Sometimes when I wake in the middle of
the night it takes me a minute to remember where I am. A faint
illumination filters in through the window above the balcony door and
reflects gently off some of the more prominent features in the room.
This morning I woke to just such a scene. I lay there contemplating,
trying to mentally crawl out of whatever dream land I'd just been in,
for a minute before I remembered: oh yeah, India.
My own place... in India.
I decided that I really do like my
room. It lacks some of the comforts of home, but for now, at least,
it's ideal. (Close to ideal... I wouldn't mind if it got a little more
sunlight.)
This made me happy. I checked my phone
and, after finding that it wasn't even 5am yet, rolled back over and
promptly passed back out. A few hours later I woke to a considerably
brighter room and decided it looked like a good day for yoga.
I threw on some clothes, grabbed my mat
and my keys, and scampered up to the roof. I'd been wanting to do
yoga on the roof here since I first looked at the place.
And so today I did yoga, on the roof,
in the Indian morning sunlight. It was every bit as glorious as it sounds.
Despite the fact that exercise
invigorates you for the rest of the day, I've always had a tough time
getting up early enough to work out before work or school. The fact
that I don't have to teach until 11 is working wonders for my ability
to finally make this happen. Add to that the fact that the weather
was absolutely perfect – low 70s, just a bit breezy, and without a
cloud in the sky – and I felt on top of the world.
The fact that I am literally on a
mountain probably didn't hurt, either. You can see so far away
from up here. It's amazing.
When I returned to
my room I flipped on the water heater so I could get a decent shower
and did some push ups; my legs get a constant workout whether I like
it or not living here, so I figure it'd be in my interest to make
sure my upper body gets some attention, too. Speaking of my upper
body getting some attention, I had a couple of people ask me about my
tattoo today. It was strange, because I often wear short sleeves and
I know they've seen it before. Regardless, it led to some new
conversation with my students who are always looking to learn about
new topics. Yay body art!
I
think I am going to acquire a nice set of maps so we can have visual
aids for when we discuss the places of the world. They want to see
photos from my home. I don't think most of them can comprehend the
phrase “my home in the United States is very flat.” The mountains
of Himachal are a far cry from the fields of Illinois, that's for
sure. They also asked about deserts today, and which country is the
biggest in the world, and what's the difference between Austria and
Australia? See, I need some maps. The acquisition of such things is
the homework I assigned myself for the evening.
Recently
I find myself considering the differences between life in the
suburban Midwest and life in northern India. I've begun to realize
how little you really need
in order to have a pretty decent life. In the US we are always so
concerned about appearances and having everything be fresh and shiny
and new; here, all but the most upscale of establishments have wiggly
faucets, most people seem to wear the same four or so outfits again
and again, and if something breaks you just patch it up the best you
can and hope it lasts a while longer. The size of your personal
bubble is much smaller here. You have to develop a tolerance for –
or at least the ability to tune out – all the various sounds the
human body is inclined to make, especially on a diet of rice and dal
in a very dirty environment. (That godawful haucking noise, though... that is
one thing I will not miss when I leave India. Ugh. Have a little
tact, people.) There's no deodorant anywhere either, but I have a
much easier time dealing with that; it's not that hot, so it's not a
big deal. Constantly listening to every other person near you hack
and cough and spit, on the other hand, gets really old, really fast.
You have to learn
to tolerate being very close to all kinds of people. You learn to
understand that you will be touched, you will be bumped into, you
will probably be splashed by cars on the road because there are no
sidewalks to speak of, and you will have to get used to the incessant
honking of horns, and taxis, motorbikes, and autorickshaws passing
within fractions of an inch of your person. That's just how it goes
here. If you let it get to you, you are going to have a very unhappy
stay.
I've
decided to just roll with it as much as possible. I came in treating
this whole experience as an adventure, and let me tell you, I think
that has saved my sanity more than a few times. “It's India,” I
remind myself. Whatever that means. It works, though. I remind myself
that there are however many millions – over a billion, maybe? –
people living here that do this every day, and it doesn't seem to
faze most of them. It's just life. It's raw, dirty, un-sugar-coated,
honest-to-goodness life,
and as much as a pain in the ass it may be from time to time, as
uncomfortable it can be, and as much as some days I really, really
just want a hot tub or dry sheets or for god's sake a decent salad, I
am thrilled to be a part of it.
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| You learn to delight in the small things, like this deliciously juicy kiwi. |
It
continues to interest and inspire me also that so many of these
people seem happy. The Tibetans especially: despite decades of
oppression and exile, through innumerable, ongoing human rights
violations in their homeland, they are a surprisingly good-natured
people. Many of them seem to be pacifists – all they want is peace
so they can return to their homes. Many of my students in particular
are very eager to learn as much as they can and to improve their
English as much as possible. They recognize that English is the
international language and that if they acquire a decent level of
proficiency in it they will exponentially increase their options as
far as career, education, and travel. Perhaps it's because they don't
have much to begin with, and perhaps it's because many of them are
monks and nuns, but they seem largely uninterested in material gain;
they just want a decent education. It's so different from the
mentality in the west, where we want an education, sure, but it's
only so we can make a bunch of money and buy a big house and pay off
all the loans we've no doubt taken out to acquire said education.
When I first
graduated high school I felt I was pushed into going off to
college. I was smart, went the reasoning, so naturally “real
college” was my next step. I wasn't ready for it. I was miserable,
and I moved home after one semester. I just needed time. Look at me
now: my first time outside my home country and I picked India of all
places! That's how I seem to do things, though – think about a situation until I can't take it any more and then do something drastic. I'm not
sure that's a good trait, but there you have it. In this case, I
think it's all working out just fine. There is so much more to the
world than a cubicle and a mortgage, and I've only just started to
explore it.
If you are into the
cubicle-and-mortgage thing that's cool, it's just not for me. I much
prefer the unconventional, even if it's not as cushy and comfortable
all the time. What's that saying? Oh yeah: pain lets you know you're
alive. I'm not saying I want "pain," per se, but experiencing a bit of hardship now and then helps keep the balance. We all love to be pampered, but without a little difficulty from time to time we get soft and depressed, and that's no fun for anyone. I've had almost 30 years of relative comfort; it's funny how too much of a good thing can be just as detrimental as not enough, isn't it? I knew I needed some perspective, so I got my proverbial ducks in a row and made it happen. Was I scared? Of course I was. But I wanted to be scared. I wanted that rush. I wanted to feel like anything could happen, good or bad. I knew that if I just stayed home and hung out in Chicagoland I'd always wish I'd taken a chance and gone somewhere new.
I'll admit I'm just a little bit proud of myself for finally being decisive about something big.
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| Adventure, ho! (The dogs seem unimpressed.) |
