. Life here seems to move so slowly but it's so packed with interesting occurances that by the end of the day I feel like it's been at least 72 hours since I last slept.

Which brings me to my point: It's been almost a week since I last updated this blog and I must have at least 30 things I'd could blog about. I'll try to catch up soon!

Feet on the Streets.

When I first got to India, I would daydream about wearing rain boots around town.

Besides the tin-can sized one in our hotel room, trash cans really don't exist in India. There are literally mounds of trash along the sides of the road; it sits and kind of mulches into a heap of half rotted and half plastic materials while it spills into the street. As someone who was raised in a place where trash is well hidden and the concept of recycling has long been in style, the stinking, mulching, festering mounds of trash here really grossed me out at first.

Indians used biodegradable food containers and reusable bags for all of their shopping needs up until quite recently, according to Archana, so for a long time the materials that they would throw into the street disintegrated quite nicely.  The habit of tossing rubbish into the street became imbedded in the culture here, and once something finds its way into a culture- it's damn near impossible to get it out.

So people continue to throw all their trash into the street and it just sits there and makes no effort to get out of the way of wherever you are going. One wrong step and you could really easily be knee deep in waste. The waste feeds flies, dogs, cats, birds, cows, goats, pigs, monkeys- people. It's an entity of it's own. It's colorful, even. In fact, on the way to school today I decided to look at it as decoration.

We say hi to these guys every day on the way to school as they eat their breakfast.

But trash isn't the only type of waste on the streets. I've seen more variety of shit in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life. No, really! Cow pies? More like cow mountains. I could go into detail here, but I'll just say that everything that can poop, does poop on the streets of India. It's become like a guessing game, and it's almost fun. Almost.

The waste situation is tricky enough to navigate around by constantly watching the ground, but then you get to a street crossing. Looking down while crossing the street is a bona-fide death wish.  Instead, one must acquire intense determination and a steadfast fixation on the other side and not look down.

Actually- crossing the street in India demands an entry of it's own so I'll leave it like that and get to it when I can.

The ground in India did cause a little anxiety for me when I first arrived. I have one pair of sandals (the pair I wore on the plane) and even if I did bring shoes I think they would just sweat off my feet. Treking to school in the mornings felt brave. I would get to school and just imagine myself stomping around Pondicherry's streets in boots with the same giddy freedom I feel when I walk outside in rain-boots for the first time each year. I would be so carefree!

 I've always known that feet are considered to be the most unclean part of the body in India, but it took on a whole new meaning after arriving. They're considered unclean because they're really freaking unclean. The true locals rock bare feet everywhere! If not, they're wearing sandals. I completely understand why Archana said to pack a pumice stone- to scrub your feet raw at the end of the day!

I've gotten over it and don't really care anymore. My feet are grosser than they have ever been and I wash them every night.

Alexa stepped in poop the other day, we're not sure what kind. It was funny and we laughed about it. She got over it. She's never looked at her Birkenstocks the same since. I'm waiting for my turn. Sure as diarrhea after Indian trainfood, it will happen. It will be funny, we will laugh at it, I'll get over it.

First Impressions: People, buildings, icons, and animals.

My most basic impression of India can be divided into four categories: people, infrastructure, religion and animals.

And when I say basic, I mean real basic. So much can be said about the cars, the sky, the sounds, the food, the weather, the colors, the clothing, I mean... there are a lot of impressions to be had. But let's start with people.

Seriously though, where are all these creatures coming from? What are they doing and where are they going? There are masses. Everywhere. Always. I've never seen so many people before in my life, if that makes any sense. When walking along the promenade they seem to come out of the sand to offer small and pretty items for sale. Teeming seems to be the most accurate word to describe the existence of human beings in India. I can't seem to gague social status very well here, besides this disconnect between normal people and people that really aren't normal. Even that line gets fuzzy. No actually thinking about normalcy here is a fruitless and useless endeavor. I guess my first impression of people here is just that there are a lot of people here. They also seem friendly... not so much in a smiley 'have a nice day' kind of way, but in a genuine way that is a lot more real and down to earth.

And the buildings here have literally caused me to lol. They're so full of character and disfunction; one end may be crumbling while the other end has a fresh coast of paint. Everything is under construction or destruction- or both? Shops and homes are clearly understood to be located on identifiable streets by the people who live here, but finding street signs is kind of like playing one of those 'I Spy' books... it takes so long to figure out that you end up just guessing where to turn.

Religious references are everywhere as well. Shrines sit like vending machines sidewalks, beautiful grandiose temples stand towering over the busiest boulevards like theme park attractions, and kolam drawings lay out along the streets like hopscotch. This is not to imply any sort of profanity in these things, but to describe just how ubiquitous the sacred is in India! Religion is so nitty-gritty here, it's in everybody's business and truly in your face (and on your forhead, depending on what type of devotee you are). 

That being said, for how prevalent and normal the sacred is, it still maintains that special separateness. One must remove shoes to enter a shrine or temple, there are regulations and rules to the practice of drawing Kolams, and a general consensus of respect and ritual purity is maintained whenever directly facing a religious entity. 

And then there are the animals. Dogs here are just everywhere. Life for a street dog in India isn't as sad as I thought it would be- the trash situation here seems to be a pretty decent (or at least suffcient) food source for them and they have just as good of chances at crossing streets as the rest of us do. Every dog seems like it has a story or reason for being where it is. They lie under cars or on street corners to get out of the heat, and I can't help but wonder how they feel about it all. Do they divide the town up and each kind of manage a block? There is character in the dogs here- I can't quite put a finger on it but I will figure it out. 

Oh and I saw monkeys for the first time chillin' on the streets today as well, what terrifying and awesome creatures they are! Monkeys, chipmonks, kittens, dogs, cows, crows, rats and apparently elephants (crossingmyfingers) are all part of the chaos here. Sometimes I get pangs of sadness when looking at an especially pathetic looking animal, but it really seems like they exist here the same way humans do- with an acceptance and understanding of life as it is, just as it is.

Dearthly Treasures.

The ultimate prevalence of poverty here is never completely out of reach of your senses: you can smell it, taste it in the air, see it, sense it around the corner, hear it on the streets, and if none of that- step in it. Though I've only been here for a few days, and that enduring sense of poverty here has never faltered, I can't help but feel that India must be the richest country in the world. There is richness in everything here. Every moment, story, breath, is rich with an intangible something. 

Nothing comes without challenge so everything seems like a reward. Learning to eat with your hands, to cross streets by purposefully not looking both ways, to accept and embrace the undeniable awkwardness of being stared by at least someone at any moment of time, and to be lost and uncomfortable everywhere but also bubbling with some sort of weird anxious giddy demeanor that is just bewildered at the chaos that engulfs you with every wondering step. These are accomplishments! They are rewards, they are treasures. 

Extra Baggage. Or lack thereof.

Packing for India was really strange. I’m terrible with packing for clothes, but I’m generally really good with remembering useful knickknacks. So as weird as it was to purposefully not bring clothes, I really enjoyed making lists of the items I would need to stay clean, anti-bacterial, comfortable, and healthy. I brought enough tampons to last me four months, three pairs of sunglasses that I had acquired throughout the year for free at various non-profit events and saved just so I could lose them in India, a gift box from kate that contained “Something pretty, something American and something good no matter where you are in the world” (a beautiful bracelet, a packet of peanut butter, and some squared of good quality chocolate), extra batteries, adapters, a laundry bag, hats, notebooks and highlighters, and a handful of other things that would certainly come in handy throughout the month. I still had so much room in my suitcase that I decided to transfer items I’d normally carry-on to the suitcase just because it could lighten my overhead load. I never use more than one or two things from my carryon during the flight anyways- why not let them take up the free space in my luggage?

HAH.

 

My first flight to San Francisco from LAX was delayed almost three hours, giving me 30 minutes between the time when it’s wheels landed on the runway at SFO and my second flight’s wheels pulled away from the gate at the SFO international terminal to take off for Hong Kong. By the time I got off the plane in San Francisco, my next flight to Hong Kong was boarding. I knew I could make it to the gate on time, but my baggage?

When I was forced to ditch my bag at the carousel in SFO and run clear across the airport for my connecting flight and board a plane to Hong Kong, I knew India was trying to tell me something. I was headed to China with nothing besides the clothes on my back, some light reading for the plane, and a handful of pills kept in a ziplock bag. In some weird, calming, ‘this would happen to me,’ and therefore ‘It’s cool, I got this!’ kind of way, I managed to fight total panic with a strange elated form of DGAF for the 13 hours of my flight. Planes in general have long evoked some of my most animated panic attacks, so I had three pills Xanex on me and a small handful of benadryl in my bag ready to ingest if needed. I ended up not talking them, and passed out due to sheer mental exhaustion. It was as if India was trying to shake me from the get-go, to remind me that I have very little control over the way things work over here and my luggage wouldn’t change that. Lightening up and smiling is really the only and best way to deal.

So here I am. In India. No bag, no shit, no worries.

Terrible Typhoid.

The week leading up to the moment I stepped foot onto Virgin America Fight 935 to SFO was really, really shitty. I mean that literally, but I'll spare you the details.

I worked overtime right up to the 30^th in LA, trying to make as much spending money for India as was possibly manageable in a two week time frame. I gave myself the freedom to deay preparing for India while I was still in LA because I had so much work on my plate. My mind wasn’t to be focused the trip until the 30^th, and then I would have almost a week to figure everything out. That seemed like plenty of time, as I already had lists of what I wanted to bring for clothing and what I wanted to get from around town figured out.

On June 30th, I had to move all of my belongings from my beloved apartment in Westwood, Los Angeles, to where my parents are temporarily living in Orange County. Like every other poor college student, I couldn’t afford proper moving boxes, so everything I own (extensive stationary making supplies, sewing, an embarrassingly large assortment of trinket boxes, plenty of picture frames, office supplies, musical instruments and a few hefty stacks of books included) was piled awkwardly in large white plastic trash bags and stuffed so tightly into the back of the Jeep that the doors almost wouldn’t close.

Moving always sucks, but this particular move was especially tricky because there was no destination for all of my belongings other than the floor in the small garage studio my parents are temporarily staying in Orange County. It took me days to get everything looking presentable in their little place because there was simply nowhere to hide my clothes or my silly personal effects. Clothes are folded and stuffed in the back of cabinets, shoes are in bookshelves, books are under the bed, toiletries are hidden like easter eggs in different draws in every room besides the bathroom… And from this pecular storage system, I packed for India.

Packing turned out to be so easy that it was hard to believe. One trip to target and everything on my list was accounted for. My suitcase was practically a small pharmacy. I was prepared for everything- enough tampons to last me four months, hats, sunglasses, office supplies, my trusty little powershot camera, some batteries, adapters, mosquito nets, two types of bug spray… I mean, I had everything accounted for. All of this was done by the 2^nd of July- giving me a whopping 4 days to chill before the trip. I can’t express how impressive that is for such a last minute, chaotic spaz like me.

What I did not prepare for was a little thing called Typhoid. I have an accumulating history of allergic reactions and general side effects from drugs, I should have seen this coming. I took my first Typhoid pill the night I moved out of Westwood, the 30^th. The next day, after running simple errands with friends I suddenly felt absolutely exhausted and had to excuse myself to go home and nap, something I’ve never really had such a sudden urge to do before. I went to sleep at 4:40 and woke up at 7:30 keeled over in body aches and a fever that didn’t break until the next morning. A migraine set in that morning that didn’t completely quell until I found myself plugged into an IV in the emergency room on the 4^th of July.

My primary physician assured me when I told her about my beginning side effect symptoms that they were normal and should just be endured throughout the vaccine, so I dutifully swallowed those pills as I got sicker and sicker it seemed by the hour. Before I knew it, it was the morning of the 3^rd of July, my favorite day of the year. Every year on the evening of the 3^rd I get together with a handful of friends from high school that I only see twice a year (Christmas and the 3^rd of July)  to roast marshmallows, voyage midnight canoe rides in the harbor, sleep in blanket forts, and wake up early on the 4^th of July to bike around in obnoxiously patriotic swag to celebrate America’s birthday.

All day I tried to work up the gumption to grin and bear the nasty ‘side-effects’ and go out to at least make an appearance at my favorite annual sleepover tradition. I kept moving between my bed and the couch trying to convince myself that I could make the 45 minute drive and just hang out for a few hours and drive back that night for a good sleep in. But as afternoon became evening and evening became night, my ‘side-effects’ became unbearable. They stacked up on top of each other like an evil tower of death, and eventually found myself curled up on the bathroom floor withering in pain and panicked by the sheer intensity of my bodily functions.  I let my boyfriend relay the message that I couldn’t make it to the beach house sleepover and my mom scooped me up to take me to the ER.

Within an hour and a handful of tests (bloodwork is the bane of my existance), the ER doctor told me that I should not take a Typhoid pill ever again. Around 2 out of every 100 people who take the Typhoid vaccine end up contracting the full-fledged virus itself- I beat the odds. Lucky me. She gave me potassium pills the size of salt licks, plugged more fancy medicine in my IV then either my mom or I can remember, and by the time my mom and I drove home at 6am on the morning of the 4^th, I could actually sleep in a different room than the toilet. And sleep I did.

I must admit, during the couple days I spent with Typoid, I dreaded India. I felt this strange defeat, hypocrisy almost- as if I was being asked to put my money where my mouth was for all these years and that I wasn’t up for it. I was afraid- I felt sick and some how associated the sickness with India, like I was being warned of how things were going to be. I didn’t tell anyone, but at times I wished something out of my control would prevent me from going.

It wasn’t until the afternoon of the 4^th, when both my mom and I stumbled out of our beds onto the couch confused by the time and what we had just gone through, and I felt alleviation from pain for the first time in four days, that my general excitement for India crept back into my system. I could see the light in being healthy again, I knew I would feel better by the time I got on that long flight to Hong Kong and I could breathe easy. I was going to India, and I was going to be okay. 

Chasing Dreams and Finding Reality

I'm not a little girl anymore. I may be young, but my little girl days have officially past. I just returned from a married friend's baby shower, for oldness' sake. I'm young, but not little... despite what my older brother says. As a young person, I'm working on fulfilling the things that I dreamt about when I was little. The most important of those things has got to be going to India.

I don't know why, but when I was eleven years old I was struck by this bizarre and uncanny connection with India, a land I knew (and still know) practically nothing about. The same way some of my friends got enraptured in Greek Mythology, I was enthralled by stories of Hindu folklore. I'm not sure what attracted me more, the brilliance of the legends: a blue child with the universe in his mouth, a he-she creator-destroyer, a terrifying skull adorned goddess, a chariot riding sun god, and my favorite elephant headed Ganesh... or the sheer beauty of the culture as I perceived it: orchestrated chaos, colors of unmatched intensity, spices and sweets like heaven, cows, elephants, saris, bindis, and a general exoticness like I had never been introduced to before. Something about the place struck me like true love and I've been saying that it's my No. 1 dream travel destination ever since.

Now, I consider myself a well-traveled young person. I've been spoiled rotten in the travel department, especially with european countries. Actually, I can't honestly count how many times I've been overseas. I'm only half way boasting about that, the other half of me feels pretty ashamed because I didn't pay for any of those plane tickets and I would hate to sound like I took any of them for granted. I didn't. But by now I've got all the big european underground rail systems down and I know my way around international airports better than I do shopping malls. I'm familiar enough with Western countries and cultures that I easily recall the giddy excitement and smell in difference in the air when getting off the plane in Heathrow, Munich, or Charles de Gaulle and can hear the sound of rolling luggage into train and ferry stations to maneuver amongst any of the countries in between. Nothing about that scares me or even feels all too foreign anymore.

INDIA is a whole 'nother thing. I finally, finally am going to go. If I've ever had a calling in life, it's been to India. And by god, I'm going to answer it. I'm not going in hopes to find myself... that kind of stuff is bologna if you ask me. But I am going because I think there's something there for me, and I have a feeling it's a big kick in the pants.

This is my first entirely self purchased plane ticket, my first developing country, my first time seeing toilet paper and mosquito nets on packing recommendations for hotel stays, my first time thinking about malaria... I have no idea what to expect here. I've only heard about the inescapable smell of India that hits like a smack in the face once deboarding the plane, or Dehli Belly, or skinny Rikshaw drivers, and skilled but captivating  begging children, and unapologetic staring... and dressing conservatively in beastly hot weather out of custom rather than choice, and shoddy electricity and limited running water... This truly is an entirely different world, and it is no longer a pretty daydream- it's a dose of reality.