Indian Women (For Kavita and Aloka ) March 14, Bodhgaya, Bihar No matter your first impressions of a country, it’s the final images that linger in your memory. There are so many electrifying highs and lows in India that even when rereading my diary, my emotions are scrambled into kaleidoscopes of the absolute extremes of life. One day the Indian mens manner of speaking with their faces uncomfortably close has me anxious to leave; the next I’m overcome with gratitude when a stranger selflessly offers me aid. At times Indians have almost killed me with kindness. From fiery curries, to alien music, to pungent spice markets to unforeseen journeys into our respective religions, it takes years to understand and absorb the cultural shock of what challenges travelers in India. Pondering who and what is God appears as the root of everyday life as you begin to realize that after a visit to India, your life will never be the same. But time is the wild card. Difficult choices of what to see are made after studying guidebooks and consulting fellow weary wanderers. “Glen, you really need to unwind on the beaches of Goa and Kerala.” “What would I do there?” “Nothing. You just relax and drink beer.” At this stage of my journey, the notion of idling in a tropical paradise was appealing, but the 12 days it would take to get there and back might be misused time. As I gaze north for a spiral ascent into the mighty Himalayas and the Kingdom of Nepal I absorb the last of the here and now. Bodhgaya lacked the circus-like hustle of other Indian holy towns, mainly because this mecca for Buddhists is so far out of the way and the tourist season is over. The daily temperature is rising quickly, and devastating monsoon storms are just weeks away. Even the ever-persistent touts are too lazy to annoy the few remaining temple-hopping backpackers where Buddha is said to have reached enlightenment. Bodhgaya is the town where Buddhist countries have built temples and monuments to honor the sanctified land. Even the sacred Bodhi tree outside the Mahabodhi temple has been grown from four generations of saplings cut from the original. Streams of peaceful pilgrims pay silent homage with meaningful, slow garden walks and offerings of fragrant garlands. With the obnoxious hawkers walled out, sunrise meditations under the Bodhi’s canopy are moving experiences that sooth your soul and stir your thinking. Although each sacred religious site holds unique significance, I find it’s the people of India who leave the deepest impressions. When asked by the natives why so many foreigners visit their country, I explain, “It’s because your peculiar beliefs and ways twist our minds. To free our own thinking, we seek that which is furthest from our own.” Ideas that confound us also deepen our imaginations. India is as far from the West as you can get without leaving the planet. From heavenly bliss to seething aggravation, at times, India becomes a state of mind. Maintaining a sense of humor is the best way to enjoy Indians. But encapsulating the culmination of a five thousand year old civilization in ten books is impossible. Everyone should see India through their own eyes and most of all, with an open heart. Indian men are always around when you need them and sometimes when you don’t. If stopped by the side of the road, it never takes long before numerous inquisitive men approach offering assistance. But the women are more reserved. Like Arab females, for whatever reason, Indian women are quiet in public. Although much more visible, they hardly acknowledge a foreigner’s greeting. Typical of developing nations, India is undoubtedly a man’s world. Often women toil in fields while jabbering men stand by, smoking cigarettes. Yet from flamboyant festivals to ancient palaces, even considering the Taj Mahal, my most moving impressions of the country were of the women who glowed with a humble, exotic beauty. Whether laboring on farms or stepping from luxury cars in uptown Delhi, Indian women convey a uniquely sensuous style. Defining the essence of mystique while draped in brilliantly colored saris, their compelling composure and passive smiles suggest histories of royalty, no matter the reality. Whether in teeming cities or rambling country villages, emerging through choking clouds of blackened exhaust fumes, they casually step over curbside cow dung, fluid as fabled princesses. With dark almond-eyes peeking through transparent veils of silks and chiffon, whatever their caste, they convey mythical elegance and burn into my memory the remarkable grace of the enduring Indian woman.
Posted on: Tue, 16 Dec 2014 12:19:13 +0000
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