Before

We’re only five hours into our flight and I’m officially starting to get antsy. At least, I’m estimating five hours – we’re traveling across time zones and my watch is already set to Delhi time, so it’s really just my best guess at this point. Airplanes are sort of like casinos and cubicles in the way that they have an unnatural ability to manipulate minutes and hours. Anyway, it has already been a long flight. Thinking I was clever, I booked both a window and an aisle seat assuming no one in their right mind would voluntarily take a middle seat and, therefore, equal more breathing room for both of us. When we checked in earlier today, the airline attendant noticed our seat requests and smiled at us as she let us know she X’ed out the seat between us. Success! Or so we thought until we boarded the plane and begrudgingly found someone else in our row. The row directly in front of us had two vacant seats, one of which we suspect belongs to our unwelcomed row mate, but since she’s the only person on this flight that does not speak a lick of English, I guess we’ll never know. She’s also lacking in the concept of personal space, so, there’s that.

I’m currently writing from the middle seat while she sits crossed legged in what should have been my boyfriend’s seat – her naked, fat foot staring at me like a bad omen of things to come. Needless to say, my plan majorly backfired. Although, maybe I should be grateful to her; the only reason I am able to write is because she accidentally hit the light button on OUR armrest, providing me with some serious glow in an otherwise darkened cabin. Also, thanks are due to the baby who finally stopped wailing long enough for me to form a coherent sentence in my own, already noisy head.

I’m happy to be writing, it’s always made me feel in control and is a familiar part of who I am. It’s nice to turn to that now as I’m flying further and further away from ANYTHING familiar. Save for the boyfriend, of course, who is contentedly sitting next to me working on his fifteenth Hidato puzzle in a row. (They say it’s supposed to be the next Sudoku…we’ll see.) Its times like this I appreciate his calm and laid back personality most. I know that there will be multiple times throughout the course of these next two weeks that he will be my only saving grace. Maybe it’s just where I’m at right now – meaning my seat as well as my life – but I’m not emotionally ready for India. When we decided on this trip over a year ago, it felt like a distant dream. When we booked our plane tickets five months ago, I was excited for a new adventure. But a lot of life has happened in not a lot of time and dealing with my own chaos has left me with little energy to deal with the chaos waiting to greet me in Delhi. I’m tired and I’m worried that I won’t be able to handle the assault to my senses brought on by the vast extremes of an entire subcontinent. Six hours into my flight now. I’m still eight hours away from starting a journey I’m not entirely sure I want to take.

After

I abhor this new trend in which people say, “Oh my God, this is EVERYTHING!” How pathetically lazy – please make the effort to choose appropriate words and then use them to communicate effectively. That being said, I must admit that India was indeed everything. It was breathtakingly beautiful and hard-to-look at ugly. It was relaxing to the point of boring and stressful to the point of madness. The sheer amount of bodies that inhabit one space at any given time was overwhelming and yet the feeling of isolation was inescapable. It was color and joy and light and darkness and despondency all at once. That’s what makes India such a mystery – depending on where you look (or what you choose to see) it’s either magic or mayhem. All the time. That’s what makes India such a fantastic challenge. And that’s why I had to go.

For as much as its everythingness left such an imprint on my heart, I know that it won’t be long before I start forgetting the minute details, the specific nuances of my 16 whirlwind days in northwest India. Even now, as we endure what surely must be the world’s longest flight – one that is exponentially more unpleasant than its predecessor – it feels as though the memories are being ripped from me with every fleeting mile closer to home. It’s as if India herself won’t allow me to bring the entire experience back with me; in an effort to maintain her mystery she holds on to a part of you and faintly whispers, “you will be back.”

But I must make a noble attempt, however futile, to thwart India’s efforts. For as much as it distresses me to realize that it truly is impossible to remember everything, there are some moments that I refuse to forget:

• Every National Geographic worthy snapshot that went undocumented because they whizzed by too quickly from the view of the train window or because the camera was tucked safely away as we navigated the bustling, narrow bazaars.
• The sketchiest airport pickup that involved one beat up car, three drivers and two horrified passengers.
• The interactive experience of going to see a Bollywood movie. The next time I’m annoyed by an obnoxious patron at the local AMC I’ll ease up on the passive aggressive sighing and think back to the massive amounts of both hooting and hollering from the Indian teenagers throughout the entire film. The addition of the national anthem, an intermission (or interval) and technical difficulties with the elaborate red curtain made the rainy afternoon activity all the more interesting.
• Practically everything about our camel desert safari. I think that specific 27 hours in India deserves its own post. Stay tuned.
• Galtaji, or the monkey temple as it’s apparently called, could have easily been the setting of an Indiana Jones movie. It had an eerie, mystical quietness about it that felt more like the scene before someone rips your heart from your chest than it did a sense of spiritual peace and enlightenment. I was tentative but still on board with the whole experience until one of the temple priests unlocked a door that looked as ancient as he did and invited us inside the tiny chamber. Commence panic! I eventually escaped unscathed, save for the 100 rupees he demanded after forcibly tying a string around my wrist. I suppose it was worth the terror and the equivalent of $1.45 since I’m still wearing the damn thing.
• Ayurveda massage is probably soothing but only if you don’t have personal space issues.
• Finding Hazrat Nizam-ud-din Dargah is even more difficult than remembering how to pronounce it. Looking back, I wish I had taken more time to fully embrace the experience but after frantically trying not to lose my guide who rushed through the crowded maze of a bazaar leading to the shrine my head was spinning. How ANY tourist finds this place is beyond me! If I had a bit of a heads up about the rabbit hole I just fell down, I suspect I would have appreciated the mysticism of it all much more. It was also the first time I was required to relinquish my shoes and leave them unattended. While that initial parting left me uneasy, it didn’t take long in our two-week journey for me to realize I would always be reunited with my footwear.
• The homeless children and unrelenting women who not only knock on the car windows begging for money as you are stuck in the inevitable traffic but also peer inside of them to make sure you really see them. It is impossible not to see. The poverty that pervades the Indian way of life is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed and is overwhelming to take in.
• Our train companions: the unassuming military man on his way to a base right outside of Jodhpur and the young woman who looked barely into her 20’s and already had two girls of her own as well as a growing jewelry business. Lucky for us, she also had a heart of compassion for two tired, uninformed travelers. Not only did she let us know when to get off the train in Delhi but she also called us a cab and kept the rest of the touts at bay until we were safely on our way to the airport.
• Transportation in general is quite a marvel in India. Motor scooters can be packed up to six deep, one of which being an infant sandwiched between adults and older kids for, you know, safety purposes. Aside from the ubiquitous tuk tuk, the motor scooter seems to be the most efficient way to transport yourself and significant other, an entire social circle, a 5’x7’ pane of glass, or your pet goats. Outside of the congested cities, overstuffed feed trucks (which evidently do tip over on occasion) and overpopulated buses dominate the highways. Both of which will happily warn you of their presence with a melodious horn that is the Indian equivalent to the one from the General Lee on the Dukes of Hazzard.
• The welcomed entertainment of the reality competition television show, Super Dancer, and the surprisingly engaging miniseries, The Trip – both of which made a very long night in Agra more bearable.
• Willingly and happily accepting the racket of tying a string to the marble latticework screen of the tomb of holy man Salim Chishti at Fatehpur Sikri in order to make a wish. Yes, it is certainly a tourist trap, but it was a pleasant part of the entire experience nonetheless. If I receive my wish like Emperor Akbar did, or so the legend says, I must return to untie my string. While the chances of me receiving my wish are about as good as being able to identify my string from the hundreds of thousands that are tied on the walls, I certainly hope that I do NOT receive the gift for which the tomb is primarily known…child birth.
• The crystal gallery that strictly prohibits photography. Sounds like a not-to-miss experience, right? Lonely Planet seems to think so but I’d have to disagree. Oh well, lesson learned. Seriously though, if you’re ever in Udaipur, don’t waste your money. Just check it out on Trip Advisor. There, I just saved you 550 rupees. You’re welcome.
• Sugar cubes – is there a more charming way to sweeten your masala chai tea? I think not!
• Sometimes the best travel experiences cannot be researched, planned or put on the schedule. After a fruitless afternoon of trying to figure out what the rest of our trip would look like without our driver, we ventured out to a recommended shop that somehow ended up being an expensive spree despite the disappointing goods. Feeling a bit dejected, we took our first tuk tuk ride back to the hotel. Holi was upon us and as we motored down the streets of the Pink City, fireworks heralded the official start of the festivities. Suddenly, motorcyclists started weaving through traffic, each carrying a blazing torch of reeds. These daredevil distributors were descending upon the city from the Maharaja’s palace bringing the light from the royal fire to all the bonfires of Jaipur. The streets began to glow as the faint smell of smoke coupled with the increasingly boisterous chanting. A palpable sense of celebration was in the air and we, quite serendipitously, were in the middle of it all. You won’t find THAT in any guide book!
• The German mother and son duo – Barbara and Jan – who we said hello to on a rooftop in Jodhpur and said our goodbyes to on a rooftop in Jaisalmer. In between, we toured a fort and a mausoleum together and enjoyed a good-natured giggle at four young blonde girls trying to buy sarees as we watched from a nearby café.
• Monkeys playing in the tree across from the rooftop restaurant at our hotel. They were having their own raucous Holi celebration to the delight of the hotel guests and the chagrin of the hotel staff.
• I got to live out the fantasy of milking it for the paparazzi because, in India, sometimes being of the Caucasian persuasion makes YOU the star attraction. We drew our own attention as we toured forts and palaces and monuments and smiled politely as another hoard of school kids or 20-something dude group asked to take photos with this pale girl and her 6’3 white boy. The most preciously awkward of these moments included a father who was overly eager to have his young daughter take a photo with the American – the kiddo was clearly mortified. Still, he continued to insist, I continued to oblige and she continued to scowl as the photos were snapping away.

There are countless other memories that may or may not stay with me as the days following our adventure turn into months and years. I am sure, however, that I will never forget the lessons I’ve learned as a result of my experiences because they have truly changed me. Or maybe it is not that they have transformed me as much as they have revealed certain truths about who I actually am and it’s my job to do the changing if I so choose. The revelations were jarring at times and left me bewildered as to how I could be such a stranger to my own self and, in selected instances, how far away I am from who I wish I was. I am remarkably distrustful and more fearful than I realized or would ever care to admit. This crazy world seems to be losing its collective mind more and more by the day so, on the surface, that mentality might seem justified but I fear that it may also keep me from experiencing some wonderful opportunities. After meeting numerous people who are legitimately free spirited and adventurous, I discovered, much to my horror, that I am neither of those things. I am calculated, controlled and cautious – while other people have flights of fancy, I have color coded itineraries perfectly laid out in Excel spreadsheets. Yes, this allows me to move efficiently and quickly through life, which I do, sometimes at an alarming rate. I don’t think these traits are inherently bad ones but I also don’t know if they are truths about myself that I’m happy to accept. I used to believe that I wanted to travel the world and live abroad and make big, daring, scary life choices. But being so far out of my comfort zone made me all too aware of how much I really crave the comfortable. Security and courage – which one is honestly more important to me? Am I even strong enough to give up the former in the hope of what the latter could achieve?

It’s amazing how being away from everything you know shows you how much you don’t know, especially about yourself. But some things, of course, are constant and should be expected no matter where you roam. In my vulnerability and surprising moments of self-discovery, I learned that heartbreak travels with you, even to the other side of the world. I accepted that it’s ok to cry about the grief I left at home because I knew it was going to be waiting for me when I return. A lot of uncertainty will be there as well, a lot of difficult questions that demand answers. But I am grateful for the softness and humanity I exposed within myself through the hardness of this astonishing country. I’m grateful for the opportunity to reevaluate who I am and what I want and how I choose to go on from here. I have travel to thank for that. I have the lingering sent of patchouli and the taste of cardamom to encourage me to keep discovering and, little by little, shape a new me every day. And if I ever need another reminder, I’m sure Shiva will be more than willing to offer one.

India, I think you’re right – I will be back.