This was sent to me today by a friend who is now teaching in Japan. I thought it might be of interest.

Home from India

I always think how I can share my trips with friends and family. Seeing the captivating colors and characters compels me to write. India is truly color-filled. And more. It’s like traveling through the pages of the Bible, only with electricity - intermittent as it is. A dust devil of traffic coming and going, with a ceaseless cacophony of horns to fill any gaps tells it all.
After a few hours on the road, my urge to gasp at an on-coming semi, whilst passing a teetering camel cart, dodging a meandering sacred cow, circumventing a herd of goats, and avoiding tsunami of motor cycles and was transformed to a casual laugh. Eventually my nervous giggles found the company of a good, steady grin. Except around the numerous beggars.

The sheer direness of these conditions is tearful. No Western solution fits, though we are moved to try. It is humbling to feel such dignity and yet such distress. We took to feeding as many as we could, which delighted most with a bright smile. Others insisted on money. There are lots of scams and some beggars can behave badly. There is
no way to prepare for this calamity.

But many of the needy are resourceful. Such as the 7 year old who charcoaled a mustache over his lip while his little sister, tied to a strand of yarn, performed a back flip like a circus monkey on the median. The traffic is bungled at these intersections and makes for a captivating performance and enough time to pass on a few grateful rupees.
There are faded affects of the British rule along side ancient traditions, tea time being the most obvious bustle in the congested streets about mid day. And every village has a cricket pitch rotating patch-clad players to the fascination of passing shepherds.

Holi is the Easter time holiday of recklessly splashing colors on mates and strangers. We broke curfew to join the ruckus and discover how Easter eggs experience the day. For days following our hands, hair, and shoes were stained the colors of jelly beans.
There are many religions in India. Temples, shrines, palaces, forts and deserted cities testify to a diversity of ideas over the centuries. Contrasts comprise the balance of daily ritual. Head coverings require a code to understand what sect is represented. Wound, tailed, capped or wrapped is part of the male regime.
Women wear head coverings similar to each other, brightly attired in both city and field. Whether harvesting grain, patting dung huts, or bathing in the Ganges, I saw beautiful saris worn. There are other styles of clothing for other religions too. I wonder how fashion would look in America if the Catholics, Jews, Baptists were to define their own garb. Who would get dibs on blue jeans?

I have returned from the land of turmeric-smelling camels and inlaid marble palaces; of fresh veg and spoiled water; of roadside bathing and curb side relieving; with Delhi in my belly and a flying carpet in my carry-on. Thank God and Allah and Shiva, et al.

Picts to follow. She promises with best of intentions…

Barbara Bertram