Can't go halfway

Last weekend Hannah and I took a trip to Delhi. She will be leaving India soon and wanted to go on a trip together. I have been contemplating taking my parents through Rajasthan, so Delhi would be a convenient stop over to check out. We had an open schedule, but knew we wanted to check out Chadni Chawk (the old market), eat some local parathas and go to the craft museum. We accomplished all three with the old market being my favorite.

It has taken me a while to mentally adjust to being back in India. I have felt between two worlds and have been focusing too much on the future, rather than staying in the present. The little irritants that you tend to disregard here, have been more annoying than usual. The lack of sidewalks, the pushiness in lines, the lack of acknowledgement of personal space- all have been giving me trouble this time around. So, it was a bit exhausting thinking about going into Chadni Chawk during the sticky and moist weather of monsoon season. I wasn't dreading it, but I wasn't especially excited about the event.

Hannah and i showed up around 11, a little before the market gets really going. We decided to walk down to the spice market. I wanted to pick up some vanilla beans and both of us just wanted to see what it was all about. The walk from the metro was long, and a few blocks in I was reminded of how visceral life can be in India. The streets were filled with people, sidewalks (Delhi has them) were crowded, we were already sweaty and there was a constant roar of noise coming from the streets. Oh god, here we go again.

A few blocks in, we started seeing the different spice markets and smelling the wafts of heavy aroma flowing out of the shops. We passed a cacophony of smells- pepper, floral, musky, spicy, citrus, even the odd rancid smell from a pan or soap shop. All types of aromas encircled us as we walked on. I began to get drawn into the order amongst the chaos. Circular plates of dried chili's and spices would be the display style of one shop owner with clearly labeled shelves as the method of housing another's goods. Everything was arranged and presented with its own character. I was being drawn in.

I began to look up. Chadni Chawk is the oldest active market, dating back to the 17th century. The architecture is from the age of the Mughals. One man's home dated back about 700 years. People were still living in these buildings. These tiny streets have been thoroughfares for buyers and traders for centuries. I was reminded of my trip to Varanasi. It felt similar, not as old as Varanasi, but that same feeling of antiquity and life was there. India was opening itself up to me, once again. I started to lose the wall that I had been building between the culture and myself. I was loosening up and just having fun shopping around for beads and other memorabilia that would remind me of the chaotic market.

Hannah and I found the paratha alley that everyone had raved to us about. We ordered a pea and mixed veg paratha, with a lemon paratha for dessert. Communication problems may have provided us with only the pea parathas and 1 unidentified dessert replacement, but it was good nonetheless. Exhaused, sweaty, and clothes a little damaged we decided to head back to the guest house for a little sensory repair. It was a long day that ultimately ended in a trip to Hauz Khos for a friendly meet-up and a delicious dinner, but the day was a success. I had been brought back into the fold. I was reminded of the exploration that was yet to be had during my time here, and my love of a country that can be so confusing and difficult to bare. I had rediscovered India.

Take me back to the scene of the crime

How does it feel to be back? That was what I kept hearing as I met people on my 6 week whirlwind tour of the states and what I keep hearing upon my re-entry to India. To be honest, I am not eloquent enough to describe the tornado of emotions that has lived inside me these past few months. It has been confusing, uplifting, disappointing, energizing, grounding, and deeply unnerving. Sounds difficult, doesn’t it? Yea… atleast it is over now.

I am back in Bangalore and have another chance to push myself in both a personal and work environment I am new to. To be honest, I was so worried about coming back. I felt so isolated before and realized how much I missed the comforts of my support network, the ease of knowing how things worked and the unspoken history of old friends. It scared me to come back. There were many things I knew I needed to change once I arrived, but it has been much easier than I expected. I am living with a friend (instead of the controlling roommate from before) in a new area of town and have already started belly dancing classes and even been invited to a party. All this, only 5 days into things. Not bad, eh?

I have tormented myself as I have thought about where home is for me. In reality, it is scattered across the globe. Although I have no home base and was concerned about this, I have many homes. San Francisco, North Carolina, Bangalore. Even the places where I have never lived but have enough friends to feel comfortable can be called home. I will have a home base soon enough, for now I just need to enjoy my time here. Not everyone gets 2 free tickets to India, a chance to explore the subcontinent, to understand the culture and my role within it. I plan to live it up these few months. No regrets, no looking back, and no compromises.

From a discussion this past weekend, “It is what it is. You are what you it. There are no mistakes.” Tom Robbins.

Painted from memory

Memory is a funny thing. I tend to have a bad one. I can only remember certain events and those events are usually slightly embellished for the sake of good narrative and often told too many times. I am very envious of people who have good memories. My friend Anders can remember the must mundane details from design school and has perfected the art of storytelling which makes him a very entertaining guy to be around. But other friends with the same gift, call their memories both blessings and curses. I think I understand why they say this, but being a member of the opposite camp, I can't say that I would ever curse a better memory.

Henrike came for a visit this past week. She came in 2 Friday's ago, got just enough sleep to fight away the jetlag and I swept her off to City Market. This may not have been the most comfortable transition into India but it certainly was exciting. We walked around the market, shopped for some souvenirs and made our way back to the flower market so she could see the beauty that lies in the bowels of the district. I also threw a party for her so she could meet my friends and coworkers (she brought cheese- delicious, salty,  nutty cheese to share!).

We caught up on our mutual friends and I realized our 10 year friendship mark is closing in. She has a much better memory than me. She reminded me of details that happened in Tunisia and Germany and Boston that I had long since forgotten. Small events that can add flavor to some of the stories I had been telling. We spoke about India, about her impressions thus far, knowing that she had seen the extremes of a culture and was about to be leaving for Hampi, another lens on the same culture. I told her to write down her thoughts because each place she visited would subsequently change her view. This country is too big and too rich to provide a generic impression. There is no real mainstream here, no large pop culture like the states, with the exception of Bollywood, which many say is also regionally appreciated. In India there is still a lot of collectivist thinking. Regional attitudes and cultures are strong, making it a fascinating place to explore.

Henrike and I caught up in Goa after her tour to Hampi. Goa is a very touristy place, but after visiting I can see why so many people go there. The two of us had never had a beach vacation together. We tend to avoid the posh resorts and the comfortable get-aways, finding ourselves in backpacker hostels when we are just a tad bit older than the other tenants or riding in shared vans with locals in attempts to save a bit of cash. This time I asked for relaxation. Living in India is exhausting and I just wanted to get away for a bit.

What we found was a beautiful beach with warm water for swimming and lots of waves to dive into. There were a lot of foreigners, but since it wasn't high season the party atmosphere wasn't overwhelming. We ate fresh-caught fish in Goan spices- lobster, crab, prawns, and the tastiest red snapper I have ever had. The fish melted in your mouth, it was amazing. Henrike also supported the trip with a wonderful bottle of tempranillo from Spain. We uncorked it at a beachside table and indulged while waiting for our dinner. It was euphoric. I have forgotten how good wine can be and the lack of supply here made it taste even better. It was heaven.

An interesting part of the trip circles around to the concept of memory. One of the biggest reasons I wanted to go to Goa was for the swimming. It has gotten very hot here and for all the water that seems available for leisure, none of it is safe. Palolem was the one place I kept hearing that swimming was not only available, but also really nice. I found as soon as I dunked my head in the water a flood of memories came back to me. The act of submerging myself seemed to have triggered a connection to past events. I may not have a good academic memory but my body seems to have it's own memory. I remembered playing shuffleboard at Myrtle Beach, biking to Walden Pond, and grilling out at Lake Berryessa. I thought about walking along the Mediterranean Sea with some college friends and sitting on the rocks next to the Irish Sea before another friend's wedding.

It was a wrinkle in time, surfacing a wave of nostalgia that made me both miss and admire these moments in my life. The only other thing that has the ability to take me on such powerful adventures is music. Similarly, it can trigger the same waves of emotion and floods of memories that water can. These memories gave me comfort but also made me anxious. I have one month left here before returning to the US. I am so excited to see my family and friends, to go back to my old haunts in San Francisco and sit on the beach in NC with my parents and sister's family. But it will also be a little nerve-wracking as I hone in on what's next. Change is the only constant in life. It is important to embrace it, but damn is it difficult.

I went to Goa searching for a little R 'n R. I found the relaxation and rest I needed as well as the comfort of the past in the wrappings of the new.

I am a passenger

Here are some pics from the weekend's exploration trip. Hannah and I were trying to capture the layers and layers of signage on the roads here. Most of these are the hand-painted signs. A craft that is still alive and well. Lovely to look at. Enjoy!