OFF THE BEATEN PATH: INDIA, GETTING LOST
ON PURPOSE...

For me, one of the most amazing things one can do when traveling is to really try and immerse yourself in the culture. While it's all nice and good to marvel at the Taj Mahal or once in a while enjoy the food at a luxurious restaurant (which costs about 1/5 of what it would in the U.S. or Europe), the real beauty of traveling lies in meeting the native people and getting to know their culture, language, and traditions.

While I can't truly claim to have "lived like the locals" during my six weeks in India (the $4/night room with no hot water and a less-than-impeccable-mattress in the hostel where I chose to stay while volunteering in Calcutta would likely be considered rather luxurious to the 80% of Indians who get by on $1/day...although I imagine it would have been looked upon with disdain by many middle to upper class/caste Indians and most Westerners...), I think I can at least say that I made my best effort to learn the language (in this case Bengali, and some Hindi/Urdu) and make friends with the local people instead of just hanging out with other Western (and East Asian) tourists and volunteers (which of course I also did, and met some wonderful people as well).

While visiting the gorgeous temples and palaces and volunteering (to which I hope to dedicate another entry to) were amazing experiences, some of the best times I had there were just sitting down in a local restaurant and chatting with the clientele...or enjoying a traditional Bengali meal as honored guests in the home of a newfound friend...or being invited to stay in a small village where the majority of people had never seen a Westerner before, and learning to play a game (called "carom," similar in concept to billiards) with local children or being invited to a cup of tea by people--who despite their extreme poverty--were unwilling to accept money from their "sahib" (important, respected person) guest.

The above photo is of some children playing football (soccer) on a muddy, makeshift field, complete with cows sitting stubbornly in partial obstruction of the goal. I distinctly remember this day, as I awoke to a flooded Calcutta (monsoon season), and had to take a rickshaw so that I could leave my hostel without getting soaked up to the waist in rather fetid, sewer-like water (later on I gave up on any remaining scruples though, and just "dove in" so to speak!) I decided to go and visit the Jain temple complex in the northern outskirts of Calcutta (Jainism is one of the many religions that the richly diverse cultural tapestry of India has to offer; they believe in complete nonviolence, and refuse to eat, or harm, even the smallest living creature). Well, after many transportation trials and tribulations to get there, I arrived to find the temple gardens converted into lakes, with a makeshift path of wooden benches to conduct the faithful to the temple proper. After removing my shoes and visiting the temple, I decided to explore a little. So, I just chose a direction and started walking.

Eventually I found myself in what could best be described as a "shanty town," more like a small village on the outskirts of the main city. As I penetrated deeper into the town, I noticed the increasing number of stares that I was drawing, a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. This was definitely not a place frequented by many tourists, and occasionally people asked me, "Where are you going? What are you looking for?" And I would respond, in broken Bengali, "No, I'm just walking..." Eventually I noticed that I was in a Muslim neighborhood, since there was a small mosque and all the signs were in Urdu (linguistically almost identical to Hindi, but coming from an Islamic background and written in the Perso-arabic script), so I used the Urdu (and universally Muslim) greeting, "Salaama lekum," when people addressed me. Well that seemed to win them over, and more and more people started coming over to speak to me, asking all sorts of questions, displaying a genuine curiosity in getting to know more about me and my culture.

After spending a while chatting in our fractured mélange of Bengali, Urdu and English, two boys offered to take me back to the main road in their cart (they were working, transporting lumber across the neighborhood). With a bit of hesitation at first, I accepted and we had a nice talk as we made our way back towards the city proper. When we arrived, I offered them a bit of money for their rickshaw-like services--but they adamantly refused.