Indelible India
As far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to visit India. Growing up in England, I saw fragments of this country and its people all around me. As the former crown jewel of the British Empire, India has always played an integral part in English society. There's no denying its impact on our collective conscience. When I moved to other countries, I would always maintain that connection through food, but I always knew that I would have to make the pilgrimage for myself someday. When Jona and I decided to stop in India for ten days, I was overjoyed. Safe to say, it's been a long, strange trip.
As we sit in our compartment on the Karnataka Express, from Agra to Delhi, riding through green fields at dawn, I am in awe of this country of 1.3 billion people. It's everything I expected--as Jona says, it's just like it appears on film--but it goes beyond my wildest expectations too. Ancient temples, bold colors, incredible food, wandering cows, loud music, wonderful people, great wealth and devastating poverty. India is a funky, vibrant country.
It's easy to romanticize India, but the reality can be overpowering. For the first-time visitor, there is a lot to take in. For the experienced traveler, there will never be enough time to experience it all. Either way, India is incredible, yes, but it is also intense. To give you an idea, a few moments ago, I had just finished waxing lyrical about our trip here and how privileged I felt to have experienced it, when Jona pointed out that there was a man defecating in the field just outside our train window. That's India. But, India is also the moment when you round a corner, through an old stone gate and see the Taj Mahal for the first time. It's so painstakingly beautiful that it takes your breath away.
The only way to accurately convey the feeling of India is to provide you with glimpses from my feverish mind.
Wild cows drift into the road and eat trash. There is trash everywhere. Fields of white, blue and black plastic. Children sit by the side of the road, playing, waving at us. Loud, passionate, urgent music pounds the air. Women in colorful saris go about their business, faces sometimes covered to filter the dust and exhaust, with an occasional shy smile or giggle. The pollution is as bad as the news reports say. A thick haze hangs over the city. At night, our throats feel raw. The traffic. Oh, the traffic. It's a never-ending, snaking flow of trucks, cars, auto-rickshaws, bicycles and buses. The sound of car horns is enough to drive you mad. It's as bad as the wild dogs who roam the streets and bark all night long. There are millions of them throughout the country.
The smell of spices fills the air. I can sometimes taste it too. We drive by stalls selling street food. My stomach growls, as I really want to try it, but I have been warned enough times by the locals that I'm cautious about where we eat. They swear that some of the food, especially in the markets, makes them sick too. However, whenever we do eat, it's an absolute joy. We're both fans of Indian food and I've been a vegetarian (technically a pescatarian) for more than half my life. This is my food mecca. More than half of the food on sale is veggie, with a green dot differentiating it from the red-dot dishes containing meat. After playing the Southeast Asian game of "Find The Pork" for the past few months, it's refreshing to have this much choice. Of all the countries we have visited, India is our favorite for food, by a long shot.
Just now, the "chai walla" (or tea boy) walked down the corridor of our train, offering piping hot tea in a singsong voice. He was followed by a man selling breakfast. Our train to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, was a Gattimaan Express--a pampered experience, with breakfast, newspaper and even a rose. This sleeper train from Karnataka back to Delhi is quite different. When we boarded in Agra, we scrambled to find our compartment. There's no one to help and the trains are mostly third-class carriages, with people hanging out of the crowded doors. When we finally figured out that we were on the right train, we found our compartment, which looked like the previous occupants just vacated it. Their bunk beds are still unmade, with dirty sheets and trash strewn around the small room. Never mind, we're on our way to Delhi airport and our next adventure. We're keenly aware that we have the luxury of being able to fly away and leave this poverty behind, while most people here will never experience anything but the daily grind of survival.
As we slowly start to say goodbye to India, we're thankful for our experiences. This morning, we saw the silhouette of the Taj Mahal in the distance, at the crack of dawn. The man who drove us to the station and who was our escort in Agra for the past few days, Vijay, was soft-spoken and kind. As we weaved our way through the streets of Agra, the town was showing signs of life. When we arrived at the station, dozens of other passengers were disembarking from other trains. Who knows where they were coming from, but they were from all over the country. Some of them stared at us in disbelief. We were just as curious, so we stared back. I watched as a group of people neared the stairway toward the exit. Clearly, they had never seen an escalator before. With peals of nervous laughter and the occasional squeal, they stepped onto the metal steps, one by one, making the invisible transition from Old India to the New with one giant stride.