Lessons Learned In India
Nicole King
India. I’ll Never Do It Again. That’s what they say. And after spending nearly two weeks there, I agreed completely. The constant noise, filth, foul air, and traffic are only trumped by the blatantly uncomfortable stares and the constant harassment of beggars. Exiting the airport, I never felt so unwelcome, so out of place, so completely lost. I was overwhelmed. It seemed like all 1.2 billion Indian citizens were surrounding me. All staring, like I was some exotic oddity at the zoo. I was the foreigner and well aware of it. By far, travel in India included some of the most unpleasant incidents I have ever experienced. The horror stories are all true, but this is not the whole story.
There are wonderful things to do and places to see in India, and not all experiences are as terrible as they may have seemed. As I look back on what I deemed unpleasant I find myself smiling. I saw the real India and was able to judge it for myself. Some of the incidents now seem comical to me, and are not nearly as terrifying as they were at the moment. Perhaps it was just my American perspective and expectations that made everything seem so terrible. I was traveling with a group of fellow Hiram College students on a twelve-week study abroad expedition, and had some of the best experiences of my life. I saw the good and the bad, and learned a few things along the way.
For instance, take The Taj Mahal. It is just as beautiful as the guidebooks say it is. Although, you will be taken advantage of if you’re not careful. Everyone is very willing to show you around . . . for a price. As I entered the gate I couldn’t believe I was really there. I was looking at one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was much bigger than I had imagined, and the intricate details were such a mystery. Before I knew it a well dressed man was eagerly showing us how beautiful the inlaid marble was; pointing out Chinese tiger lilies, marigolds, butter moons, and describing the texts of the Koran that cover the walls. The story of the two lovers was enchanting. I didn’t have time to think, was sucked in, just as planned. After making a complete circle around the tombs he stopped, turned, and looked me directly in the face. Then came the ever present “You pay.” I was shocked at first. What just happened? I looked at his outstretched hand, reached into my wallet, and handed him 30 rupees. Lesson #1: Nothing in India is Free.
If you want to have a good look at the Indian landscape, culture, and people, take a train. You want an adventure? This is it. The first wave of my discomfort was the beggars. Never have I seen such terrible poverty. There are children wearing filthy scraps of clothing, quietly asking for money, telling you how hungry they are. How do you deny a starving child? How can I not hand out a few rupees when I have thousands in my wallet? I reached into my pocket and pulled out some change. Huge mistake. Before I knew it there were twenty children and just as many adults, all reaching out to me, wanting just a few rupees for something to eat. Grabbing at my hands and pulling at my clothes, I was completely surrounded, not to mention terrified. Nowhere to go. Lesson #2: No good deed goes unpunished.
My next battle at the train station, as well as the most uncomfortable experience of my entire life, was because of the men. I slowly became aware of their stares. Their eyes wandered over me slowly, up and down, over and over again. They were well aware that I knew they were staring, but they didn’t care. I made eye contact, which back home would have quickly put an end to the situation with a shameful glance downwards, but that only seemed to encourage the stares. There was no escape; it came from every direction. Their eyes said it all, and I was disgusted. I could only imagine what they were thinking, although, I wished I didn’t. I felt like a piece of meat. A juicy, white, American steak. All I could do was attempt to cover myself as much as possible and to hide behind other people in my group. Lesson #3: Wear long pants.
Lesson # 4: Don’t hesitate. This applies to all of India, but namely to the train station. As the train rolled to a stop, we patiently waited on the platform for people to exit, then began to pull our luggage into the car. I was second to last in a group of about seven people. As my turn came, the train lurched forward. I assumed it had finally come to a complete stop and was settling on the tracks. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The door moved further and further away, and once again, I stood in shock. The train was leaving, and I was standing, dumbfounded, on the platform. It couldn’t have been stationary for more than two minutes, clearly not enough time for everyone to get off and on. I picked up my luggage and ran, tossed it through the door, and jumped on a moving train. I didn’t know I could run that fast.
I most definitely was not looking for more adventure after my train experience, but soon found it. The auto-rickshaw--a tiny, three-wheeled relative of the golf cart, and the most thrilling form of transportation ever invented. Cramming me and my luggage into the small enclosure was a challenge in itself. Communicating with the driver was an even bigger issue. As we sped through traffic, horns wailing, I forgot traffic laws existed. Lanes and traffic lights meant nothing. All I could do was cling to my suitcase and pray the car next to us didn’t plow us into the ground. I felt I would surely die. That short ride from the station to our hotel was better than any roller coaster I’ve ever been on. Lesson #5: HOLD ON!
Quite possibly the most important, and most unexpected thing I learned in India, was about hospitality and the human condition. Entering the beautiful Daria Mahal, an old family estate in Mumbai, even at 3am, our host awaited us. As I sleepily dragged my luggage across the lawn, exhausted from hours of traveling, Mr. Chinai Jr. greeted us with a smile. Why is he up so late? And why did he look so happy? I was grumpy, and only wanted to sleep for days. He showed us to the guesthouse and asked if our accommodations were acceptable. There was a bed, it was acceptable; but before I had a chance to unzip my suitcase we were called to the main house. Mr. Chinai Sr. was awake and couldn’t wait to meet us.
From what I had heard from our professors, Mr. Chinai Sr.—known to everyone as “Max,”--was a big deal. He had done many amazing things in his life and had really made something of himself. The Daria Mahal was famous in India. Although I was excited to finally meet him, couldn’t it wait until morning? My American self told me this was ridiculous. It was nearly 4am. I found myself almost annoyed walking up the main stairs to the tearoom. All of that melted away after just a few minutes. Mr. Chinai Sr., a frail, elderly man, arose as we entered the tearoom. The smile on his face was even warmer than his son’s. He seemed genuinely excited to have guests in his house. He shook our hands, one by one, then asked how our rooms were and if we needed anything. This was not the “Is there anything I can get for you ma’am” you get in an American hotel, where you are expected to say “No.” This was real.
We were invited to join the Chinai’s for morning chai. Even after just a few hours of sleep, I couldn’t wait. The chai was hot, spicy, and delicious. Exponentially better then morning coffee and was served with little pastries. Yet the best part of morning tea were the stories. Although the elder Mr. Chinai was over 80 years old, he vividly remembered stories from his university days in America; driving coast to coast in a Chevy, exploring the world, and causing a little bit of trouble along the way. Again, Father and Son made sure we were comfortable before tea ended. Every day, I looked forward to the stories at teatime.
After five days at the Daria Mahal, I found myself sad to leave. Although I had just met the Chinai family, it felt like home. Who would have thought I would feel comfortable in the middle of India? As we sat down to dinner that evening, I knew I would miss the place. I would miss teatime, the stories, and watching the sunset over the Arabian Sea from the garden.
Once dinner had ended, we graciously thanked them for their hospitality. They thanked us for being good guests, and then something completely unexpected happened. The younger Mr. Chinai. opened a small container sitting on the table in front of him. He explained how much our visit meant to him, and that our university had been such a huge part of his and of his family’s lives. With tears in his eyes he asked the women in the group to take something from the box. His mother’s handmade jewelry. She had passed away over a year ago and always arranged and looked forward to these visits of Hiram students. Objects that must be so sentimental to the Chinai family, and Harish wanted us to have them. He wanted me, a twenty-year-old university student whom he had only known for five days, to take a piece of his mother away.
As the box was passed around, tears fell. I peered into the box and hesitantly took a pair of earrings. Such a heartfelt gesture brought tears to just about everybody in the room. The human emotion is universal. It didn’t matter if we were American, Indian, Muslim, Hindu, or Christian. Mr. Chinai Jr. explained that we were family, that we would always be welcome at the Daria Mahal, and that we had a home in Bombay. The majority of my stay in India had been terribly uncomfortable, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.
Yes. India is uncomfortable, stressful and most definitely takes a toll on your morale. Would I do it again? Probably not. Would I recommend it? Without a doubt. It is truly an experience, with a capital E. If you really want to experience the world, you must leave your comfort zone, accept differences, and most of all see everything as an adventure.
Lesson Learned: Life is full of surprises.