New Country, New 'Do

Expectations

My former colleague regularly participates in the Burning Man festival in Black Rock Desert, Nevada. She once told me that before her first trip out there she wrote down what she thought her experience would be like. Later, after seeing her week long artist community go up in flames, she revisited her writing, and let's just say, things didn't really pan out the way she had predicted.

While I think this is an interesting exercise, I am a little nervous to publicly write out my expectations. I'm afraid that in retrospect, I will look at this posting and think it is a sad collage of Indian stereotypes loosely drawn from Slumdog Millionaire and Jhumpa Lahiri short stories. But perhaps having that in the back of my head, I can avoid making any truly egregious comments.

I've known many people who have traveled to India and they've all seen something a little different. Some focus on the poverty, the begging, the heat, the swindles, the dirt, the natural disasters, the frustrations of getting around and getting things done. Others tell me of the frenetic energy, the bursts of color, the spicy food, the friendly people, the pulse, the love of getting lost in it all. And because I practice yoga, I also hear stories of dedication, devotion, inspiration, admiration and the search for the sacred in the secular.

I suspect my experience will be more mundane than all of that. Bhubaneswar, Orissa will be my home for about nine weeks and from what I have been able to gather, it seems like it's essentially the Cleveland of India (not that I have anything against Cleveland). It's a city and there are some attractions there, but it probably wouldn't make it on any international traveler's top ten places to visit list. I imagine my life will be more about buying dosas daily for dinner from the man who sells it across the street from where I'm living. Or about covering my head, slipping off my shoes and entering into one of the many temples throughout the city. Or maybe more about hearing the persistent sound of hagglers on my way to work, contemplating if this will be the day that I give in and make my choice among the array of goods.

You went to India? What was that like?

So there is thing that often happens to me. I tell a new person that I've met that I lived in Hong Kong for two years, and he or she invariably asks: what was that like?

I dread this question.

My mouth gets dry. I feel sick to my stomach. And I stammer out some answer that actually have very little to do with what Hong Kong was like. I've been back in the US for more than three years and I still haven't figured out a good way to answer the question. Ask me about the two weeks I spent in Peru, I can respond no problem. How did my five days in Cambodia treat me? I can rattle off a reply. But ask me to articulate the sense of a place that I came to understand over two years in just two minutes. Forget about it.

So now I'm off to spend 10 weeks in India. And I've learned my lesson. I'm keeping track of the piecemeal, fragmented way that I will come to understand what India is like. If you're interested in exploring with me, buckle up: it's bound to be a bumpy ride.