Old beginnings and new adventures

I left India drowned in sweat. It wasn't good sweat either: it seemed as though my body gave up on trying to cool me down and just poured it out arbitrarily. My relatives and I got to Delhi around 9 PM for my 2 AM flight. We figured we could take it easy because they don't even let you in until it is about four hours prior. So we cruised. We hit a little traffic on the way there, but little did I know that stop-and-go traffic in India actually means stop. It took us two and a half hours to meander our way to the airport. When I got to the gate I contemplated changing shirts but figured two sweaty shirts is worse than one. Hopefully my seat-mate didn't mind the smell.

So it's difficult to say: this trip's meaning to myself. It was a lot of things. I decided on going to India more than a year ago today. It was a response to seeing dearth and distress in the streets of Delhi, a realization that I, more than most people that perhaps are not college-educated or have as many resources, could help. I believed that anything, even something small, could change the life of someone. But plans themselves are not a means to an end, there are various things that must fall into place for something like what I had in mind to happen. By December of last year, I had somehow come to the conclusion that volunteering was not enough because it meant momentary impact. As I found out by the end of this internship however, anything done in such a short amount of time -- 2 months -- means momentary impact.

But like many things in life, what transpired in Jodhpur was inadvertent. Sure, I completed what I set out to do: a research project that has the potential to impact many people; but I felt more than that. I remembered what it feels like to be in India: and I've written about it in previous posts. To me, it is difficult to distinguish what I really am and where I really come from. I asked this question to a friend at the guest house I was staying out, and I find it relevant: at what point are you not Indian, not Kenyan, not Japanese, not Korean ... at what point are you American? And the response I received was simplistically perfect: when you want to be. I find that poignant and something that I will take with me for years to come because it is true: whenever I, my children, my grandchildren, decide to break that bond with the subcontinent that so ominously sits below the Himalayas -- we are from America.


But it was also what I felt in the desert villages. It speaks to how fortunate I really am when I say that it took me twenty years to see real poverty. It took me twenty years to see someone struggle to survive. I'm glad that I saw it. Walking through a place that is devoid of water and anything resembling convenience hurts. It's painful to understand that they are used to suffering: their condition isn't suffering at all: it's living.


And beyond all of this I have a confession: I don't think I can do it. For the past year, while securing funding to undertake this project, all I thought was: I just want to help -- someone, somewhere, somehow. And the thought is more noble than the action. To be honest, I thought I had found my calling before I even embarked on my plane ride to India: I was ready to dedicate my life to serving those less fortunate. But it's hard ... it's very difficult. It's not something that can be romanticized. While in Jodhpur, I just didn't love it. I couldn't find that feeling of pure glee at my work. I didn't want to be there. I didn't really want to be there. At some points my work became just something I needed to finish, not something I was interested in completing. Maybe the harsh conditions of where I worked, or the heat of the summer, or the circumstances of what was going on around me played into my feeling of apathy for what I was doing. But I hated feeling it: I hated not loving what I was doing. Because admitting to myself that I did not like what I considered my life's goal was unacceptable. So now as I reflect I can't help but compromise: I want to help but I don't know if I can do it in the way I have this summer. In other words, I don't know if I really desire to sacrifice everything else to help the less fortunate, but perhaps there are other ways to do it.

After the internship, I spent a brief three days in Punjab visiting a few relatives, many of which I did not remember meeting before. It was a good trip, mainly because I saw many things I neglected or refused to fully see the last time I was there -- 10 years ago. Or perhaps, even more, my perspective had changed. They were incredible people and accommodated my every need (though I tried not to have many). Many of my relatives there are rice farmers or small store owners outside of Chandigarh; the ones that live in Chandigarh do other things and are considerably more wealthy (I guess you have to be to live there). It was a very valuable thing to see what I saw in those short three days because it is, in the simplest way, humbling. It is humbling to see where my family comes from and understand that it was complicated, a series of random events that led to our settling in the United States. And it's humbling to see the one-room house and five-person family that my grandmother was born into it. It's not that I haven't appreciated what I have before, but facing the past (which is the present for those that still live there) allowed me to sort of put reality into achieving dreams, if that makes sense.


All in all, two months and one day elapsed in India where I visited Delhi, Jodhpur, various desert villages, Jaisalmer, Nasrali, Kohata, Ludhiana, Patiala, and Chandigarh. Right now I am in England with my Duke roomate, Kyu, till tomorrow morning. An 11 AM flight to Raleigh/Durham will no doubt be accompanied by some sort of sleep. London is serving as a noble buffer between the two lands, though admittedly expensive. I'm sure I'll see you soon.