Almost everyone there can speak English to some extent, and friendly Indians love to inquire about your background and as to whether you "love" India. Having been asked that question, "do you love India?" many times, I realized that each answer came back with a diplomatic twist, some of which included: "Oh wow, well it's such an interesting place!" or "Oh wow, well it's so different from home!" That's because I didn't know whether I loved India or not, since it was honestly such a shock to my system.
On the one hand, there is something interesting to observe everyday, on every corner. India has such a deep history that is remarkably preserved in the forms of tombs, palaces, etc and the sights are simply unparalled to anything I had ever seen in my life. I loved hearing the sound of azaan everyday and feeling my spirituality grow.The delicious food and snacks were always something to look forward to. I even warmed up to bargaining in the markets and realized that it was pretty fun for the customer as well as the seller.
However, it was the other side that I had a hard time internalizing. Let me give you some context. I did not stay at some fancy resort, with an insulated group tour, or even in a comfortable middle class suburb. I stayed near the Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya Dargah, in a historical neighborhood that is undergoing renovation, that is teeming with beggars, that is part-rundown but all-fascinating, and that is totally safe but slightly uncomfortable. The uncomfortable part comes from the fact that I was a well-to-do Westerner in an area with many impoverished Indians.
The first day, I was so startled by the poverty around me that I handed out a 100 Rupee note to a beggar with outstretched hands and pleas to help feed her children (100 INR equals about 2 USD). That was a HUGE mistake because more came (which was fine at first) until it became a veritable mob. I was with my mom and aunt, and I started panicking. Our 100 rupee bills were done for, I was not about to start handing out 500 rupee bills. It was like a scene right out of a movie, and I was feeling claustrophobic and like a trapped animal. Someone inside the dargah came to our help and dispersed the crowd, with an admonition for us to not hand out money - he suggested that we donate toward feeding the poor (the langhar). That was easier said than done. We made a daily pilgrimage to the dargah and how was I supposed to look at these children, these women, these disabled men and just do nothing? It was a problem I had to deal with everyday... sometimes I was generous, sometimes I avoided their piercing looks, sometimes I outrighted yelled at them to leave me alone. Even though I donated towards the food distribution and bought food tickets to hand out on several occasions, it was not the same as handing out cold hard cash.
Here's a picture that is worth a thousand words.
Personally, I am against taking candid pictures of the poor just to highlight their unfortunate circumstances. This picture came about because I was being a typical tourist in the car and aimlessly clicking away. At first I thought I took a picture of Connaught Place and then realized that I unwittingly photographed three children. The one in the middle is missing part of his leg, right below the knee. I noticed this as his head went up and he made eye contact with my ever wider-growing eyes. In retrospect, he knew that I was ripe for the picking, so to speak, and he consequently made a mad dash for my traffic-trapped car. Banging on the doors, he begged for money and I rolled the window down hoping that the bill would leave him satisfied. The opposite happened: the other boys started banging on the doors too, demanding money, as did our original boy who still wanted more. This continued for several minutes and it was one of the most unsettling experiences of my life.
After a while, I just had to accept that this was a way of life for some of the poor - begging, sometimes aggressively, was their business and how they made their livelihood. I was not so much adverse to handing out money as I was to the inevitable mobs that would form. Where there is one, there are ten more, followed by a mob. That is not an exaggeration. Also, I noticed that I would be targeted as opposed to other passerby because they remembered that I gave money (and because I looked Western).
This was my reality, every single day that I was there. Inside the dargahs, out in the markets (even the upscale ones), in the rail stations, by the tourist areas... multiple times a day, every day, for two weeks. This was part of the "real" India that I experienced. It really opened my eyes to how the neediest in the world live... seeing their begging lifestyles, from the children to the elderly, seeing the sprawling slums alongside the rail tracks, seeing people pick through the garbage, seeing horribly maimed and disfigured people begging for a few coins. It was jarring how I could go from spending thousands of rupees on a sari and then discreetly handing a 10 rupee bill while praying that I wouldn't get mobbed by others. I felt like my brain refused to acknowledge what was happening and pretended that it was just another normal day of shopping. Other times I completely broke down, after seeing little children working when they should be in school. I actually felt bipolar those first few days, as I would quickly go from enjoyment to depression and back again.
I would feel shock, along with guilt and such qualms of the conscious as I had never experienced before. I have such a cushy life at home, never wanting for anything... while these people... words still can't even explain the tumult I was feeling. I would vacillate between depression, to anger at my sleeve getting tugged yet again, to heartbreak, to irritation, to guilt, to resentment - I am on VACATION, stop battering my conscience!!!!! I stopped handing out money after the first several days, preferring to donate to charitable organizations instead. I would also buy the children sweets and toys, while buying food tokens and handing them out (while being totally incensed at some people outright refusing a food card, asking for money instead!) If I did give away money, it was never to children - only to older women and men.
So, do I love India? I think I do. It is such a unique and fascinating country, with sights and sounds completely unlike what I was used to here. It is also thoroughly modern in many regards and economic progress can be seen everywhere. However, even with all the advancements, so many people have been left behind in the gutter (figuratively and literally). Emotionally, India is a lot to handle for the first-time Western tourist and it's hard to accept the human degradation that is juxtaposed with the grand sights or the lively bazaars. But why would I want to mentally put that aside and pretend it doesn't exist? I feel like a more awakened individual now, and these experiences with unfathomable poverty has intensified my desire to help the less fortunate and to live a more simple lifestyle. I've also come to greatly appreciate every convenience my Western lifestyle allows me.
I'll end with this quote from Helen Keller, which means even more to me now that it did before I left U.S. soil: “Instead of comparing our lot with that of those who are more fortunate than we are, we should compare it with the lot of the great majority of our fellow men. It then appears that we are among the privileged.”
Privileged, indeed. India has definitely taught me that.
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