Coming Full Circle

I have to admit I may have shed a tear or two as I gave a final look at my office building in India.

I have met so many wonderful people, learned so many new things, and had so many experiences I'll never forget.  My coworkers have been so kind and made me feel so welcome.  These few months have been among the best in my career, needless to say the best of my life.

A few minutes later I shed a few tears of a different sort when my driver, spotting a jam up ahead, casually whipped the car around and gave me a second final look at my office building in India.  Then off we headed into oncoming traffic.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

-------

I most likely won't be blogging for the next two weeks while I'm trekking in Nepal.  Once I'm back in my home country, chances are I'll pick up again and try to share some of the stories I still have buzzing around my head which still haven't been told.  There are still so many photos, so many moments, and I don't quite feel like I'm done writing yet.  Besides, at the very least I need to share my photos of Mt. Everest.

So, watch this space, and until then . . . Namaste!

With My Little Eye

I'm really going to miss the daily commute to work with my colleague, the only other American at my company and in my guesthouse.

Our mornings have devolved into a game of "I Spy", in which points are awarded for absurdity and randomness.

I'll say, "I see a man with a sparkly pink sweater-vest."

She'll say, "I see a rickshaw with sixteen people in it."

I'll say, "I see a man whose choice of helmet is a tea towel."

She'll say, "I see a man transporting a pane of glass on the back of his motorbike."

I'll say, "I see a sign that says, 'Inconvenience Regrated'."

She'll say, "I see a man hanging out of a second-story window, welding, without goggles, and to keep his balance he's holding on to the part he's welding to the building.  And he's barefoot."

This morning, I had just casually remarked, "I see a cow eating burning trash," when my co-commuter suddenly took off her sunglasses, tossed them on the seat next to her, and burst out laughing.

"I see a chicken," she said.

We see lots of chickens.  I wasn't impressed.

"In the back of a rickshaw."

Sure enough, she did.

She always wins.

On My Final Week in India

It's with a heavy heart that I say farewell to the Rajasthani thali.

Did I say "heavy"?  I meant clogged.

Ghost Town

This past weekend being my last in India, I braved the heat to make one more excursion.  Forty kilometers away from the Taj Mahal, the sprawling complex of Fatepur Sikri receives its fair share of visitors, but has very few full-time residents due to the heat and the lack of water.

Asia Gate, the entrance to Fetepur (the mosque bit)

It took twelve years to construct by Akbar (father of Humuyan and grandfather to the builder of the Taj) and was abandoned just as quickly.  The complex is magnificent, though, and the architecture liberally borrows from Hindu, Muslim, Christian, and even Buddhist traditions.

The Mughals weren't known for their subtlety, although I get the feeling the stories are occasionally exaggerated by even the most official government tour guides.  Still, it's a rare sight to see a tower with over 500 elephant tusks decorating the outside to commemorate the king's favorite killer elephant.  (He made the elephant sit on people he was angry with.)  It's also rumored that the king used to play Parcheesi in the courtyard using slave girls as gamepieces.

My favorite part, though, was the fact that Akbar's city combined the influences of his three very different wives - one a Hindu, one a Muslim, and one a Christian.  The intricate carvings each seemed to contain one layer of each, stacked together into one beautiful design. It was a great example of Indian art borrowing from the country's long and diverse history.

Christian patterns on top, the Islamic flowers in the middle, and the Hindu swastik on the bottom

The only downside of the day was the fact that we were the only tourists brave enough to withstand 110 degree temperatures.  This made us very attractive to the hoards of tour guides ubiquitous anywhere along northern India's "Golden Triangle".  At one point, we resorted to saying, "No English.  No English.  No English" to every tout who approached.  The only problem was, they all knew so many secondary languages that we still couldn't get away.  When one of them started ushering me into the mosque in flawless Russian, I knew I might as well resign myself to the harassment.

By contract, once we were actually inside the city walls, things quieted down.  Quieted down a lot.  For the first time since coming to India, I couldn't hear so much as a single car horn.  No smattering of voices.  Barely even any birdsong.  It was dead silent.  At that point, the real isolation of this ghost town sunk in, and it became clear what a rare ruin it was.

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

The Road to Agra

Today was yet another trip down the long road to Agra.

I've been in that direction three times in three months.  First, in February, on a day trip to Bharatpur and Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary, next in March to see the main attraction, the Taj Mahal, and finally today to see the ghost city of Fatepur Sikri, built by Akbar 450 years ago and quickly abandoned because it had no source of water.  (Whoops.)

A few months ago, one of my coworkers commented that the road from Delhi to Agra is one of the best in India.  I had to choke down a laugh.  My first trip, I made the mistake of sitting in the front seat, and the entire time I needed to keep my eyes closed as we darted in and out of traffic, nearly ran over several jaywalkers, dodged herds of cows, all in the pitch dark.  However, by the end of today, I kind of understood.  Sure, it's busy, and it's full of trucks competing with bicycles competing with rickshaws competing with buses.  But, once you turn off that road you can barely find drivable pavement.  It's all relative, I guess.

I'll vividly remember the road to Agra because it gives you such a vivid picture of India.  You pass by gigantic mall complexes and little straw huts.  You stop to pay the tourist tax and you're surrounded by touts with cheap necklaces.  You drive through stretches where there's not a building in sight.  And of course, there is always so much noise and chaos, but your driver never seems to look nervous as he tootles away on the horn.

Everyone has heard stories about the Taj Mahal.  It's the getting there, though, that really makes you realize what's so special about India.

How to Eat a Mango Without Making a Mess and Looking Like A Complete Idiot

Haven't the foggiest idea.