Initial impressions of India

Street graffiti and Urinal, Delhi

India! As my Hindi progresses slowly, my amazement at this incredible country grows, experiences setbacks, is misunderstood, gets engaged in conversation and taught to understand.

Imagine every empty building site that you have ever broken into, or each abandoned warehouse that you silently stole through, enjoying the feeling of wondering at massive empty spaces, populated only by stains, broken piles of bricks, seemingly inexplicable holes dug in the centre of a floor, jutting outcrops of bent and twisted steel, precarious balconies, and twisting creeping greenery clinging to a manga tangle of electrical wiring.

Now fill that space with a rushing wind of aggressive scents like the acrid smell of men's urine, the pungent aroma of hot spices, the smoking steel on porcelain of overworked brakepads, clouds of black polluted smoke rising from the fire made from cow shit and plastic waste, the raw sniff of melting steel from naked welding, the rising wafts of goodness coming from a tandoor oven cooking naan.

Next, layer upon this an explosion of sound amplified by the enclosed space - endless engine noise churning just below your consciousness, constant car horns shrieking in your ear as their metal mouths descend on you, a jabber of many languages rolled into an ungodly babel, the howling of babies, and of course the endless provocations of the men with money in their eyes - hey you, where you from, cool look, excuse me! Cigarette! Sticker! Hash, HEY YOU, YEs Sir, Here Sir YOU LOOK, YOU LOOK where you from man, come to my shop, HERE, come look now MAN, Yes sir, hey, hey Im talking to YOU man! IM TALKING TO YOU MAN.

Well now, that grandiose stained warehouse no longer seems so peaceful. Or is it?

Lastly add the people. Beautiful kashmiri women, with hazel-green eyes set in faces of burnt copper, sliding past in many coloured silk sari's. Hard bitten men in hand-knitted vests, marching forward silently on some unexplainable mission of utmost importance. Younger men, eager and interested in voice, with firm, unyielding handshakes, pulling you in with a smile like a crafty fisherman with blood on his mind. Fat shop owners leaning against their piles of wares, watching their young charges work. Workers crouching, temporarily beaten by piles of bricks that they load into sacks and shoulder down perilously steep flights of stairs, only to trudge back up, having made the rubble disappear into some hidden corner of a darkened alleyway. So many hands flinging packaging, cigarette butts, food scraps, old shoelaces, used faces into the muddy street. The street itself coloured by so many dreams used and disposed of.

And very lastly the baleful eyes of people in doorways, on streets, in train carriages, silently watching, judging, hateful? Curious? Jealous? Truth to be told i am a little bit scared here. I never thought that i would get tired of being stared at, but 4 days in and i'm already trying to blend in more, although Mum laughs at my miserable efforts, a patched up pair of jeans, steel capped shoes, a painted leather jacket, bright blonde hair and red sunglasses making me look like some bastard biker-punk hybrid from outer space as far as India is concerned.

And then, (back in the warehouse now) just as you are about to drown in this stifling swirl of human music, feeling that you are too tired and lost and bewildered to go on appreciating what you had originally seen through the crack in the wall, it all changes. An older man, holding a baby on his hip strikes up a conversation as you wander through the back alleyways of his town, following a wandering white cow. He invites you in for chai, and opium tea. He speaks English haltingly but well, and as a Brahman explains Hindu mythology with pride. He listens with interest as you share opinions on philosophy, politics, revolution, generational change. He has LOVE tattooed across his knuckles from when he 'was a freak'. He feeds you crumbly sweet bread, and you share his Beedie cigarettes. He says that he is old, and he has everything that he wants, so he can give everything away. He teaches you Hindi phrases. He teaches you that when people can be open and honest, when they can communicate and learn from each other without fear, then the world will be happier.

So just as your experience of this place twists and turns, threatening to buck you off with it's touts and beggars and pollution and noise, it flips over, glinting silver and gold like the belly of a wriggling fish, and asks you to love it for what it is; friendly, honest, hospitable, interesting and intelligent. This is India.