Through Another’s Eyes

i thought they could tell of their indian impressions better than i could. the following words come from my mom…
It’s almost 5 am CDT, USA. I’m wide awake. My clock is out of whack and a full week later, my battery is still trying to re-charge. We’re not on India time anymore, but not back to normal yet, either. Eleven and a half time zones, 20 plus hours of traveling, and nearly 48 hours without sleep have taken a greater toll than I would have imagined.

India. What an incredible adventure. Our trip wasn’t a vacation, but it was the most amazing and enlightening adventure. If Jill ever decides architecture or writing aren’t for her, she would make a most wonderful travel guide. Each day was new and exciting, with someone else to meet, another place to discover Gd’s diverse creation. We truly enjoyed the trip of a lifetime.

Have you ever wondered if you might have been born into the wrong era, the wrong decade? Wichita has a museum called Cowtown. Walking through its aged doors is like stepping 100 years back in time. Dirt streets. Wooden boardwalks. Skilled craftsmen in their various shops. Dogs, horses and cows wandering about. A calm, relaxing, not-too-excited-about-anything kinda lifestyle. Going through this museum, my mind will wander to ‘it would have been so cool to live back then… life at a slower pace; less technology to detract from relationships; truth was truth and standards were high…’

Stepping off the train in India was not unlike stepping into Cowtown [but for the cooleys clamoring about your every move, grabbing your luggage, more than ready—for a price—to help you out]. Life is at a much slower pace. Nothing in India seems to be in a hurry, except maybe the traffic in Delhi. We didn’t see computerized anything. Hotel ledgers are paper and ink, with a sheet of carbon paper tucked in for extra measure. Restaurant tabs look strangely like ones back when Grandpa took us to the local diner.

Dogs and cows were everywhere. They owned the streets, belonging to no one, but anywhere seemed to be home. Some streets dirt, others paved, it didn’t appear to matter. Shops and carts were tucked in here, there and everywhere; craftsmen and shopkeepers selling their wares. Little shops, less spacious than our smallest bathroom, were crammed to overflowing with trinkets and treasures that lured you in for a closer look, the vendors eyes dared you to bargain with him. With his pre-WWII sewing machine, the local tailor managed to sew a straighter seam than you’d find on any designer jean in your closet.

But unlike the sprawling spaces of Cowtown, in India you find people everywhere you turn. The personal space to which we’re accustomed in the US has no meaning whatsoever in India. It’s a luxury most cannot afford… will not afford. Entire families work, eat and sleep within arms’ length of their other family members. In fact, incredibly, an entire family, including uncles and cousins can fit into a motorized rickshaw! (wish we’d gotten a picture of that!) Family is what’s important, not space. Even were it not so, space is not to be had.

We found Delhi crawling with people. Paul likened it to pre-Christmas at the mall (sans the pre-holiday frenzied pace… add in a few cows). But, it was neither Christmas nor the mall. This is everyday life in the city. People. Cars. Horns honking constantly. People. Bicycles. Motor bikes. People. Motorized rickshaws. Bicycle Rickshaws. Cows. Did I mention people? Somehow, it all works. And works well.

I’m still amazed, looking back over the pictures, at the vast amount of trash everywhere, standing in stark contrast the incredible beauty of the Himalayas or the lush green countryside that frames in each of the villages. Trash is strewn along the sidewalk, swept out into the street, or simply dumped down a hillside, in hopes that it will eventually be carried away.

We found respite in Jill’s cherished Mussoorie, where she’s surrounded by the precipitous peaks of the Himalayas and the dear ones she now calls friends. They graciously welcomed us to their table, their homes, their lives, as if we were the dearest of old friends. They loved us as they love her.
Words alone cannot even begin to describe the beautiful, rugged expanse in this region of India! The awe-inspiring view dwarfed our own vast Rockies. Treks throughout the lower portions were breathtaking—in more ways than one—for these old, Kansas flatlanders. But the break every now and again gave us time to catch our breath, and to catch some amazing photos as well.

Many of the material comforts that we left behind to travel to this foreign land, Jill has, in a few short months, distinctively gotten along without. Luxuries, not necessities. She has sought out All she needs, and so much more has been added unto her. Jill has managed to straddle two worlds. One foot in each. A slower, easier pace, less technology to distract, simpler days. I for one, however, am thankful that one foot remains planted on this side of the world, for her amazing writings and photos, and for opportunities to learn from the life He has designed for her in India. Clearly India has changed Jill. And Jill has changed India. And from my vantage point, both are better off.

The differences we experienced were a challenge for us; they made for a fun, exciting element to this adventure. I suspect, however, that returning home to a life of luxury will be more of a challenge for Jill; far more difficult than leaving it all behind was a few short months ago. Life in the US supposes luxury. Life’s more demanding here. More complicated. In India, Jill has slowed down long enough to savor the distinctive flavors in a life that she loves, a life that loves her and has blessed her immeasurably in return.