It’s been a while
since I have written. I am now back at home. Flushing my toilet when I want,
drinking from the tap, going out at night on my own and walking the street
without much of a second thought. And while the first week back has you
comparing everything with what you just experienced, pretty soon, you are just
back at home. Trying to keep a glimmer of adventure in your eye, a sense of
adventure in your pocket and some of the lessons you have learned about
yourself, your privilege and the to some degree, the world. 
India . . .land
of color and yoga, land of extremes highs and lows, land of the very fast and
the very slow. I wanted to love everything about India. Not just because I was
going to meet a friend’s mom in the northern region of Kashmir and Jammu,
though that was part of it. But because so many people that I have met that
have traveled to India fell in love with the country. They went for a week and
stayed a year. They had epiphanies. They found their soul.
Maybe, it was
because my head was already back in San Francisco when I landed in Delhi. Or
maybe it was because it was after almost ten months of mostly solo travel. But
India was so hard for me. In a way I didn’t expect. That doesn’t mean that I
didn’t have moments of beauty. India blew me away with her beauty, with her
extreme heat, with her streets crowded with people and animals and cars and tuk
tuks and humanity. I don’t pretend to be an expert. After only a month, I saw
very little of this country that takes up an entire continent and has over a
million people. It is second only to China in population and a baby is born
every other second.
But she did teach
me some lessons that I’ll share with you.
1. Prepare
to get dirty. Especially
in the cities. A third of India is Urban with Delhi being the largest city in
India and the second largest city in the world. And let me tell you, Delhi is a
dirty city. This is not a criticism. It’s just an observation of fact. Of
course there’s a huge difference between Old Delhi and New Delhi and all the
surrounding suburbs as well, so I don’t want to generalize, but after spending
a short amount of time in the suburb of Marinka and a day in Old Dehli
wandering the narrow streets, there was a layer of dirt on my feet that two
washings with hot water and soap had not yet successfully remedied. It’s not
just dirty because of the trash, though the trash is everywhere. It’s the
potholes filled with water and trash, the dust, and dirt that is layered on the
streets and everywhere, the pollution being emitted from the thousands of
autorickshaws, taxis, buses, cars, trucks and motorcycles on the road that
haven’t had a smog check ever in their existence. It’s the flies that are
everywhere, on every surface. It’s the water being tossed into the street (from
what I don’t know), it’s the dirt being thrown off the buildings. It’s the
stray dogs that look dead unless you stop to stare at them for a while and
realize that indeed they are still breathing. It’s the cows in the middle of
the street and their subsequent fecal matter that follows. I’ve always thought
that San Francisco was a bit of a dirty city and my street in particular is a
bit of a landfill, but after in Delhi, my standards may have just changed. 
2. It’s
electrifying. You haven’t
seen creativity in wiring until you have seen the electricity cables in India.
I will say that Kathmandu and parts of Southeast Asia were similar, but India
takes the cake with the quantity and low clearance of the power lines in the
old city of Delhi. Mind your head or your liable to be shocked. Literally.
3. Expect
to feel famous. Again
this is not new to white travelers in Asia or Africa, but it always takes a
minute to get used to the fact that not only will locals approach you to take
your picture, but they’ll take random, creative selfies to get you in the
background. They might take a photo of you as they walk by when they think you
are not looking, and if you’ve got hair like mine, sometimes they might just
reach out and touch you. At the Agra Fort, I think I had my picture taken fifty
times. I got handed babies, posed with whole families and waited while each
member had a picture taken with their camera and was even asked if to lend my
sunglasses during one of the photo shoots. While it can get exhausting and you
may say no politely, for the most part you should just be aware of your
surroundings, embrace the short lived fame and remember that exotic is
relative.
4. You
will get harassed.
Especially if you are a woman. Well, actually I can’t speak to what will happen
if you are man, but if you are woman, especially a white, blond woman with blue
eyes, it will feel like every man on the street will tell you that you are
beautiful, greet you and sometimes even try to grope you if you get too close.
They will want to help you. They will want to know where you are from and where
you are staying and how long you are in town. They will stare. They will
whistle. You will feel like a piece of meat. They may ask you for a kiss. They
may even ask you to have sex. Now of course, that doesn’t mean that every
Indian man is out to kiss you, grope you or hope that a casual sex encounter
will occur. But they too are victims of the tourism that has infiltrated their
city over the recent years, they too watch Hollywood movies and they too can
see that Western female tourists tend to wear very little clothing in
comparison with Indian women. But when it does happen, remember you’re not
really in danger. Just look straight ahead. Don’t smile. Don’t veer off your course,
and if they offer you a service or a product or a piece of advice, just say no
5. Sometimes
it feels like it is all about the money. “Can I take a picture?” I asked the man selling food that
looked like roasted corn off the cob mixed with tomatoes and peppers. “50
rupees,” he replied. You will be asked for money from the hundreds (maybe
thousands) of beggars (as old as 80 and as young as 5) on the street. You will
be asked for a tip from the guy who watches your shoes in the mosque. You will
be asked for a tip from the guy who leads you up the tower and the one who
helps you put on the borrowed clothes so that you are covered up enough to
enter. You will be sold over and over again. “Sarees? Just try!” “Baskets? Come
look.” “Post cards! Red Fort guidebooks.” “Spice bazaar tour only 20 rupees.”
“Come with me, I can show you where it is lady . . .” Nothing is free and
everyone expects you to bargain, so get your haggling skills in order or
prepare to overpay.
6. If
it feels too good to be true, it probably is. This is probably one that I should tell myself every minute
of every day. The free couch surfing is likely a mattress in a dirty room that
that you’ll share with two twenty year old boys so that you sleep with one eye
open and hope you escape unscathed. The “pay what you like” rickshaw will want
a kiss from you and keep insisting and then be offended when you give him 20
rupees for a 3 km ride. The pants that should cost $30 but cost $3 will not
make it the three weeks left you have in your trip. There’s a reason it only
cost a tenth of the price. The offer of help from the stranger on the street. .
.it comes with strings attached. Know that if it feels like you are getting
away with something, you just haven’t heard the punch line to the joke yet.
Except for when you find that one. The guy in the tour agency that realizes
that you need a minute and maybe a chai, as you cry over the fact that the
rickshaw took you all the way back the way you had just walked despite the fact
that you told him where you wanted to go three times to drop you at a bazaar
that was likely his families and then insisted you pay him for the ride. The
guy that exchanges your money and lets you give him your ripped 10 rupee Bill
and gives you a 10 from his own pocket. The guy selling carpets that sees you
standing in the cross roads and jerks his thumb to the left, knowing that you
are looking for the metro. The metro customer service guy that issues you a new
token after you use the wrong token to get off at the first stop. The woman who
moves over in the metro to give you a place on the hand rail, after she watches
you being tossed like a bean bag with no where to grip.
7. Try
all the transportation modes.
Delhi is a hub of transportation. With an amazingly complex metro (complete with
metal detectors and gender specific lines for the wand and frisk) that can take
you all over the old city, the new city and many of the suburbs to city buses
that can do the same. Don't want to go underground or be a sardine as your
shuttled from point a to point b? Take a taxi, an uber or even a rickshaw. Take
your choice – want a motorized one with a meter that sometimes works or do you
prefer a cycle rickshaw with a skinny dude pedaling his butt off as he bikes
you and a cart on a single speed bicycle across the pot holed streets of the
city. But don’t just don’t ride an elephant in the over 100 degree heat as you
go check out the forts in Jaipur.
8. Eat it!
Try everything. Eat the samosas on the street. Buy that juice from the stand
that rinses our the glasses between each customer. Eat the bean concoction near
Jama Majasid that comes with the hot roasted bread in a little tin. Try the
paneer and the masala from the street vendors and the restaurants and compare
for yourself which you like better. Drink a milk shake and a chai and a lassi.
Eat all the food. From the street, from the restaurant, offered from someone’s
home kitchen. Eat it all. 
9. Get
Lost. The streets of Old
Delhi are designed for you to lose yourself. Travel back in time and wander
down the street past the man that irons your clothes and the one who shines
your shoes. Past the woman chewing tobacco and spitting it on the street. Past
the cow and under the wires and step over that sleeping dog and let him lie.
Through the markets selling fruit and into the market selling socks and later
electronics and pirated DVDs. Don't look at the map. Don’t take out your phone.
Eventually you’ll turn up somewhere, and they’ll be time to ask or look and
figure it out.
10. Go
shopping. Jaipur, the “pink
city” is known for its monuments, fots and royal palaces. But it could also be
known for it’s shopping. For its tapestries, rugs, pashminas and blankets.
Handmade, hand stamped and gorgeous. It’s known for its precious and semi
precious stones and silver. For the textiles and the bangle bracelets. For its
carvings made out of marble or wood. For the pottery and leather products. You
could spend a week just going to the various bazaars, markets and small shops
in Jaipur to see the amazing work that the artesans do. 
11. Get
off the beaten path. I
knew that Jammu and Kashmir was close to Pakistan. I had seen it on the map and
I had read the warnings issued by the state department about the political
instability and potential acts of terrorism. Plus Ritu had told me that if I
decided to go visit her mother in Srinigar that the security would be high due
to the political instability of the state. But I guess I was still surprised
when the taxi driver said in his broken English, “Pakistan border 15 km” and pointed
out the left window. I looked at the dirt fields and crumbly buildings toward
Pakistan and pictured Malala fighting for her right and the right of all girls
to attend school despite what the Taliban said. I tried to ask the driver about
the political situation in Jammu, but our communication was thwarted by my lack
of Hindi and his lack of English. We lapsed back into silence. It was only 6
am. I had plenty of time to get to my 10:35 am flight to Srinigar where I would
be screened twice before entering the airport and seven times before boarding
my flight and be asked to check all my luggage and then identify it before it
could be loaded onto the plane. Sringar is known as heaven on earth and after
spending a week there, I understand why. The mountains are incredible, the
rivers rush through valleys and everywhere you look, you feel like you’ve
stepped out of some type of post card. You could be in the Swiss Alps if it
weren’t for the fact that there is no wifi, no other western tourists and no
cell service unless you have a government approved local cell phone. It was
there that I stayed at my friend’s mother’s house in her sprawling 5 bedroom,
three floor house being spoiled with excessive food and watching soap operas in
Hindi. No matter how many times I told her that I didn’t understand the show, a
few minutes later, she’d turn to me and say, “You like this one?” And actually,
I did.
12. Get
spiritual. Of course no
trip to India is complete without the obligatory trip to the Taj Mahal. Go
early. Be awed by the changing sky and the majestic towers. Sit in silence and
take in the reflection in the still waters. 
14. Be
open . . .even when it feels hard.
They call Delhi, Agra and Jaipur the Golden Triangle. Partly because when you
look at the three cities on the map, they form a triangle with the roads that
go from one to the other. That’s the triangle part. And partly because of the
quantity of historical temples, forts, palaces and monuments in the three
cities. I imagine that’s the golden part, since it’s full of the treasures of
Northern India.
The
thing is that the end of April / Beginning of May is low season for a reason. I
imagine that it’s always hot in India, but to be completely honest of my
ignorance, I don’t know how hot or if indeed during monsoon season or the dead
of winter, it’s hot at all. What I can tell you is that in late April, it’s
hot.
And
everything that you want to see – the forts, the mosques, the temples are
located outside in the middle of cities that are very densely populated with
people, cows and sometimes stray pigs in the street, or goats or your
occasional elephant or camel.
I
have walked and rickshawed all around these fabled cities, climbing to the tops
of towers for a birds’ eye view of Dehli, away from the horns and traffic
driving the wrong way down the street. I have sat quietly in front of the Taj
Mahal at sunrise and watched it's magical 
reflection unveil itself slowly in
the light blue waters of the rectangle pool in the garden.
I
have fended off cat calls, sexual propositions and advances from rickshaw
drivers, young men who think western women lack any semblance of scruples and
store owners.
I
have said no thank you till my lips felt numb to every young boy selling a
magic trick, to every mother begging with a disabled child in arms, to every
ambulatory sales person selling snow globes of the Taj Mahal, large, colorful
balloons the size of a small child, post cards and guide books. To every offer
of a guide service in every fort, palace and temple. To every store owner
wanting to sell me tapestries, saris, silver and more.
I
have been photographed enough to make me feel a small modicum of sympathy for
Jennifer Lopez as she tries to go to the supermarket undiscovered.
I
have walked through 300 hundred year old tombs, each marble structure
I
have seen the Taj Mahal from across the river and up close and personal, each
detail painstakingly made over 22 years by 22,000 men.
I
have climbed towers to see the cities sprawl out in every direction…
I
have watched men stamping batik prints, painstakingly block by block.
I
have been hotter than I thought humanly possible.
I
have been almost as cold.
I have eaten food that made my mouth sing with joy.
I
have stood on the street and cried from frustration, heat and exhaustion.
I
have walked through four forts in an as many days.
I
have spent more than three hours trying simple to buy a train ticket to leave
Delhi, being sent from agency to agency to agency with no clear piece of information,
sweat dripping from my forehead into my eyes.
I
have stood awe struck by the sheer size of the city of Delhi and the stark
differences between the old and the new.
I
have been equally as awed by the amazing detail in each fort, mosque, temple, tomb
and palace.
I
have been saddened by the extreme conditions in which many people live.
I
have side stepped around potholes, jumped over piles of trash, avoided farm
animals in the street and had trash thrown at me from a doorway.
I have walked through flower garden after flower garden after flower garden.
I
have had the nicest seat mate on my train ride from Delhi to Agra, a young man
from Punjab working for the government on his way to Kerala for training. We
shared pictures of our families and our hopes for the future. And he never once
said a single, solitary inappropriate comment.
I
have had advice from my Rickshaw driver in Jaipur, an older man with very
little English, “this street – me no problem. This street you, some problem.
You, no thank you. Eyes floor. Yes?”
I
have been invited to a wedding.
I
have not yet grown accustomed to stray cows, pigs and goats roaming the
streets, eating trash from piles along side the dogs.
I
have seen dead pigs and dogs, their lifeless bodies abandoned in murky sewer
water or dusty corners.
I
have seen children playing stickball in front of a dilapidated building, their
cries those of sheer joy. 
I
have seen women dressed in flowing saris in every color of the rainbow.
I
have been invited to young woman’s house in Delhi upon my return to redeem my
impression of the city with a local’s help and guidance.
I
have been given chai over and over again upon entering a business, an office or
a hotel with a bow and a “namaste.”
I
have been bumped around the back of a rickshaw on streets with more potholes
than paved surfaces.
I have pushed my way though crowded, city streets and wandered aimlessly down empty, rural dirt roads.
I
have been given wrong directions that led me to slide down the side of a
mountain.
I
have been taught that Srinigar really is Heaven on Earth, both in its natural
beauty and its hospitality.
I
have shared chai and biscuits with my rickshaw driver, his wife and son in
their two room apartment – bedroom/ kitchen, hiding behind layers of curtains
to shade us from the oppressive sun and heat of the afternoon.
I
have stood on the mountains with snow all around me, Himalayan peaks jutting up
in every direction.
I
have been treated like a daughter and fed like royalty.
I
have been welcomed time and time again to “My India,” said with pride, and am
left hoping that I too will grow to love the paradoxes embodied in this country
packed with spices, color, heat, tall mountains, rushing rivers, spirituality and extremes.
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