I have been able to say to myself in the past this is who I am; I am strong, I am independent, I am fearless. In the past week, India has tested every perception I have every had about who I am and some parts of me have broken down. I am excited to see how they will be built back up and who I will become.
I journeyed to Bollywood 2 days ago, expecting some semblance of life I am used to. I expected a Hollywood type experience, at the very least, my expectations included clean green rooms and the absence of the mongrel dogs prevalent across India. No such luck as the "green room" was practically collapsing in on its self, the mold so pervasive. I seemed to have forgotten, that Bollywood is in Mumbai and Mumbai is an absolute shit hole. The people in Mumbai are ready and willing to rip you off the first chance they can get. I had visions of a bomb going off and destroying Mumbai. Starting over from scratch in a formerly beautiful environment absolutely destroyed by people that seemingly have no concept of how they live. I cannot stress enough how horrible the people are in Mumbai. Every Indian I met there, with the exception of the small school children is out to get something from the Westerners they see, they do so in a manner that makes me angry. Perception number 6, that I won't judge the people around me shattered into a million pieces. After several days of getting cussed at, grabbed, and forced into cabs and rickshaws with no way out unless you give them the money they want, I was ready to get the hell out of there before I became an angry American abroad. Perception number 73, that most people are good, absolutely ripped from my box. Bollywood was simply awful and I left the commercial shoot that I was supposed to be part of early. I sat in a cab for 2 hours, with a driver that spoke almost zero English, not exactly sure if he would take me where I wanted to go. I was shocked when I arrived safely at my hotel, only ripped off a little bit from the cab ride. I am not proud of the anger I felt at my environment in Mumbai, but in the interest of complete honesty, I am able to admit it, perhaps by admitting it, I can learn to accept it.
After escaping to my hotel room and sleeping for a couple of hours, I left to board a train to Goa. I was thrilled to be leaving and tried to have a measure of patience at the train station, though I did speak to a guy grabbing at me in, shall we say, a harsh manner. To his credit he recognized danger when he saw it and a look of shock came over his face, he jumped at least 3 feet back to get away from me. I felt some measure of satisfaction in that. Anger is an universal emotion, easy to spot around the world, and Mumbai had made me angry.
I settled into my compartment in the train utterly alone and rather pleased with it. I had a whole section to myself and after locking up my backpack, promptly feel asleep to the rocking of the train. The trip was to last 12 hours and take me 600km south and I couldn't wait to sleep, read, and do some writing. Sweet dreams me, lights out. After what I suppose was 1.5 hours of traveling, the train abruptly stopped and the door to my compartment was jerked open. An official looking man began yelling at me. "Train done, you go." What the what? I told him I didn't understand, what was going on. "Get off, you go". I quickly grabbed my things and exited the train, in the back of my mind worried that it was just me they were kicking off. Paranoid much? I exited the train and began searching for the French people I had met earlier in the day, relieved when I finally found them. Because of landslides further down the tracks, the train had ended in a small village and we were left on our own. All of us "white people" gathered together. 4 American guys, the French couple, and a Dutch guy with his India girlfriend. The American guys decided to wait and decide later on where to go. So the rest of us collectively decided that the 5 of us would continue on to Goa, some 500 km away, either by bus or car. Basically we all agreed that there was no way in hell we would be going back to Mumbai. We wandered into the small village and had the rickshaw drivers call a friend that had a car. He said he could take us the whole distance for 10,000 rupees. Thanks India again, for completely blowing my budget.
After waiting about an hour, he pulled up in an SUV of sorts, and the 5 of us loaded in. I jammed myself into the very back, and tried to make a nest out of our bags surrounding me so I could get some sleep. Not the best idea I have had, because down the road, I got incredibly car sick and ended up throwing up on the side of the road over and over again. After stopping at a roadside restaurant, in which I suspect they have seen very few white people, I ate some rice and bread and decided to try out the back again. After 20 minutes of riding, I once again threw up on the side of the road and then moved to the very front seat. That's when the fear kicked in. We were traveling through the breathtaking Western Gnat mountains, barrelling along one lane roads at 100km an hour in torrential downpours with sharp ravines on both sides of the road. Armed with only his car horn, which the driver used every 20 seconds, he veered into the oncoming lane too often for my tastes. I buckled up, but knew that if we were to get in an accident, at the very least, my legs would be broken and at the worst, I would be dead. The scene in that movie Romancing the Stone where they careened off the road into a ravine, kept running through my head and I in fact, felt like I was in a movie. It's the first time in a very long time I have felt fear so strong it overtook me. We were stuck, we had no other option and that is a different feeling for me. Perception number 3, that I am fearless, shattered. As an American, I am learning how many options we really do have. We live in a protective bubble of our own making. If we have anything in America, we have options. I didn't have any yesterday and I had to accept that and learn to deal with it.
The Frenchies and I finally arrived at the guesthouse I had booked, at midnight last night. John and Maria, the India owners are very sweet and accommodating. It is a charming place, and Goa is nothing like Mumbai. It is fairly empty of people, and it's absolutely beautiful. I am sitting on the porch area of the house, and there are monkeys screaming at me in the rain forests surrounding me. Maria is checking out the catch of the day from the fisherman that just road up on his bicycle. I have booked a week here, at $2 USD a night, I should get my budget back on track, but I may leave earlier. The power is out from the storm last night and I am craving a hot cup of Nescafe, the Indian version of coffee. I want to go check out the surf today and try to catch some waves, but with the Monsoon season in full force, the ocean is angry.
In the past week I have felt absolutely powerless, fearful, and weak. Those parts of me, in an unknown environment are breaking down. I don't know what will take there place on this journey of mine, perhaps that is why I am doing this. I also am learning to be content with boredom. The internet is spotty all over India, there are few ways to entertain yourself when alone, and so I am learning to be content with not being constantly connected to the outside world. To sit with myself and my own thoughts and to try not to get too bored with myself. I don't know how or when I will be leaving Goa, there are very few ways out and the planes are not reliable, so I am going to try and go with it, take it day by day, and somehow in the end, land where I am supposed to be at that moment in time. Hopefully I will come away with with fairly new perceptions of myself that I can be patient, that I can adapt, and that I can remain positive in horrible circumstances.
Peace, love, and joy,
Lara
