Welcome to India

[I did not post this when I first arrived, giving India time and space to "sink in" to my being.  Now that it's time to go, let's go back 3.5 months]

Welcome to India.  Sitting in this crumbling dirty hotel room with mosquito nets (thank G-d!), beaten up walls, dirty curtains and complimentary water with miss-matched bottle caps; it is hard to know where to start.  The on-going conversation of the traffic outside, incessant beeping and the occasional screaming is the background, noise to my musings.  The fan overhead is kicking up a small whirlwind in the room as it spins and bobbles, threatening to escape its fixture any second.  The pillows have numerous hairs scattered about as part of the décor, and I’ve yet to examine the sheets.  The furniture is falling apart.  There are stains on the walls.  The shower does not work and two buckets sit under the faucet as permanent back-up.  I sit tired, dirty and motionless, realizing the futility of cleaning myself here, unable to move due to sheer disgust.  The thought of one more day here is not pleasant, let alone a few months of travel.   

Though I’ve read a lot and have been told a lot, it is very different to experience it with my own eyes.  Last night, for just $12 more dollars I slept in an immaculate room, with the latest facilities, freshness, and style in Singapore.  It was one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever been to.  Today is different.  The hotel arranged a pick up that never showed up.  After sitting outside for half hour in the arrivals enclose, turning into more lucrative bait to both mosquitoes and hollering cab drivers, I decided to go to the cab desk (another wave of gratitude here) to pre-arrange a fare.  This was easy enough, $4 later I had a slip in my hand with a cab number and my destination.  Venturing out of the enclosed “safe space” in the airport was also not as scary as imagined.  Simply rolling my cart past different cabs and people sleeping on the ground, I found cab 0991, much to my surprise.  He was ready to go, and thought seemingly more interested in how much I paid for the hotel and whether I arranged it online, than where it is actually located.  Merging, screaming and honking through traffic filled with cars, auto rickshaws, bicycles, people and dogs, I was surprised that we actually saw the neon red letters with “Host Inn” on top of a 20 story building. 

 [Fast forward]

When I wrote this post 3.5 months back, I was on the verge of tears.  I was defeated, having not even stepped foot outside of the hotel room, and horrified to do so.  Since then, I’ve extended my time here not once, but twice.  Now, re-reading these words, it actually does not sound so bad at all!  Eh, just a regular hotel room.  Ignore the hairs and dirt, spread out my trusty travel sheet (or sleeping condom, as Nick calls it), bucket-shower away the dirt, write and sleep.  In hind site, that was likely the worst hotel experience of the whole trip, thought I will never know whether it was by perception or reality.

I end my trip exactly where I started, full circle.  Oddly enough, though I fly domestically, mine is a connecting flight and so I arrive at Chatrapati Shivaji International.  The décor does not look faded, the people are not strange.  It’s all normal.  The fact that it’s almost midnight does not phase me in the slightest.  I don’t wait for hotel pick-ups and don’t even arrange one out o the fear of the unknown.  Easily proceeding to the outside prepaid taxi stand (the line is shorter!), making sure no one cuts in front of me (thus gaining their smiles and respect) I get a cab to Whoorly, Mumbai.  The traffic, thought ever present, is not so bad!  I don’t see the crazy throngs of dogs and people, don’t notice the crazy noise, and the sewer smell that sharply bites my nose from time to time does not surprise me.

I know exactly where I am going and what to expect.  One of the most stylish buildings in Mumbai, the coziest of apartments, the kindest of people.  N and V have housed, fed, nurtured and acclimated me to India shortly after my arrival; post the crazy hotels, cabs and traffic.  Whether through kind words or amazing home-made food, clean shower or simple tips to get around the city, a helping hand to cross the crazy traffic or a cab to the airport, the peace and wisdom that just flows effortlessly from their beings.  Though they are away, friends make all the arrangements for me to arrive and be comfortable.

My first morning in India I woke to the same sound of traffic, not sure whether I would last two weeks in the country or have to make my escape.  My last morning, I wake up to the sound of the Arabian sea and birds, musing about my return to this multifaceted colorful country.  It doesn’t feel like the end of a journey, just the beginning. 

What is real?

When it comes to Pashmina… the tourist may never know.  Our last night in Jaiselmer found us tired, confused and overloaded with presents.  Desert Boys, the lovely warm and amazingly cheap hotel we were staying at made sure that we were well fed despite showing up at their doorstep minutes before the closing of the restaurant.  We sat on the floor in our beautiful room, wearily comparing the Pashmina bought in different places.  Some from a reputable shop in Varanassi, another from a “trusted” source around town, and the third set from supposedly the most reputable store, recommended by our travel agent (whom I would now not recommend).   We could not tell a difference anymore, other than knowing how much we paid for it, and that we definitely paid too much. 

Your reality is your experience. Mine at that moment was that I spent the whole day searching for that illusive perfect shawl for my mother.  She wanted Pashmina.  I wanted gorgeousness to wrap around her shoulders.  I also wanted to finish all my shopping for presents here, in Jaisemer, while I had my one relaxing day of no sight seeing, so that I could send the package home and be done.

The approach turned out to have major flaws with timing, place and space.   Though charming and full of great shops for clothing and textiles, Jaiselmer is not the place for Pashmina.  Turns out that the post office mailing cut off is 2pm even thought it is open until 6pm (as I found out at 5pm).  Running around windy old streets in a town where almost everyone is after your tourist dollar and every turn looks the same is probably not a good place for mass present selection.  The result was that we got the full TOURIST experience.  Since this day marked the end of the third week in the India, perhaps it was time.  

At the end of the day, after spending more than 7 hours in all the Pashmina stores in the city, digging through all the colors of the rainbow, needlepoint and machine wonders, and cheap knock-offs (or were they?), I knew that I could only trust myself.  Contemplating the question of what is real; I knew that before, during and after the whole ordeal my intention was pure, the desire to please those I was shopping for strong and the time, care and thought put into selecting each peace was really given from the heart.  Giving up yoga, food, sights and my sanity as I lost myself in the Pashmina hunt, at the end of the day I felt disappointed with my lack of certainty and trust in the fruits of my labors.

Tired and sleepy, as I write down these reflections, I remember the young couple we met in one of the clothing stores, the family of the shop owner.  Our time with them was like a bright beacon of purity and truth amongst the sea of haggling and half-lies of the day. Somehow, we went quite deep very quickly and eventually ended up on the subject of love.  It was hard not to go there, since they were both glowing and giddy with one another.  When asked how they found each other, they told us their story taking turns, filling in when the other was searching for worlds. 

He proposed to her on the third day he met her.  He told her that within two years he would like to make her a Mama.  He’s seen many beautiful women, but she was also a serious girl who was a match for his intellect, optimism, and outlook on life.  This is hard to find, he said.  It took her another year to accept his proposal.  She took her time falling in love, settling things with their opposing families that were of different backgrounds, languages and beliefs.  Now, 8 years later, bouncing their 5 year old on their knees, the couple was beaming. 

“My whole family is jealous of my married experience.  The husband they were “against” is an open-minded, well-traveled and well-educated man.  He allows me to pursue whatever I want to do and supports it!” she said happily.

It really looked as though this couple was truly in love, a rare find in a world wrapped up in marketing, comparisons, and too many choices of “pashmina”.  I couldn’t help but ask the question one question on my mind. 

“What do you think is the definitions of real love?” 

“Mental satisfaction,” the happy wife responded.

I was not expecting this very rational statement.  He picked up her thread and gestured to show me his “wings”. 

“When you are satisfied, your mind is at rest you are free!”  Continued the happy husband further: “You can live as you wish, able to do anything knowing that you are supported and trusted.  This is how I feel with her, and how she feels with me.”

In the world filled with shinny illusions wrapped up in pretty packages, this happy couple was carried through by trust in and satisfaction in their love.      

As I sat tired and defeated, thinking back to that one heart-felt conversation among the hell of the pashmina “reality”, I was slowly shifting gears.  When viewed from the angle of trust in love, I realize that in fact I truly had a very wonderful day!  My reality was driven by an overwhelming desire to please my loved ones and I was blessed with a plethora of choices on how to do that.  I got to exercise my power of taste, explore a complicated new world prized goat hair, and pour myself into my gifts fully, not resting until every last thread in every last shop was overturned in the search for perfection.     

Though I still had little trust in the reality of Pashmina, despite certificates, burn tests, and complicated explanations and stories, I decided that when you are driven by love to pour your heart, energy, thought, time and best abilities then the outcome must be good and valuable.  With that, all the conflicting opinions of what is real Pashmina were dropped.  What mattered was that I was real and with that, I was satisfied.