Half Way!!!

This day, February 22, marks the exact halfway point of my journey here in India. There are times when, looking ahead, the road seems to go on forever and ever. And there are times when, turning around to look back, I wonder how I covered so much distance in seemingly so little time. Yes, it was six months, but this is not how six months usually feels. In any event, from here on out, I begin counting down instead of up – instead of “I’ve been here for six months,” “I’ll be here for six more months.” This is not, however, out of a longing for the time to quickly become smaller and smaller until it disappears. If the quick coming of this halfway mark is any indication, the time when I come to the end of this road will be here soon enough, perhaps before I’m ready.

I must not think about that time yet, though. My goal is to be, at all times and in all ways, living in the moment. This moment, I have come halfway and I have halfway yet to go. It is an occasion for both reflection and anticipation, for both pride and courage. And I see no better way to celebrate this occasion than by proudly reflecting on those things which I have grown to love and courageously admitting to those things which I anticipate I never, ever be able to grow to love or even like a little bit. Read on…

What I love about India: that I can buy fresh fruit and vegetables right there on the side of the road; that life doesn’t stop and plans don’t change simply because the lights and the fans have all gone off; that I can buy a piece of cake at the bakery for somewhere between 5 and 10 rupees, which is comparable to between 10 and 20 cents; that everyone is always asking me to sing and doesn’t care whether I have a nice voice or not; that I can drop by anyone’s home at anytime for anything without invitation or announcement; that cold showers actually feel really, really good when I’m sticky and sweaty, which is most of the time (and remember when I used to complain about that cold shower business?); that children want to touch me to find out if my white skin is real; that everyone thinks I look “so beautiful” in my old jeans and sweat-stained t-shirts; that the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning is a beautiful green coconut palm; and that, being the only white person for miles and miles, everyone here is fascinated by and in love with me.

What I cannot (or refuse) to love about India: that men whip it out with no scruples or shame wherever and whenever they feel the need to relieve themselves (and the fact that women are simply incapable of doing the same); that people think the sky is falling and the world might come to an end if I miss my afternoon cup of tea or – gasp – refuse it; that I can’t find antibacterial soap anywhere, for any number of rupees; that everyone is always asking me questions, but no one ever stops asking long enough for me to answer; that the concept of taking down phone messages has never caught on here; that, no matter how much soap I use or how hard I scrub with it, I cannot seem to get my feet clean; that grown women want to touch me for no apparent reason other than to irritate me; that I am constantly criticized for my wearing my saris too short, even though the simple facts are that I cannot make the saris any longer and I cannot make my legs any shorter; that the first sounds I hear every morning are those of blaring car horns and sometimes screeching tires; and that, because of the fascination with and love of this madama, there exists for me here absolutely no anonymity.

And there you have it – my loves and my hates, my joys and my sorrows, my sources of pride and my needs for courage. These lists could go on and on, but this moment is passing and I have six more months to get on with!