Let me tell you about India
It's intense. I can't think of a better single word. Frenetic came to mind, but it's not aggressive enough. Chaotic certainly caught my attention, but that would be letting my understanding (or lack thereof) cloud the picture. There are rules and patterns and whatnot, I just didn't get them, or not for a while, and even when I began to they were still intense.
A picture: Tom, Steve, and I walking through the city of Jaipur (google it) at sunrise carrying everything we own in backpacks. We've just passed a group of rickshaw drivers, and each, having heard our rejections of his peers, asked us if we wanted a ride. We didn't. Steve has a stomach issue that makes him gag if his heart rate rises. He begins gagging, spitting bile by the side of the road - no one even looks. On the other side a grown man squats, moving his bowels with complete nonchalance. Looking down at my sandals I walk around a puddle of foul smelling liquid. One never knows.
India, I said at the end of a long day, just keeps coming. Each interaction is almost vicious in its tenacity. The shopkeeper wants your money, the rickshaw guy wants you in his cart, the man on the scooter wants you out of the way. And they all want it now. And they are everywhere. As soon as you finish with one, or before you finish, another demands your attention - all of it. Horns honking, always honking and swerving and cutting off. But no one minds. Bright saris flow down the street, wrapping women in color and letting old midsections sag in the thick air. A camel passes, pulling a cart.
A woman carrying a child taps your arm incessantly asking for money. But how can you give it to her when you didn't have any for the lepers yesterday? She looks healthy enough. She keeps tapping, you keep saying no. She taps. She's walking with you, tapping you as a shopkeeper yells at you. 'Hello! Hello!' they both are saying, the shopkeeper and the tapping woman. 'Hello! Yes! Hello!' The shopkeeper fades but the woman keeps tapping. A rickshaw pulls up alongside. 'Hello! Yes! Hello!' He points to his cart, motioning you in. She's still tapping. Another shopkeeper, 'Hello! Yes!' You want to duck into a Starbucks, or home, or the Embassy. You see none of the above. Tapping. 'Hello!' Pointing. 'Yes, hello!'
You're walking fast now. The woman can't keep up. You are running into Indians on the sidewalk. They aren't moving like Americans, the flow is different. 'Hello, my friend!' says the shopkeeper, the archetypical one that you keep seeing in peripheral. Another rickshaw.
In India you get very good at saying no. Just flat out, no sugar to coat it, blunt, unabashed no. Go ahead, ask me for something.
No.
No problem. No hard feelings. No.
A picture: Tom, Steve, and I walking through the city of Jaipur (google it) at sunrise carrying everything we own in backpacks. We've just passed a group of rickshaw drivers, and each, having heard our rejections of his peers, asked us if we wanted a ride. We didn't. Steve has a stomach issue that makes him gag if his heart rate rises. He begins gagging, spitting bile by the side of the road - no one even looks. On the other side a grown man squats, moving his bowels with complete nonchalance. Looking down at my sandals I walk around a puddle of foul smelling liquid. One never knows.
India, I said at the end of a long day, just keeps coming. Each interaction is almost vicious in its tenacity. The shopkeeper wants your money, the rickshaw guy wants you in his cart, the man on the scooter wants you out of the way. And they all want it now. And they are everywhere. As soon as you finish with one, or before you finish, another demands your attention - all of it. Horns honking, always honking and swerving and cutting off. But no one minds. Bright saris flow down the street, wrapping women in color and letting old midsections sag in the thick air. A camel passes, pulling a cart.
A woman carrying a child taps your arm incessantly asking for money. But how can you give it to her when you didn't have any for the lepers yesterday? She looks healthy enough. She keeps tapping, you keep saying no. She taps. She's walking with you, tapping you as a shopkeeper yells at you. 'Hello! Hello!' they both are saying, the shopkeeper and the tapping woman. 'Hello! Yes! Hello!' The shopkeeper fades but the woman keeps tapping. A rickshaw pulls up alongside. 'Hello! Yes! Hello!' He points to his cart, motioning you in. She's still tapping. Another shopkeeper, 'Hello! Yes!' You want to duck into a Starbucks, or home, or the Embassy. You see none of the above. Tapping. 'Hello!' Pointing. 'Yes, hello!'
You're walking fast now. The woman can't keep up. You are running into Indians on the sidewalk. They aren't moving like Americans, the flow is different. 'Hello, my friend!' says the shopkeeper, the archetypical one that you keep seeing in peripheral. Another rickshaw.
In India you get very good at saying no. Just flat out, no sugar to coat it, blunt, unabashed no. Go ahead, ask me for something.
No.
No problem. No hard feelings. No.
posted by James at 00:16
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