I apologize for the silence here the past week.
Yal know I travel quite a bit, and may or may not know I still manage to keep the electricity running, so to say, because I carve out time to work everyday, from wherever I may be.
Work is blogging. Answering emails. Managing Furbish. Communicating with vendors. Being active on social media. Finding attractive things from Nordstrom. All the things that go into keeping the wheels on this buggy.
But India yields to absolutely nothing. Maybe cows. But nothing else. Certainly not time with your laptop.
So it’s been challenging to get to the blog on this trip. The upside of my absence is YOU CAN MISS ME, duh, and I’ve been overwhelmed with inspiration that I’m excited to continue to share (there’s been lots of IGing, if you’ve checked there).
The color in India is no joke. The people here worship many gods, and thankfully, these gods love a good neon moment. They also love flowers, weddings and intricate, personalized tiny shrines made to them – which you can customize at the local market. Kiosk’s offerings include the base on which your tiny god will sit – maybe a hello kitty boxing ring, or a 6″ plush velvet chair or even a camping tent. Then you can buy a tiny turban in a rainbow of colors, the appropriate tiny jewelry and a skirt that fans out behind the miniature god. It’s fascinating – I’m into it.
Everything about this place is fascinating. How you can find breathtaking beauty next to absolute suffering. Poverty, caught up in the skirts of a vibrant magenta sequined sari bustling by. The sparkle of diamond nose ring as a girl squats by a pile of trash. Rainbow paint and rows of luxurious black tassels adorn construction trucks. Wedding parties in blazes of jewel tones dance through the street, careful not to step in elephant poop, or the tail of a sleeping dog.
The people seem to have infinite patience but there’s also a strong will to push ahead. If two Indians get to a bottleneck, be it a car and a motorcycle, a bus and a camel-driven rickshaw, or a two people passing each other on foot, there is no concept of yielding.
When you get to a tight spot, you push harder. When you want to cross the street, there’s a unspoken bargaining technique in play. You step into traffic, hold out a hand signaling others to stop for you, and then a series of individual battles of will ensues. ‘I’m going’. ‘No, I’m going’. ‘I’m really going, for real.’
And somehow, everyone goes. You make it through the steady stream of honking horns, grazing cows, pups sleeping in highway medians, scooters whizzing by, buses packed with humans and rickshaws full of families.
There’s a flow that I don’t understand, but respect. The dogs even know when to cross the highway, they seem to sense it.
The people are respectful – perhaps that’s it. I can’t count the number of times I saw an old person stop someone for help, a beggar asking for alms, a child offering an energetic wave, or an eager young rickshaw driver try to solicit a ride, and they are never ignored. People consider each other. They listen, and respond thoughtfully – even if the answer is no. So many times in America we look away. We ignore, or brush off people deemed interference. Maybe the flow requires a constant consideration of everything, including the people, around you.
I’ll post more soon. I got sick yesterday and I’m trying to kick that before flying home tomorrow afternoon. I think it must be time to go home, because I started a list for Tad tonight of the things I’m craving: sushi, ice, a workout, a schmuzzy schnauzie beard, grass, NPR, coffee and vegetables.