Scuba diving an ancient volcanic archipelago off the coast of Kerela when Pele’s rumblings of lockdown 2.0 were registered. Jumped a flight to Bombai to grab my luggage from the Taj and ultimately put an end this epic chapter called India.
After numerous, half hearted, attempts to leave it came down to hectic last moments as I was escorted through an empty Bombay International Airport to my empty Maldivian plane. Feeling anything but empty myself. Heart exploding with the experience of the great spice trails.
From Northern Spiti valley’s death-defying bus rides and snow covered Himalayan mountains to Southern Lakshadweep’s glass waters and island chill. From Eastern Nagaland’s war-like tribes to Western Rajasthan’s desert forts and big moustaches… the journey of a lifetime.
Boils down to one word… WILD.
Wild people, wild nature, wild living.
Men of Kerala, mountains of Malabar, beaches of Goa- been there.
Culture of the seven sisters, temples of Varanasi, wildlife of Karnataka- done that.
Waters of Meghalaya, Bengaly food, Manali hash- hit that.
One of infinite illustrations, having spent so much time on the Indian oceans I’ve witnessed too many occasions where grown men in their undies (appropriate swim wear is not common) throw themselves into huge waves with strong rip tides even though they cannot survive a kiddies pool. A small but extrapolative point. There are seemingly no rules that govern the mad roads that lead to their chaotic cities. The juxtaposition is if you break the invisible rules you’ll know. I’ve got the scars to prove it.
India is a modern day Sparta.
Daily headlines consisted of three popular topics and one that sends chills up the spine. Bollywood, politics, cricket… child rape. Often by a family member. The frequency was terrifying. Stuff goes on there that makes even the most well-travelled and open minded stop and stare in horror. Leaves you questioning the very fabric of our existence and marvelling in how unequal the reality of this life is. “The future is here it is just not equally distributed” fits all too well for the caste governed India.
Ironic that us westerners flock there to find our god-self. Meccas of Rishikesh and Goa that cater to our white palate and leave the causal visitor with a false sense of security. Disney-India complete with glow-in-the-dark Shiva t-shirts and 21 day yoga instructor courses. From the mountains to the beaches it is big spiritual business, don’t kid yourself.
Dare go off-course and you’ll find the soul-carnival isn’t all namaste and actualisation. Daily life is extremely challenging. Imagine never knowing what a holiday is? Hard for my soft hands to even fathom.
Driving in my air-conditioned, chauffeured car from one private villa to a five star hotel I’d look out the window seeing our sisters sitting by the road with incessant honking traffic and scorching heat, all to sell a few small fish to survive. Women carry a heavy load with very little gratitude in this harsh man’s land.
Outside of wedding season, India is run by men. Men who have no shame taking selfies in egregious amounts yet assume a position of power in any situation with alarmingly high confidence levels despite abilities/looks. My maid was beaten daily by her husband until he died and now she works multiple jobs to fend for herself and her teenage daughter. This is quite normal. No health care, no 401K compensation, and forget sick leave. Perhaps a dreadful side effect of having a 1.4 billion reserve work force. Not one of us would survive a week in their shoes if they have any. A real divide in the experience of life. Aliens sharing a blue dot.
India was my everything and nothing simultaneously. To them I am always that white girl from the states. Beyond language, religion, customs and ideas, there is a barrier none of us can ever cross. Would be foolish white man talk to think so even after a lifetime there.
Makes me giggle feeling back to that nervous version of me on a tour that turned into life itself. I came for Vipassana and stayed for the wildest ride of my life.
Travel is hard, messy work unto itself but it is the closest I’ve come to understanding the meaning of life. Real travel is quite misunderstood and a far cry from the paid-for-play social influencers’ projection of it. Most of us have no clue how to do it properly. An art unto itself. In India I got to understand the people beyond the surface level who are complicated and deeply affected by their religion, sex, caste, and money. It is not exactly a free country though appears so to the casual visitor. Politics is at an all-time high level of control and kids need to watch what they post on IG, reporters disappear, even comedians go to jail for religious-based jokes. For all its diversity and voluminous people most operate in a small vacuum based on pre-birth situations. Limited and reinforced that ensure India runs today as it did a thousand years ago.
I paid for India dearly with my body and money but that’s the point isn’t it? If covid lockdown taught us anything it is being safe is limited. I believe it is our duty as freedom-loving lunatics to get out there and fuck shit up- in the best of ways. Even if the worst is a by-product of the attempt itself. Both are valid.
The point is move. Do something. Cancel Netflix and subscribe to life in a way that makes you entirely uncomfortable. I’m always willing to be your one call from jail if shit gets weird.
Make a decision and don’t hesitate. It angers the gods. Let their breath blow favorably against your bold back and fill your lioness heart.
There are no “3 steps” to transformation, that kinda approach kills the very thing it feebly attempts to save. The wild truth lives outside the poverty of parameters. Has no home but responds to the call of a brave heart and open palms.