The first 24 hours

Hotel Room in Mumbai!

I haven’t gotten to record my thoughts in forever! Since I landed in Mumbai, I have not had a minute to sit down and take it in. India is certainly stimulating. The journey itself was a grueling 28 hours that made me feel like an inefficient sloth rather than a productive and contributing member of society. The giant Air India jet is sort of a mini-India itself. The 9 seat rows seem to extend forever, complete with a luxurious but small business class with highly adjustable chairs and leg room I was envious of, MANY crying Indian babies, sparkling saris, ancient grandparents rubbing the backs of little ones, bollywood films, flavorful Indian airplane food including some awesome saag paneer and kheer (my favorite Indian dessert besides galub jamun) and a few out-of-place people like me. The curious passenger next to me on my first flight to Frankfurt asked why I was going to Pune. I looked at him confused for a moment as he explained he read my diary page as I was writing in it and practicing writing the Hindi script for Pune! I also peaked the curiosity of a fellow traveler while still in Newark. Kunal befriended me as I stared out the window after the hard goodbye to my parents. His enthusiasm for my travel adventure, connections to Washington, D.C., and kind words put me at ease. I haven’t answered his email yet, but he works in Pune, so perhaps we’ll meet up!

I am clearly still jet-lagged and sidetracked. On to India!

Hannah in our room

Once landing in Mumbai, I met two other cool students doing the Alliance program, both from Whittier College in CA. We waited for Erik’s luggage for two hours to no avail and then his lost luggage paperwork took another 30 minutes. On the bright side, we bonded and the police gave him 3000 (about 62 bucks) rupees. Getting my passport stamped with my Indian visa felt so symbolic. I know I was just another zillionth person for the customs guy to stamp, but I felt exhilarated by the thump of an official seal on my 6-month student visa. I greeted him with a “Namaste” as he nodded me through, reaching beyond for the next zillionth visitor. Erik, Hannah, and I stepped into the Mumbai humidity and I felt reinvigorated. Even though it was after midnight, the amount of crowds, honking rickshaws, cold drink vendors, and hotel-pushers aston

ished me. We were warmly received by Uttaraa, the sassy, vivacious, and comforting Program director. I think I was deliriously tired and couldn’t say anything else but how thrilled/excited I was. My mouth was running: how I made naan that summer, suggestions for how to fit the 30 pashminas I am buying for family and friends, if my hostel was near a yoga studio, the 3 Hindi phrases I learned on the plane—i.e. Hi, My name is, and Nice to meet you. Uttarra laughed and escorted us to the waiting van to bring us to the hotel.
The things I could write after a ten minute drive in India. There are absolutely no rules. All that you’ve ever read is true [about crazy accident rates]. If I write more than that, my mother will keel over from her chair. I can’t believe people ride bikes in these streets. Without helmets. And sometimes with earphones. Or on cellular phones. Crossing the street requires a bit of gutsy hope(and hand holding).

left over from the last guest...in the bathroom

We reached the hotel and chatted with the incoming arrivals until 2 am. After an incredibly refreshing shower in a smoky=scented bathroom , Hannah and I crashed on the super hard bed (with stained sheets gahhh). I woke up at 6:15 feeling restless and went through about 25 yoga poses in the dark. I couldn’t believe how tight I was after that plane ride! We went to our first breakfast in India. I am officially addicted to chai. It’s sickeningly sweet, milky, and zings on your tongue while simultaneously relaxing you. The kool-aid effect took over us and we all seemed to enter this buzzed-yet-chill, I-can’t-believe-we’re-in-India vibe.

Visiting the rural village school. Teacher Deven!

After a two-hour bus ride gawking out the window as we passed through slums on the outskirts of Mumbai, we reached Durshet, a rural village with a camp for wealthy city kids to come and adventure in the great outdoors. The orientation to India lasted three days scheduled from 7:30am-9pm. Housed in cabins with hammocks and bare boned amenities, we  ate incredible Indian food, bonded, watched some Bollywood, learned some Marathi, went over cultural norms and no-nos, and mostly got over our jet-leg. Waking up at 3 AM for two nights was not too fun, though my 6 cups of sugary chai a day kept me going. Uttarrah advised washing our faces whenever we were feeling sleepy. I did that with excessive sugar and somehow regulated my system. The best thing I learned how to say in Marathi, the local language of Maharastra state is : Maza pot burala (I’m full). It tends to be the only thing that works to get these women to stop refilling our plates.