Travel Blog: The India Stare
A General Observation
India is the world’s largest republic, but I have a hard time thinking of it as a cohesive country. Why? The first reason is simple geography, that is, it’s a huge country. Like any other country of its size, regional differences are exponential in every sense of the word. The geography includes deserts, mountains and rainforests. The urban landscape ranges from frenetic metropolises like Mumbai and New Delhi to communities identified by the tribes who live there rather than having actual names on the map. Driving an hour in any direction might could find you in the middle of an entirely different environment than the place from which you departed.
With all that said, there are a few aspects of India which are extremely similar across the entire country. One aspect in particular that never fails to intrigue and amuse me is the complete lack of irony inherent in the culture as a whole. I do not say this to set Indians up as being naught rubes and simpletons--to the contrary, you can’t get anywhere in the current economy without a master’s degree--but I will nonetheless hazard to say that Indian culture does not appreciate subtlety.
If you want to test the above statement, I invite you to do no more than exit the shelter of your hotel or guest house and step out into the main street any city in India. If you can get that far without being julienned by the handlebars of passing bikes and motorcycles, or run over by an Ambassador motorcar, or mobbed by cab drivers or beggars; find some space to stand still and look around. As you do this, I invite you to note several things.
First, look at the people who are, by now, looking back at you. If you are in an area where visitors are still a novelty and not just a commodity, is that the people who live there are staring at you with a frankness and curiosity that you would be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in the world.
On my first trip to India, my companions and I stepped down from our bus in a remote area of Jarkhand to find out that we were the biggest news in that particular village in a long time. Our boots had barely cracked the dry topsoil before fifty onlookers materialized out of the winter air to watch our every move. And watch they did; their almond eyes steadily gazing at us like so many highbeams. If stares could deliver physical impact, the group and I ran a serious risk of mortal bruising.
The whole scene gave me a prickly, uncomfortable sensation down my back. How does one react to so many steel-bore gazes? The heavy eye ridges and large teeth that are the prevailing genotypes in certain regions of India often make even the most placid or neutral appraisals appear to be intense, humorless and severe. I didn’t know this at the time. I grew up in Florida and had never been to the eastern hemisphere before; sticking out in a crowd was a new one on me. Several trips later, I became used to the stares, and eventually developed the cahonies to stare right back into the penetrating eyes that gave me the once-over from all directions. This usually results in my Indian appraiser bursting out into laughter, frank bemusement metamorphosing into thrilled amusement when I responded the American responded in kind.
But that kind of boldness gestated for a longtime before I had the wherewithal to exercise it. That first time I got off the bus, the sight of so many eyes boring into me and my fellow Americans took some real getting used to. Even the local wildlife was staring at us. The sight of monkeys with the size and threatening dispositions of malcontented five year-olds was even more disconcerting than the stares of the gathered assembly of people. While a human being might attack you and steal your wallet, a monkey has the potential to attack you, bite off appendages and run off with your ears as trophies. As such, my own exit from the bus was far from boisterous. Much the opposite, I walked on eggshells. Don’t hurt us, I fretted in my mind, we just need to pee!
But even then I was vaguely aware of a sustained note of humor playing in the background of the scene. There is an unstated expectation of great things when Americans visit a rural village; some people in those areas tend to assume that you are on a first-name basis with the president of the United States, ping-pong buddies with western pop culture icons, a licensed medical practitioner and so wealthy that your breaking wind sends up a cloud of gold dust. I imagined an unvoiced letdown in the minds of our eager observers as the men in our party ducked behind a rickety toolshed to drain the main vein.
Look! Americans! This is exciting! The first visitors we’ve had in years! I wonder what interesting things they will be planning to do!
Oh, they’re just passing the urine...
Our sudden appearance, punctuated by nothing more than running behind suddenly felt hilariously anti-climactic.
It did, however, result in one of my favorite photographs that I have ever taken. As we got back on the bus, (after supporting the local economy as best as we could by purchasing a few boxes of snacks and bottled water for the road), I stopped and turned the lens of my camera toward the assembled crowd of people. I snapped about a half-dozen wide angle photos of the people around me, mostly men and boys, and managed to capture a spectacular range of expressions and moods in a single photo. The unabashed smiles of some and the inscrutable glowers of others contrasted to reinforce the scene and create a one of my favorite India images ever.
Travel Blog: Buying a train ticket and one more village visit....
India, Day 10
I had a good times with my host in the area where I stayed in India from days 5-10. But, all good things must come to an end. The end would arrive with a much more pronounced snap than I originally expected, as will be detailed tomorrow...
This day, however, was spent in a 40km trip to the nearest big town where we bought train tickets for the next day's journey southward. Our trip to the train station almost became a debacle, though, because I had yet to learn how train travel works in India. During the middle part of the year, when most of the people in India do their work or leisure traveling, tickets are booked as long as six months in advance. Whenever anyone tries to book a ticket for next-day, or even next-month travel during the busy season, the best you can manage is a situation similar to flying standby: you are on the list, but not guaranteed a seat. And given the nature of Indian trains, there isn't always room to stand either...
I didn't learn any of this until the moment we walked into the ticket office to purchase our tickets. To the Indian culture, this is natural. To the western mindset, I couldn't understand why my host, with the knowledge of my visit, didn't book the tickets three months prior. Cultural differences, I suppose.
At any rate, our two-hour tempo ride home was punctuated by one last visit to some of the local gypsies. And, again, I was impressed by my host's fearlessness at walking into a clump of buildings and assembling a crowd from what seemed like nowhere, and we would speak to them.
Whenever I travel through India, people always ask me if it's "safe" to go to remote places to speak to the villagers. My opinion on this subject is colored a bit, because a)I loath crowded cities and love small towns and villages, and b)I was introduced to India by fearless people who taught me to be careful, but never to be fearful. And when I was in India on my own, I stayed with hosts who also exhibited no fear. And as for the people we spoke to, their response was never anything but perfect hospitality. The Indian attitude toward most encounters is to be polite and always non-confrontational, and visitors have to be extremely offensive and abrasive to raise their ire. With these factors all in play, I'm never worried.
My biggest danger in India turned out to be...myself. Come back tomorrow for the full story on how I woke up blind the next morning...
Travel Blog: Those Roads...
India, Day 9
India has some unique roads. They even did a series of IRT Deadliest Roads in India. Because the roads in India are crazy dangerous. It's not just due to an east-versus-west difference in driving styles, it's also because the roads themselves run the gamut from muddy sloughs snaking between village huts to crumbling shelfs niched into the sides of snowy mountains. In the low country, the roads are peppered with cattle. In the mountains, you have to look out for suicidal goats running headfirst down the mountainside.
There will be some more stories toward the end of my recap that show off the seriously dangerous mountain roads of northwest India--those roads in particular were memorable enough to warrant their own documentary at some point--but for now, enjoy a few selections from the "Monsoon Mud Collection."
