Autos

A. and I stay with very wealthy, high class families. This has its perks - A/C, hot water, beautiful homes, etc. There are more downsides though. With status comes fear. An instance of staying out late (when we had stated in advance that this was what we would be doing) resulted in near hysterical lectures on how dangerous the city was. Any number of things could have happened to us. Many strictures followed (most of which have since been lifted, the hysteria passing) - of these, the most important was this: Don’t ride in strange autos.

Auto rickshaws, or autos, are the major means of transportation here. People take them everywhere, unless you are wealthy enough to own a car. Needless to say, A.’s and my families do not ride in autos. Autos bring you face to face with the city. Right up next to the screeching brakes of buses and the bodies dashing across the street. The sides of autos are open. The windows of cars are always rolled up.

It is impossible not to ride in strange autos. We’ve been here for one week. We know only one auto - the man who takes us to school. To move through the city, to get to know the city, to get to know the autos, we must ride in them. Ride with unknown drivers through strange streets. With windows rolled up, in cars trusted to known drivers, one need not know the city, no matter how long one lives here.

Yesterday A. and I got in a strange auto. It wasn’t in the best of shape - could hardly accelerate. The man brought his wife along too. The sketchiness of the auto brought to mind the unheeded warnings. They soon floated away, as we struck up a conversation with the man and his wife. He was from Burma, she from Vizag. She was pleased that we were studying Telugu, and offered her own instruction. It was lovely. I finally saw a little glimpse of the city.

So don’t ride with strange autos. You might end up a little closer to the city.

Smash!

The great thing about travel is that you get to see everything for the first time. It is all new. No wonder babies cry so much.

In the U.S. I have to look closely for the small things. Everything is painted in such large brush strokes. You have to look behind, between, around them to see the details. The traffic moves so quickly that it is only when it comes to a halt that you can see the woman in the car next to you singing her heart out. The mountains are so big that it is only when you look at your feet that you see the wildflowers.

In India, things are not so large. There are just more of them. Small things, all jumbled together, one on top of the other. Like kaleidoscopes smooshed together. Women in saris of every color imaginable, autos zigging and zagging among shiny new Maruti Suzuki’s and motorbikes, horns blaring, dogs skirting along the non-existent sidewalks. Shops and food stalls and parked bikes. Trash and rubble and people in various piles. Layers upon layers of little things. And within them, something beautiful. I just don’t know how to look for it.

Homesickness

I arrived in India safe - in the city of Visakhapatnam. I also arrived homesick. I’ve never been homesick before. I think it is because I left behind so much love and happiness. I have to remember that those things are still with me.

Begin

There are ways of looking at the world. I look for its intrinsic beauty. It resides in large, grand places. Mountains, temples, ballets. It also resides in small places. Laughter, berries, fleeting circumstances which bring people together. It’s the small places I find most compelling.

More to come

Much more.