Some go to India for spiritual enlightenment. Others go for a chance to connect with their roots. And others, well, they go for the pashmina shawls. I, however, went for a carefully blended mixture of all three. Except I also left the luxuries of a “”first-world”” nation in order to escape from the chaos of school, a broken heart, and other tragedies.
When I strapped myself into the seat on a Singapore Airlines Flight, my stomach lurched as the plane took off — not because of the sudden altitude climb, but because so much had happened in the week prior to my departure that had stained whatever good feelings I had going to India.
For one thing, I received a D and a F respectively on my first two Bio midterms (I hope my parents aren’t reading this) and even my last-ditch effort to redeem myself on the final which I aced (in comparison to the midterms) wasn’t enough to get me more than a C in the class. So much for medical school.
I had also destroyed any integrity I possessed by becoming foolishly infatuated with someone who reacted with more amusement than annoyance (thank God) to my poor attempts at conversation, but will probably always think of me as that “”hairy psycho.””
To top it off, I behaved like a rotten brat when I screamed at my mom for not packing the proper clothes for me and wailed to my best friend that not only had I destroyed my first quarter grades, but also terrified an innocent boy in the process.
Yet, thanks to the makers of UNISOM (a sleeping aid) and some fervent prayers, I drifted out of my tortured conscience and fell asleep for a few hours on an airplane filled with crying babies, cantankerous adults and a serious shortage of cute guys. When I finally arrived in Delhi, India’s capital, after an arduous journey that consisted of tens of hours in agony, sitting in a poorly ventilated plane, I was ready to kiss the ground. Well, almost.
As I strode confidently into the waiting arms of my relatives, I was filled with a satisfaction that everything would be all right. I would 1) finally figure out the meaning to life (as I was assured by my father that I would be able to interview his holiness, the Dalai Lama, due to my grandfather’s connections) 2) wow attractive foreign Indian guys with my amazing prowess in cosmopolitan fashion and etiquette (yeah, right) and 3) lose 10 pounds due to the absence of delicious American brand chips, candies, cookies, etc., that I have a special fondness for.
All my problems would be solved. Once I shed my “”baby fat,”” (although I’m a bit too old to use that phrase) flashed my dimples, and learned how to coordinate my balance with my high heel shoes, I would be the hottest thing to hit India since Gandhi. Or so I thought. My plan quickly unraveled when I realized in Delhi, it was much more practical to wear my lucky Batman T-shirt (a far cry from sophisticated elegance) and scruffy tennis shoes to avoid having dust and dirt and cow dung being splattered everywhere.
As I tried to find my niche in Delhi among a plethora of cows, cars and people, I found myself losing my desire to portray myself as a sophisticated American when I had so much to learn from the people and places around me. I suddenly felt ashamed that I wanted to lose weight when skinny four- and five-year-old children were approaching me, asking for a few cents so they could eat. I felt overwhelmed by a sense of guilt and a stronger feeling that in college I had hardly given a thought to someone in desperate need of food or shelter.
Although I was not in the least as benevolent as Mother Teresa when I was in Delhi, I tried my best to make amends for my arrogance by slipping those children money and chocolate when my relatives weren’t looking. But if I had any stains on my soul due to my sins, I certainty thought I could erase them when I boarded a box of cardboard that faintly resembled a functioning aircraft as I set off for Dharamsala, where the Dalai Lama spends much of his time in between his hectic schedule.
I was nervous for two reasons during the flight. One was my concern that I couldn’t think of anything terribly profound to ask or say to and the second was that the pilot of the craft which held nine people, including me, excused himself out of the cockpit to get a newspaper and a sandwich.
My goal of wowing the Dalai Lama with an eloquent vocabulary changed as the turbulence rolled and shook the aircraft (while the pilot caught up with the latest news in India) and switched to merely getting the chance to see the Dalai Lama while I was still alive. As the plane finally landed on the thin airstrip set in the middle of a field (we had to circle around a few times because a stray dog had parked itself on the “”runway””), I became giddy with excitement.
Not only would I impress the Dalai Lama with my excellent verbal and written skills but my interview with him would be so thought-provoking and ground-breaking that I would no doubt impress my editors and eventually win the Pulitzer Prize. My hopes were dashed however as soon as I set foot in Dharamsala when someone gently broke the news to me that the Dalai Lama was on vacation and would return a few days after I was scheduled to return to Delhi (providing I survived the plane ride back home).
So much for spiritual enlightenment. Yet, even without meeting the Dalai Lama, I felt I learned a lot while walking the same paths that no doubt he walks often while in the town. I explored Buddhist temples, joined various nationalities as they participated in their religious rituals and sparked conversations between a variety of merchants and professionals walking the dirt roads. Sure, electricity was unreliable, the food was repetitive, and showers were hot buckets of water, but I survived.
There were difficult times, of course. Me walking in on my grandmother taking a shower was quite troubling, and when I became sick and had to use the restroom numerous times, the theories and discussions about my condition by various people outside the door were quite irritating as well. But I suppose this is what the journey of life is all about (if I can attempt to sound philosophical for a moment): good moments and bad moments and several in-between moments.
When I got back to Delhi, I got over the fact that in the end, after much hoopla, I never did end up meeting the famed Buddhist spiritual leader. I had, in fact, met so many other people who had taught me a lot about Buddhism and a humble existence that I often hear little about in my environment here. Although, interviewing him wouldn’t have looked too shabby on a resume.
As the trip wound down and I arrived in Bombay, I became a little homesick, content that I had discovered many things in my parents’ homeland but anxious to see my family and friends again.
That feeling soon disappeared, however, when I hit the town with my cousins and siblings on my birthday and New Year’s with a slightly more svelte self (throwing up nine times and suffering from food poisoning twice clearly contributed to this) determined to once again show India’s millions and millions of people what they would soon be missing when I returned home.
I lost my inhibitions as I shimmied alone up on a dance stage (due to the fact that a cute guy had approached my 16-year-old sister to dance and not me) and was suddenly transformed from insecure adolescent to confident vixen. Well, almost. Tripping head first over stairs kind of brought me back to my senses again. But all in all, taking a trip to an exotic land was well worth it, even if my poor stomach endured a lot of pain. It opened my eyes to the plight of others, helped stretch my own imagination and encouraged me to be more confident in my own abilities.
It also made me realize that losing a little weight didn’t exactly give me the magic pill of happiness I desperately craved. Oh, and I think my heart is OK again. Besides, I think my former crush has a gorgeous girlfriend anyway. Luckily, my experience in India has enlightened me to what’s really important in life: sanitized food, good music and, of course, family and friends. Although a romance with a dashing Maharaja would certainly have been nice.
