The Sacred Cow

I met the first one coming out of the airport. There she was, big and grey, blocking the exit to greet us. We took a deep breath, side-stepped the cow and dove into India. Our backpacks, having decided to stay in Paris a little longer, escaped the shock of arrival. We, on the other hand, were dropped 1000 feet into a sea of bodies. Hungry faces, tiny tugging hands, arms pushing us this way and that, knees, feet, elbows, eyes. People. More people. And to them, we were but fresh meat.

Minutes later, we came up for air. Darkness. Heat so oppressive you can smell it, pollution you can reach out and grab. In that first taxi ride from the airport, I sat in the back, was thrown from side to side, and stared blankly out the window – in pure, concentrated shock.

These last seven days have rocked my very foundation. I love the way Lionel puts it: If your first time to South America is a slap in the face, your first time to India is like a flurry to the abdomen finishing with a solid right hand upper-cut. Clanging, honking, shouting noises that hang from your eardrums, a cocktail of smells that reaches deep into your stomach, sadness and hardship belonging only in books, colours with no name, faces of rare beauty. The sheer density of life here is indescribable, and we have access to only the surface.

I look back at this first week and it’s bursting at the seams. Two days in Delhi – putting one foot in front of the other, trying to keep our head above water. Shopkeepers grabbing and shouting at the Main Bazaar, a climbing vine of people and poverty in predominantly Muslim Old Delhi, a treacherous hike up the tower of Friday Mosque, cups and cups of lip-smacking Chai, and a rare peaceful moment at 5am watching a girl from a distance as she scrubbed her little boy’s clothes. Next was … ah, yes, Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. Fell violently ill. Visited the Taj at dawn, but just barely. Uncooperative nausea. Turned out to be more than just a traveller’s funky stomach. After three relentless days, Lionel had the good sense to get me to a hospital – or converted shack, as it were, in a small town on the way to Pushkar. I spent the day on a bed with a fan spinning overhead with Lionel running around: Clean needles? Clean needles? Eight hours on an IV drip, an antibiotic prescription in my pocket and we were on our way. Pushkar – sigh of relief. Great place to recuperate. Lovely locals, a beautiful little holy lake, Hindus worshipping in mesmerizing silence, no traffic, minimal pollution, winding narrow streets, monkeys eating from my palm, and the desert. WOW.

We rode camels into the desert last night, watched the sun disappear behind the Western Ghats, and spent the night on a blanket under the stars. Magic. We also had the two very best meals since we got here – dal and chapati for dinner (cooked on flaming camel shit), and potato parantha for breakfast. I feel healthy again. We’re slowly working our way down the west coast all the way to Kerala, with a stop in Goa.

This is but a snapshot. Just going outside is an adventure. There’s a cow looking at me right now.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 6th, 2003 at 4:55 pm and is filed under She Said. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site. Add to del.icio.us.