Stop Looking at Me (a trip to the zoo)

Walking through the streets of India, I believe the white man is recognized as someone going to the zoo.  It’s sad.  Everywhere we go, we wish to fit in.  I do enjoy experiencing anything new, but sometimes, you get that strange feeling you are not wanted.  You laugh too much.  Your hat and jeans make you look pretentious and borderline offensive, your hair is dirty blonde, you walk on the wrong side of the dirt, and you ask too many questions.  This is when you should know it’s time to leave the party.  At the zoo, I believe the animals appreciate your presence and affection for about five minutes, then wish you to leave.  Quite understandable.

In India, when anyone of our color shows up, we are initially a novelty item.  One of those trinkets you purchase for three dollars and seventy three cents, only to enjoy it for about ten minutes.  Then you get tired of it and send it to someone in another part of the planet so they can get tired of it too.  Nevertheless, it’s out of your sight and quietly out of your mind.

Colors, pictures, smells, sounds and sights resonate through our television and texting senses.  We forget touch.  That’s when it becomes scary.  If you see an animal on television, you think it’s cute.  When you touch one at the zoo,  sometimes, they get a bit agitated.  And, they should.  We are trespassing on their property.  We are invading their space.  It seems fun for about two hours, but you sense when it’s time to leave or retreat to the hotel.

Visiting a developing country is not always fun and games.  I look at people and smile.  Sometimes, they smile back, but other times they look at me with distain, wishing for me to leave.   That’s why I’m not the one going to the zoo.  Rather, I’m the one in the zoo.  The stares consume you.

Initially, I thought I was the one going to the zoo in India.  I was peering, taking pictures, using a camera in disbelief, ………..and then I noticed I wasn’t at the zoo, I was in the zoo.  I was the one maintaining the funny voice making them laugh at me.  I was the one wearing funny clothes making them chuckle.  I was the one they wanted to take a flight, back to where I belong.

It’s time to go home.

 

India Reality

Britt and I have both witnessed and observed such a wide variety of culture in India that, sometimes, the heart gets dizzy and outweighs the brain.  This is our last day in Chennai, and we are headed for London.  Maggie, one of my sick, I mean six sisters, would be loving to see the Royal Wedding. I won’t. She will also appreciate, I think, and as a practicing and well respected nurse, the difference between witnessing and observing.

Witnessing and observing are wildly different concepts.  We witness children playing in dirt and feel sorry for them.  We observe the look beyond their eyes and know they are, for some unfathomable reason, happy.

Sadly,here, the adult males don’t take too handsomely to white intruders.   During this stay, I guess I always had children to protect me.  This morning, I was saying my last goodbyes, or high fives to my cricket friends, when they started yelling, “go go go!”  I had my wallet in my pocket and was taking one last picture of my friends when several men approached me with disdain in their eyes.  Fortunately, I am much better at running than cricket.

You witness people participating in sports, their work, everyday life, but you observe their behavior while looking into their eyes.  It’s the first time I’ve been scared in India.  Unfortunately, the adult males, even with smiles and howdy doo’s on their faces don’t care for the white man.  I observed it from the very beginning, and tried to sway their attitude, but it’s hard to do that to a billion people.

Many of the adult males didn’t appreciate my laughter and smiles.  I could understand that and even reserved it when walking the streets.  However, I couldn’t contain it when playing with those children.

All they could do was witness me.  If they looked beyond my eyes, they would stop and say, “okay, this is a mere idiot just having fun in a country he knows nothing about.  Let’s not steal from him or kill him.”

I’m not dead, just still learning,

Ben