arriving in india is a scene difficult to describe without relying on cliche. the word "overwhelming" is one that bryndia hears often in discussions about the country, and is a word that they are not found of. sure, there are moments on the subcontinent when one can feel a little like they are drowning, but the important thing, they have realized, is to continue to kick, to keep on swimming.
the heat hit bryndia like a wall. less than five minutes outside of the airport terminal, there was sweat dripping everywhere. from places one didn't know one could sweat. behind the knees, under the ears. they waited in line for a taxi to the train station patiently. given a slip of paper by the airport attendent with a taxi number scribbled on it, bryndia wandered to find their car. men in dirty polyester pants rushed up to them, offering to help. please! my friend! let me carry! please! no, no, bryndia said. thank you, but no. despite the protests, the men followed them to the taxi, opened their door for them, closed it behind them, and quickly stuck their head in the open window. money, money, they said, pushing their faces and hands at bryn. no, no, bryn said back. fifty feet later, as the taxi driver stopped at the airport exit for change, barefoot boys rushed up the window. money, money, they said. biscuits, biscuits, they said.
on the long drive from the airport to the train station, mumbai flew past them. on the highway, india watched an entire family of six swing by on a single motor scooter. a father piloted with a small boy perched in front of him, balancing before the handlebars. a mother sat side saddle behind her husband, two toddlers wedged between the parents, an infant slept soundly in his mothers loose arms. no helmuts. no tickets. no traffic laws. no fear.
at the train station, bryndia sat under a large ceiling fan next to a scruffy sleeping dog. they had hours to wait before their train to pune departed. they found a small silver cafe where bryn ate thali and they talked about what they had seen. down on the platform, a round woman in a dark sari approached them and offered help. no, thank you, bryndia said. you are from america! the woman said. she asked strongly: may i inquire how many celebrity encounters you have had? bryndia looked at each other and shrugged. i work for the tourism burrough here, the woman said. i have met angelina jolie, brad pitt, matt damon. her list went on and on. wow, bryndia said. yes, the woman said, i am better off than you.
in an attempt to be brave, bryndia had booked their train tickets to pune in a second class compartment. it was to be the only time that they would do so. the five hour ride was spent mostly in silence, india drifting in and out of sleep, bryn with his head out the window. the car was made up of long blue benches facing each other, travelers jumping on and off, rotating their positions, cramming tightly into shared seats. everyone with their shoes off, with their hankerchiefs out. at each stop, various wallahs boarded the train and hawked their goods... foil boxes of warm spicy rice, hot chai, cold water, packaged candy and nuts, plastic jewelry, paper fans. bryn talked with a man across the aisle who showed him pictures of hindu temples on his cell phone and the two traded ipods for an hour, bryn bobbing his head to big bollywood showtunes. the train landed in pune in the early evening.
off into the packed streets, bryndia searched for a cheap hotel. the first two they approached were booked, the third too expensive. together with their bulky backpacks, the pair walked for kilometers, up into a slower, quieter part of the city. after hours of searching, feeling defeated, the two found hotel sunderban in koregaon park, paid far too much for a large stuffy room, and settled in. after what was, perhaps, one of the best showers of both of their lives, the two departeded into pune's dusk in search for dinner.
on their walk down north main road, bryndia encountered many sites that, though shocking at first sight, have, in time, become commonplace. small shelters on sidewalk corners serving as homes to families of five. bright stalls selling hundreds of styles of shoes that were manned by such young, young boys. food carts with small fires, wood burning ovens, cooking sugar cookies or samosas. these were all, strangely, across the street from high rise hotels, american fast food chains, girlish clothing boutiques. the parallels of india were displayed quite literally on pune's busy boulevard. tucking back off onto a quiet sidestreet, bryndia found a garden restaurant, it's wrought iron furniture surrounded by sparkling white lights. the two kicked their shoes off, ran their toes through the grass, and ordered tom collins', palak paneer, crispy tandoori chicken, big bowls of rice, garlic naan that dripped with butter. hours later, their stomachs bulged, and the bill came out to be around fifteen US dollars, most of which was accounted for by the alcohol.
the next day, bryndia was served breakfast on the veranda by their hotel staff before returning to north main road to ride in their first autorickshaw. the short ride was bumpy and dusty, but the breeze felt good. they arrived at pune's largest tourist draw. the gandhi national memorial at aga khan palace is the site where the mahatma was imprisoned for years after the quit india campaign. a large stone building with many bare rooms that have been left exactly as they were when gandhi and his wife lived there. bryndia walked among the faded photographs, the captions of which were all hand written in broken english, and saw clothing, combs, bedding, letters, that they had left there. through the large park, they found the site where gandhi's wife and secretary's ashes were kept, burried in large flower pots that sprouted tiny green plants. here, they removed their shoes, and walked in a circle around the site, mimicking the indian tourists who walked before them. as bryndia bent to slip their shoes back on, they were asked, for the very first time, to pose for a photograph with some indian teens who were in pune on vacation. how strange, india thought. we are celebrities for our whiteness.
not yet having adjusted to the extreme heat, bryndia escaped to a mainstream coffee chain resembling a starbucks and reveled in the air conditioning for much of the afternoon. here, they had more pictures taken of them, some snapped not-so-subtly on camera phones by shy preteens, and observed business meetings and romantic dates, all set to the loud soundtrack of 50 cent, fergie, and dr. dre. the cafe coffee day seemed to serve as a meeting point for everyone in pune. that night, the two ate dinner at a restaurant called king arthur where india ate a vegetarian dish called the vivian and thought of her mother.
the next day, bryndia got to know their neighbors at the osho meditation ashram down the street from their hotel. osho, a mystic and a guru known infamously for his liberal views on the use of sex to attain enlightment (and for his sketchy behavior at his commune in oregon in the 1980's), died twenty years ago but still has a large following, particularly with the westerners in india. bryndia couldn't afford the pricy meditation classes, the fees of which included a mysteriously unexplained HIV test, but did get to spend a few hours walking throughout the expansive garden, an oasis of rushing water, bamboo groves, and rocky footpaths in the busy city of pune. a dog followed them sleepily, indian couples blushed furiously when the pair would stumble upon them nuzzling in hidden corners.
that night, bryndia journeyed to the bus station, a large gravel lot packed with dozens of different busses. they boarded a fancy volvo, an air conditoned sleeper, a bus made up of many private sleeper compartments, stacked double beds with sheets and pillows and curtains. after two hours cuddled in their bunk, the bus stopped at a lively roadside stand where they bought big bottles of kingfisher and melting bars of chocolate and saw cages of chickens, rabbits, and rodents. again, they boarded their mobile hotel, and early the next morning, the two awoke in panjim, the capital of goa.
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