Erindia
My name is Erin. I am following my heart to India. This is my story.
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India is a land of hierarchies and those who are invisible remain below the rest of society in so many ways. Best way to describe the people of Mumbai is “hidden in plain sight”. They are there. You see them. But you don’t see them really. You can tell even from these photos no one was looking at the man. Andheri Station is luxury if you get to see glimpses of real life like this man, not like the cushioned conditions of South Mumbai.
Have you ever lost a pair of glasses? You can search and search, and only when you are truly exhausted do you realize they were right on top of your head. And you are stupid.
Principle of Occam’s Razor is a part of my daily grind here: the simplest answer is the best one.
I make friends through vada pav.
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Dear Mama Little
I wish I could crawl into your arms and tell you how much I love you. Instead I am here in Mumbai, eating peanuts on my couch writing to you as you seem to ignore my calls. It is okay you are ignoring me. I know exactly where you are. You are sitting in church, like every Sunday, being the wonderful example of a woman with a servants heart.
I would not be here without your love, as I look across my room and see your care package you sent me. I promise I will go to the American consulate this week for your gift. I’m a horrible daughter for not doing this sooner. I could give an excuse but let’s leave it at, “If I did what you asked, wouldn’t that take the fun out of asking me 100 times if I went to the consulate?”. I am smirking in that sneaky way I inherited from you. Besides, this is what moms do. They ask. Then they ask again. Even if I had gone, you would still be asking me if I went, then tell me how to do it properly because you know best. And it’s true. You know best. I’m still in training.
Look at this photo of you. You are beautiful. Me? I probably woke up five minutes before this photo was taken. No makeup, not a care in the world, trying to pretend I’m a punk wearing leather when it’s freezing cold outside. You were crying, and this is still how perfect you look. I am so immensely blessed to have your love and support while I am here in India. Thank you.
Thank you for loving me despite the fact I am constantly sick, never organized, and constantly whining. Thank you for caring when I don’t care. Thank you for taking care of Dad, all of these years. Thank you my oil and gas was always full. Thank you for making sure I do all the things I don’t want to. Thank you for teaching me how to write checks, and thank you notes. Thank you for teaching me how to wear pearls and be a woman of God. Thank you for yelling at me everytime I curse. Thank you for somehow passing off parts of my identity that don’t quite make sense, like the fact I make up my own words, can’t pronounce anything that’s foreign, and that I speak six languages even though I really don’t. These are your pearls of wisdom that will stay with me forever.
Please remember how much you are loved by me even though I am far, far away. Sometimes I wonder when I have been gone so many years from home why you continue to love me. Who is this girl? This random person who shows up for holidays and constantly is asking for help? You have every right to lock me out like a bad boyfriend who doesn’t call or write. But instead, you know you are in me. You made me. Locking me out of the house is locking yourself out. We will forever be connected, and that is the wonderful gift God gave to me by making me your daughter.
I am sorry I want to stay in India for a long time. India is not Cathy’s Castle. There are no vacation artifacts lining the walls, or powdered milk that I hate here. There are new things to hate. And they aren’t endearing like the things at home that drive me insane, like how you buy candles and never burn them. But I think of how my mom, and it is like you are here with me, by my side, knowing that this is where I need to be. This is somehow in the master life plan. That sometimes we have to say goodbye to those we love the most when we are far away.
Your Daughter
Erin
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It is the absence of broad-based business activity, not its presence, which condemns much of humanity to suffering. Indeed, what is utopian is the notion that poverty can be overcome without the active engagement of businessKofi Annan
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Meaning is not something you stumble across, like the answer to a riddle or the prize in a treasure hunt. Meaning is something you build into your life. You build it out of your own past, out of your affections and loyalties, out of the experience of humankind as it is passed on to you, out of your own talent and understanding, out of the things you believe in, out of the things and people you love, out of the values for which you are willing to sacrifice something. The ingredients are there. You are the only one who can put them together into that unique pattern that will be your life. Let it be a life that has dignity and meaning for you. If it does, then the particular balance of success or failure is of less account.John Gardner, “Personal Renewal”
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Don’t believe the hype.
I honestly would not recommend going to Taj Mahal for anyone coming to India. For someone who lives here, this is my nightmare. Foreigners are charged 750 rps, whereas Indians pay 10. It was 105 degrees. They wouldn’t let me through security because my diabetic food was causing a problem, apparently.
Then you have the constant influx of men trying to sell you things, nothing you actually need (like water), but of course all those knick knacks no one actually wants. The entry gates and parking is far away, but of course you can ride on a camel that’s being abused and muzzled if you really want to. We opted for a bike rickshaw, thankfully after I passed dirty looks onto all the people riding camels that look so miserable even the zoo seems like a kinder option. Don’t worry you can have a travel guide— maybe 10 if you want it. Because they will follow you even if you say no, leave me alone.
As the whitest person in all of India, it gets exhausting constantly having people ask for photos with you. Taj was no exception. Just imagine you are a visitor, minding your own business, and you have 50 people over the course of an hour as for a click with you. Children are okay. Women as well. But then to have man after man shoot secret photos of you without your consent? Over it!
Paparazzi, everywhere!
Shortly after we arrived I began to get sick, and despite the temperatures I was experiencing chills. The hair on my arms was standing on end. I just wanted to go back to the hotel where we were staying. We returned to the hotel and while I took a bath Katharine managed to go to six different pharmacies to find the pain pills I needed. She returned, after quite some time, only to find me sitting in a giant tub of yellow water. Many a summer spent in Florida, I know the smell of sulfure all too well (snotty face).
Luckily I am not in Agra for the Taj.
I am here to spend time with Amit who is getting married, and Katharine who is visiting from NY. They have both been great, and often hilarious partners in crime the past few days.
Signing Off,
Token White
