I just want to preface this with two things. First of all, there have been a number of terrorist attacks in India recently, and I want everyone to know I'm okay. The bombs went off in Delhi, which is pretty far away from me, and right now I'm in an incredibly safe city. Second of all, and more importantly, there will be no pictures in this post. I know, I know. But I apologized, so now we should be able to move on.
We took a 20-hour train (it left at 10 AM and got in at 6 AM the next day) to Mussoorie on Saturday. I, obviously, spent the majority of my time sitting in the doorway, inches from death. Almost every Indian who walked by said "It's quite risky" or "That's incredibly dangerous" or "I'm going to come back in five minutes to make sure you're not doing that anymore". The latter man never did come back, so I remained undisturbed.
I don't know why train travel affects me the way it does, but oh my god it is amazing. Never once while on a train have I just wanted it to be over. Even when I was "sleeping" during the night, not being able to extend my legs, abet my sweating, or ignore the cockroaches, did I want the trip to be over. And I'm not lying about the cockroaches; one scurried over my pillow while I was reading. I pretended it didn't happen until the train ride was over, when everyone finally broke down and told their own cockroach-in-their-bed stories. Denial, I swear to god, has been an invaluable tool for my continual survival in India.
The first thing everyone remarked on when we got off the train in Derhadoon (an hour-long taxi ride from Mussoorie) was the temperature. It wasn't cold enough for a long-sleeve shirt, but it was significantly below "I don't care if wearing underwear and nothing else is culturally inappropriate; I'm DYING." As the taxi climbed the mountain, it got even cooler, and everyone was happier for it.
After a quick nap and a walk around the city, everyone had decided that Mussoorie was incredible, nay, Paradise. Firstly, it has a fair amount of Western places, of which Varanasi is surprisingly bereft. Secondly, the fact that my forearms aren't sweating makes me be over the moon for Mussoorie and, consequently, India. I can't stress that latter point enough.
Guess what's not on my forearms? Sweat.
And I realize it wasn't a tricky question considering the previous sentences.
So far in Mussoorie, I have bought a few presents, a pair of pants to sleep in (because shorts are TOO COLD), a shawl, and a sweater. All day I have been wearing a sweater, and, my dear friends, what a glorious, glorious day it's been.
Yesterday I was sitting in an internet cafe (the internet never started working, but I tried for a good half hour), reading a book, and I glanced down at the street. In one of the stores, I saw a Sikh man collecting a dozen or so scarves someone had looked at, but had left in piles throughout the store. The man slowly walked through his abandoned store, picking up the discarded scarves and piling them near the register. He would pick up one scarf, fold it in half, put one edge of the center fold in his mouth, and fold it twice more. After each scarf was folded, he would meander throughout the store to put them, one by one, back in place. Now, I don't know why on earth i had this reaction, but it was most comfortingly American thing I have experienced since being in India. It doesn't make much sense, because I don't have a strong memory from the US involving folding scarves, but everything about India that I can't stand, the burning trash, the honking, the mangy dogs, all went away while I was watching him. It was as if I saw this man, who had in fact tried selling me a scarf previously that day, as exactly the same as everything I know. Maybe I had to see an action that simple, that closely linked to muscle-memory, to feel that way. I'm not sure. India's been overwhelming to me, and it was my first taste of real comfort.
So, that's it of Mussoorie so far. I have taken a lot pictures, so hopefully I will be able to post them soon. I will be in Mussoorie until October 2nd.
-allison
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2 comments:
Mussoorie sounds awesome. Like air conditioning for a whole city.
I was in Mussoorie for exactly 5 hours and the monsoon-remnants fog was so thick my friend Raj and I couldn't see 10 feet in front of us as we walked around. We went on that cable-car ride up to a lookout point and it was as though we were suspended in a cloud, with the occasional tree or mountain goat showing up on a mountain ledge disconnected from the mountain. My friend Raj lives in the plains of Gujarat and had never seen mountains before and it was magical. I recommend you go up to that lookout point because there seemed to be some kind of tiny carnival that wasn't open when I was there because it was raining. If you do, take pictures for me so I can see what it looks like.
Oh, and also, I miss you. Tell everyone I send my love.
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