Reflections on India
I wrote the following in LAX, on my way home from India. These are incomplete fragments, originally intended to be pieced together into some sort of coherent essay on my experience. Unfortunately I got sidetracked, so I will post them here as-is:
It took several days for me to get over the feeling that I was dreaming. I almost expected to wake up and find myself back in Rishikesh, ready to head to work. I am, by no means, the world's most experienced traveler, but I have left a lot of places. This is the first time that leaving has been such a surreal proposition. But then, living in India was a constantly surreal experience; why should leaving be any different? Perhaps this feeling really was indicative of my entire experience.
........
Never have I had such mixed and contradictory feelings about a place. Of course there have been things I've liked and disliked about everywhere I've lived. But no other place has engendered such a strong and transitory response. In the course of an hour I might go from complete and utter frustration, cursing this country's very existence, to being stunned by the beauty and generosity of its people. Or not. Frustration and elation sweeping through my emotional landscape like two warring winds. Was I losing my mind? Inconclusive.
......
How can a people who are otherwise so calm, so unhurried, so willing to wait, become so utterly insane as soon as they assume control of any sort of motor vehicle? The phenomenon of driving in India, and it is a phenomenon, a spectacle in the grandest sense, seems so utterly chaotic to the uninitiated that is defies understanding. How does this all not come crashing to a halt in one deafening metallic shriek? Perhaps there is method somewhere in this madness. And perhaps there is a reason for it as well. In a society with such a rigid class structure there must be a primal satisfaction in taking control of a vehicle and suddenly evening the playing field. For when you are driving there is no caste, no social station, just skill and aggression.
It took several days for me to get over the feeling that I was dreaming. I almost expected to wake up and find myself back in Rishikesh, ready to head to work. I am, by no means, the world's most experienced traveler, but I have left a lot of places. This is the first time that leaving has been such a surreal proposition. But then, living in India was a constantly surreal experience; why should leaving be any different? Perhaps this feeling really was indicative of my entire experience.
........
Never have I had such mixed and contradictory feelings about a place. Of course there have been things I've liked and disliked about everywhere I've lived. But no other place has engendered such a strong and transitory response. In the course of an hour I might go from complete and utter frustration, cursing this country's very existence, to being stunned by the beauty and generosity of its people. Or not. Frustration and elation sweeping through my emotional landscape like two warring winds. Was I losing my mind? Inconclusive.
......
How can a people who are otherwise so calm, so unhurried, so willing to wait, become so utterly insane as soon as they assume control of any sort of motor vehicle? The phenomenon of driving in India, and it is a phenomenon, a spectacle in the grandest sense, seems so utterly chaotic to the uninitiated that is defies understanding. How does this all not come crashing to a halt in one deafening metallic shriek? Perhaps there is method somewhere in this madness. And perhaps there is a reason for it as well. In a society with such a rigid class structure there must be a primal satisfaction in taking control of a vehicle and suddenly evening the playing field. For when you are driving there is no caste, no social station, just skill and aggression.
posted by Zach at 4:26 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home