The clouds break as my plane prepares to land in India. The earth is rusty red just like my dream! Random patches and gridded squares of sand and rock are penetrated by random mountains. I see a heart shaped field amid a forest of palm trees and what looks like a granite quarry. I must admit I am feeling much better now about my decision. Throughout the trip I was having anxiety about what I had been thinking and what was I doing.
The madness erupts when I get off the plane. People pushing and shoved up against the baggage carousel as I try to get my luggage. It is 6:30 pm India time (7 am Edmonton time) and I am exhausted. I come out of the airport and see Indians crammed up against bar rails, many with signs and names. A man comes up and asks to take my bags and I say no repeatedly, as he insists. Another asks if I need a taxi and is shooed away by another. I see my name on a card and feel like a celebrity! Relief. I nod and the small brown man looks as though he won the lottery. As I ask him who sent him, our language barrier is choppy and I see it is difficult for him to understand. We are both frustrated.
He takes my suitcase and I attempt to have him write his name, address of where we are going and license number down for me as security. He does not understand. I call over the airport policeman, dressed in beige and carrying a baton, and he asks if everything is OK. I request for him to take the driver's information down for my protection, as the driver panics and calls Murthy, my travel agent who sent him. We finally translate that it is for my safety I am doing this, not to get him in trouble. The policeman must have seen this before, as he tries to make small talk, asking me about Canada and how I like Bangalore. I finally hop in the car and we are off on the 4 hour drive to Mysore.
First thoughts:
I love it! India is an assault on the senses. It's polluted and loud; busy with traffic and people. Litter and motorized rickshaws are everywhere, set against beautiful architecture in decaying opulence. I realize at this moment that I care more about decorating my passport than houses. Cows and dogs wander the streets, horns incessantly honk in the chaos, weaving in and out like a well-habited system. Right hand drive mini cars, drive on the right side, beside the scooters and crammed buses that share the road with truck loads of people. Colourfully carved ashrams, fruit stands and women in flowing saris embellish the streets. A blur of teal, mint green, fuschia and purple goes by, against Christmas lights and Indian music.
Night falls and the drowsiness overtakes me as I fall asleep in the back of the car. I keep bolting up randomly with the sound of car horns, then fall back down heavily, burdened by 3 days travel. we arrive at my house and I meet my house mother and her mother. The place is beautiful with a heavy, carved wooden door and floors in white marble tile. She hands me a large, old fashioned key and then tells me to 'take rest'.
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