Devil in the Details

Today one of my coworkers asked me, "So what do you think of India?  Is it very like the U.S.?"

I wasn't quite sure how to answer.  My immediate reaction was, "Yes."  In a lot of ways, life goes on just the same.  I get up, I put on the same clothes, I go to work, I push some paper, I drive home, I have dinner, I relax and go to bed.  I entertain myself by going to the movies or reading a book or hanging out with friends.  Life falls into a routine no matter where you are.

At the same time, there is just something about these past four months which has been wildly different than anything else I've ever experienced.  It's just the little things, the things that you do every day back home without thinking about, that are of a slightly slightly new color.  That one little difference can make you feel like you're in a different world.

Take Cheetos, for instance.  Sure, you can get Cheetos in India.  The package looks the same, the Cheetos look the same, and they even leave the same orange powder on your fingers.  However.  The Cheetos here are spicy.  Your correspondent is eating masala Cheetos.  No one pops a Cheeto into her mouth expecting to start gasping for water.  But Indian Cheetos are among the spiciest foods I've eaten while abroad (and I've eaten chili pickle).

Then, here you are walking down the street, and suddenly you stumble over a 16th-century mosque.  Not only is there a gorgeous ruin, in fact, but people are actually building a little shanty-town inside the alcoves.  In Haus Kaus Village, part of a ruin fell over a few months ago and the locals seemed to just shrug and drag out the bricks for other buildings.  Meanwhile, Americans stumble past these things and their eyes just boggle.  Our first settlements came 100 years after these buildings were even abandoned.

So, it's the intangibles.  It's inexplicable.  How do you talk about the things you take for granted? I tried to stammer out an answer to my coworker, but I must not have been making much sense.  She laughed and shrugged and said, "It must be much tidier in the U.S. than in India.  It's very messy here."

"Well, that's part of it," I said.  "Some part of the U.S. are just as messy.  Some parts are not."  I couldn't think of any other way to put it in words. I just smiled and gave her a head-wobble instead.

Gulmohar Park, near Haus Kaus