It felt like I hit a wall when I made my first step on Indian soil.
The heat was suffocating – literally. I had to breathe through my mouth to at least give myself the illusion that I was taking in more air – illusion, because the deeper I breathed in the more pollution entered my lungs. The smell was intolerable. Obviously everyone around me was used to the smell of rotten garbage and cow shit. So I tried not to choke and think about why my mouth tasted like…never mind.
It thought I would never find happiness in a place like this. But when look back now, I realise just how wrong I was.
I’m never sure what makes me happy or what may be missing in my life when I’m unhappy. But last May, I paid nearly $5000 to live outside the second biggest city in Tamil Nadu, India for an unpaid journalism internship. It was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life and now I can finally put it into words.
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The day after I arrived in India, I rode my very first train, a very popular mode of transportation in the country. Most of the carts had open windows that left the 38 degree humidity in the dust – dust that ended up on my face, that is. After only an hour on board, I noticed my whole body felt heavy. I soon realized that there was a layer of dirt building up on my skin.
After eight hours – most of which I slept – I made it to Madurai (the second biggest city in the state) late that night. My coordinator told me that on a regular day, Pasumalai, the suburban area where my host-family lived, was only 15 minutes away. But this wasn’t a regular day. It had just poured streets were gushing with two feet of water. Our rickshaw sputtered through the river, soaked saris stuck to women’s knees and small children were swept up by their parents. It was pitch black except for the few lights of a late-night service stations. People were everywhere. I was overwhelmed and scared and doubted I would last a week.
But I soon learned that first impressions don’t last.
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I was greeted by my host-family and new roommate my first night in Pasumalai. They hadn’t eaten dinner because they were waiting for me – and it was nearly 10 p.m. The next morning I headed across the street to the journalism office to work for the monthly magazine The Madurai Messenger. It didn’t take much time after that for certain Indian habits frustrated me. Although you may look at pictures of the crowded streets and think that everyone is on the go all the time, what I experienced is that the Indians around me were in no rush at all. At first I couldn’t stand it when I was told I had an interview at 11 a.m. and we only left the office at 1 p.m. But then I just accepted it and started enjoying the patience that filled this city. While there were certain deadlines and mealtimes I had to respect, I never felt pressured to run around all day and get all my shopping in or see all the sights. I just felt so peaceful around my new home and family that being a tourist didn’t interest me.
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One day I got off work early because the city had to shut off the power for the day (a regular occurrence in a small town like Pasumalai). People were building cement houses across the street, so I decided to grab both video and still cameras and check things out. And it was the best decision I ever made.
I ended up exploring a little village – with 30 kids as my guides. They wanted to show me everything. In a small town like Pasumalai, “foreign” are celebrities. Fathers will cut across the street in their motorcycles just so their young daughters can say hi to you. There was a parade of kids following me and no one was camera shy. I felt like I was intruding on this quaint little village hidden off the busy main road. But in India you’re always welcome.
That day made me realise why I had come to India. I got to see the people, the ones that make the country so beautiful. They tried to teach me Tamil and I failed miserably. But they wanted to learn about me too, mocking me along the way. They were so warm – just like everyone else I came across. And it was a warmth that Canadians would consider almost fake.
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My few days in India were about me, but not in a self-centred way. I did what I wanted to do, but it involved showing up to work on time so I could write on my blog that friends and family monitored in Canada; I hassled my editors to leave the office on time so I could see as much of the city as possible; I read Eat, Pray, Love while my host-family’s cook prepared the South Indian food I grew to love; I popped across the street for a re-melted chocolate bar and fresh pomegranate juice so I could walk around the city satisfied after work. And most evenings after I had eaten my dinner and my host-father Ramaguru was eating his (guests always ate first even if that meant eating alone), we’d sit with our feet up, ceiling fans blowing down on our hair, exchanging cultural stories. We often sat with the lights off and one candle burning. My host-mother Latha would pop in every now and then and check on her husband’s plate. She only had to look at me and I felt peaceful. I felt happy.
It took me six months following India to realise what makes me tick in the best way possible. And that’s simplicity. My host-family was well-off, but they didn’t have beds for themselves. They barely watched television even though they loved it. Even the food was simple. It was always some sort of grain with a vegetable mash-up.
It’s hard to come back to Canada and find that same simplicity that existed in India. I’m not sure I’ve found it even eight months later. I’m not sure Indian simplicity can even exist over here. But I’ve made a point to find a simplicity that will work for me now, here, where I am in Fredericton. And I think that’ll do.
Despite the stomach bacteria I got my second week in India, despite the unbelievable patience of the population, despite the heat, the smell, the garbage, India made me happier than I’ve ever been.
