I first set foot on Indian soil five years ago today. And I certainly had no idea at the time how much my life was about to change.
I still remember that first day in India. The very first thing I noticed about India, before even reaching the subcontinent, was the profusion of mustaches. When I reached my gate at the Bangkok airport, I found myself surrounded by an unusually high number of mustachioed men. (I was flying to Chennai, which I now know is the mustache capital of India. While mustaches are popular all over the country, a higher percentage of men seem to fancy them in South India than in North India.) At the time I wondered why so many people would choose to adorn their face with the ugliest style of facial hair. I still wonder a bit, but I think it is some sort of symbol of manliness.
When I stepped off the plane in Chennai, I was immediately hit by the intense heat and humidity and shortly after by the smell. Those of you who have been to India know that smell. I'm not sure how to describe that distinct smell of India, but I think it's what you get when you combine a plethora of spices with a plethora of animal poop with a plethora of tropical flora. (You get used to this smell after a while. I never notice it now.)
At the baggage claim, I waited and waited and waited for my luggage to show up on the carousel. It didn't. Thai Airways had left it in Bangkok or possibly in Los Angeles, where I started my journey. There was no Thai Airways representative for me to speak with, so some baggage handlers came over to help me out. They didn't speak a word of English, but somehow they managed to communicate to me that I should put my name and Indian address on the back of some piece of scrap paper and my luggage would be delivered. There was no computer to check where my luggage was, no official form for me to fill out, nothing. I completely flipped out. I thought I was never going to see my bag again.
(The next day, my bag showed up at the university, just as the baggage handlers promised. This was an important lesson I would learn again and again in this country: somehow, things always work out in India.)
After the lost luggage ordeal, I finally went through customs. Someone from the university was supposed to pick me up, but there was no one holding up a sign with my name. I was suddenly barraged by taxiwallahs who wanted to take me to my hotel, madam. I was already flustered because of my luggage, so this overwhelmed me. I had no idea where to go or what to do. I managed to find a payphone and called my contact at the university, who quickly resolved things and sent the driver. Apparently he thought I missed my flight because I didn't come out with the rest of the passengers.
The streets of Chennai, even from the window of the car, were just as overwhelming as the onslaught of taxiwallahs. I had never seen so many people. And are those cows in the street? So that's not just a stereotypical view of India that my grandfather joked about before I left the States?! Oh my god there's an elephant! And monkeys! Is that pickup truck filled with people? There are dozens of men sitting on the roof of that bus!
I thought--and I remember this verbatim very well--what the hell have I gotten myself into?!
Since then, nothing has been the same. Apparently, I got myself into a powerful experience that would alter my life forever. That first stint in India changed the course of my career (at least up until now): upon witnessing the incredible disparity between the lives of India's poor and my own privileged life, I decided to work in development, to apply my engineering skills to trying to help raise people out of poverty through sociotechnical interventions.
I have spent half of the last five years in India: a semester in Pondicherry, a year working in Delhi, and a year working in Shimla and studying Hindi in Varanasi, and now this summer doing research. I have been fortunate enough to travel to 26 out of 28 states, from Kanyakumari to Ladakh, from the Pakistan border to the Burma border, over the course of my time here. I have celebrated almost every major festival, many more than once. I have ridden on an elephant into the depths of the jungle to see tigers and leopards and crossed waterways on trees that were trained to extend their roots to the opposite riverbank. I have walked with a migratory tribe and their herds of buffalo from the high Himalaya to the plains of Punjab. I have shared chai with people from all walks of life all over India, from an upper class Princeton alum in the Delhi Gymkhana Club to Buddhist monks and nuns in Sikkim to adivasi villagers in Jharkhand to a tribal chieftain in Nagaland to an autowallah in Gujarat ("unity in diversity" is India's favorite slogan. I'm convinced chai is what ties people in this country together). Most importantly, I have made some truly great friends who have shown me unparalleled kindness, who have made me laugh until I peed a little, and who have made my time here unforgettable--they are the real reason I keep coming back.
Happy half-decade, India. Thank you for turning my life into an unbelievable adventure. I can't wait to see what the next half-decade will bring.
I still remember that first day in India. The very first thing I noticed about India, before even reaching the subcontinent, was the profusion of mustaches. When I reached my gate at the Bangkok airport, I found myself surrounded by an unusually high number of mustachioed men. (I was flying to Chennai, which I now know is the mustache capital of India. While mustaches are popular all over the country, a higher percentage of men seem to fancy them in South India than in North India.) At the time I wondered why so many people would choose to adorn their face with the ugliest style of facial hair. I still wonder a bit, but I think it is some sort of symbol of manliness.
When I stepped off the plane in Chennai, I was immediately hit by the intense heat and humidity and shortly after by the smell. Those of you who have been to India know that smell. I'm not sure how to describe that distinct smell of India, but I think it's what you get when you combine a plethora of spices with a plethora of animal poop with a plethora of tropical flora. (You get used to this smell after a while. I never notice it now.)
At the baggage claim, I waited and waited and waited for my luggage to show up on the carousel. It didn't. Thai Airways had left it in Bangkok or possibly in Los Angeles, where I started my journey. There was no Thai Airways representative for me to speak with, so some baggage handlers came over to help me out. They didn't speak a word of English, but somehow they managed to communicate to me that I should put my name and Indian address on the back of some piece of scrap paper and my luggage would be delivered. There was no computer to check where my luggage was, no official form for me to fill out, nothing. I completely flipped out. I thought I was never going to see my bag again.
(The next day, my bag showed up at the university, just as the baggage handlers promised. This was an important lesson I would learn again and again in this country: somehow, things always work out in India.)
After the lost luggage ordeal, I finally went through customs. Someone from the university was supposed to pick me up, but there was no one holding up a sign with my name. I was suddenly barraged by taxiwallahs who wanted to take me to my hotel, madam. I was already flustered because of my luggage, so this overwhelmed me. I had no idea where to go or what to do. I managed to find a payphone and called my contact at the university, who quickly resolved things and sent the driver. Apparently he thought I missed my flight because I didn't come out with the rest of the passengers.
The streets of Chennai, even from the window of the car, were just as overwhelming as the onslaught of taxiwallahs. I had never seen so many people. And are those cows in the street? So that's not just a stereotypical view of India that my grandfather joked about before I left the States?! Oh my god there's an elephant! And monkeys! Is that pickup truck filled with people? There are dozens of men sitting on the roof of that bus!
I thought--and I remember this verbatim very well--what the hell have I gotten myself into?!
Since then, nothing has been the same. Apparently, I got myself into a powerful experience that would alter my life forever. That first stint in India changed the course of my career (at least up until now): upon witnessing the incredible disparity between the lives of India's poor and my own privileged life, I decided to work in development, to apply my engineering skills to trying to help raise people out of poverty through sociotechnical interventions.
I have spent half of the last five years in India: a semester in Pondicherry, a year working in Delhi, and a year working in Shimla and studying Hindi in Varanasi, and now this summer doing research. I have been fortunate enough to travel to 26 out of 28 states, from Kanyakumari to Ladakh, from the Pakistan border to the Burma border, over the course of my time here. I have celebrated almost every major festival, many more than once. I have ridden on an elephant into the depths of the jungle to see tigers and leopards and crossed waterways on trees that were trained to extend their roots to the opposite riverbank. I have walked with a migratory tribe and their herds of buffalo from the high Himalaya to the plains of Punjab. I have shared chai with people from all walks of life all over India, from an upper class Princeton alum in the Delhi Gymkhana Club to Buddhist monks and nuns in Sikkim to adivasi villagers in Jharkhand to a tribal chieftain in Nagaland to an autowallah in Gujarat ("unity in diversity" is India's favorite slogan. I'm convinced chai is what ties people in this country together). Most importantly, I have made some truly great friends who have shown me unparalleled kindness, who have made me laugh until I peed a little, and who have made my time here unforgettable--they are the real reason I keep coming back.
Happy half-decade, India. Thank you for turning my life into an unbelievable adventure. I can't wait to see what the next half-decade will bring.
Wow! ;)
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