Patricia Danielle

most times when i am out running in the claremont hills, my mind wanders to my time in india.  

india was hard. the fact that i did it at all, makes me proud. the fact that i finished, even prouder.

physically, it was the hardest thing i have ever done. the first day, we hiked 5 kilometers, straight uphill.

there has to have been a hundered times during the trek that i would ask myself what the heck i was doing and why. how did trekking the himalayas ever top my list of things i must do? sometimes i would take a step and the loose gravel would cause my foot to slip, which would force me to take additional steps. usually uphill. i hated those steps. i cursed those steps. i also cursed the time that i was forced to wash my hair with the freezing snow run-off water. actually, i cried, not cursed. other than that, the trip was memory making and amazing.

 that trip, i had an illumination of another side of God. i saw him as the creator of the universe. the power who saw to it that the water would tumble down the river and over the rocks in just a way to make it seem magnifcient. the power who made it so the sunlight would peek through the trees and shine off the glossiness of my eyes. the power who placed these tribes of people in such a place where their agriculture would flurish and do it in such a way that looking out over it all created a view that was incomparable. 

ive always known god as my father…lord…savior…helper….comforter….friend….provider and so many other things. but as the creator? that had never really resignated with me. how could it. everything surrounding me in america and japan and egypt and europe and all of the other places i have been, was man made. the buildings, the roads, the scenery. but in india, it felt as though things were pure. things were in their original state. things were of god.

my god.

the creator of the universe.

i just read this:
“Wouldn’t it stink if the garbage men went on strike?”

and then i laughed over and over.
then i was going to email it to a guy i became friends with in india, because he likes quirky things like this.

as i started to email it to him, i stopped and read it again to be sure it would translate right. he speaks perfect english, but you know how it goes with comedy in other languages. then, after deciding that “yes” he will “get it”, i thought about the fact that he lives in india. the garbage men there would NEVER go on strike. and do you know why that is? because there are no garbage men. and lo and behold, please forgive me for the honesty and personal opinion, it does stink.

before leaving for india, i had arranged for my trip so that someone would be with me the whole time I was there, and i wouldnt have to spend any time alone. there were a few times when it made things uncomfortable, being that i was often in the company, and homes of strangers. then there were other times where circumstances were those that would have never happened without having gone with a personal company to arrange my trip. in the days before trekking, while traveling to the starting point, i was alone with the guy who arranged my trip, vikas. vikas is 26 year old Indian who lives and works in Dehli. One the first day of traveling, we drove all day and evening to end up at his parents house in Haldwani, about 7 hours north east of dehli. that night we went out to dinner with his sister. dinner in india is usually any time after 8 or 9pm. the whole time i was in india, i gave over all rights to most all decisions, to whoever was with me. it just worked out easier that way. i didnt know what i wanted to eat, because a) i couldnt read the menu, and b) even if i could, i didnt know Indian food beyond curry and rice. vikas, not really being so accustomed to being in shadowed by another person every waking second of the day, especially a foreigner, wouls often times forget that everything was new for me! when we sat down that night for dinner, he ordered some kind of baked chicken dish, with some kind of curry, and some kind of bread. when the food arrived, he and his sister dug in. literally, because people eat with their hands in india. it took me a second to be ok with eating with my hands, and throughout the meal, vikas and his sister would comment on how to do a better job. when we finished eating, the waiter brought a bowl of water and a slice of lemon for us to use to wipe our hands. also something new for me. then came the spice mix stuff to chew on after dinner. this i had had before, but just in a way to try it. vikas scooped up some spice stuff and then he scooped up some sugar crystals and he put them in my hand. i dipped my head back and tossed in the mixture. and then i chewed…and chewed….and chewed……the idea of swallowing it made me want to gag. so i just kept chewing. the whole car ride i didnt say anything. i just chewed. when we finally got out of the car, maybe 10 minutes later, i stayed unseen, and spit it all out. freedom!

i woke up to faces in the room just staring at me. waiting for me to wake up. waiting so that they could talk with the “english teacher.” a friend of the family, her son, and vikas’ sister were all in my company. vikas walked in right when i woke up. after some chatting between them, he turned to tell me that the friend of the family asked him “What kind of things do they eat?” As if I were a newly discovered species, just introduced to humans for the first time ever. He told her how they had to eplain to me how to eat with my hands and all that we ate the night before.

when we returned to the house later in the day, after going out to the market, his grandmother was on the couch and saw me walk in with him. she noticed that i was NOT indian, and started telling him and the others in the house “dont marry her. she wont cook you jipates.” (pita bread like food, with spices and other mixed ingredients inside). he laughed and then told me what she was saying.

“she’s right. i wont cook jipates for you!” i had to say it!