What they don’t tell you about India….

Two summers ago I traveled to India with my family for a missions trip. We went to spread the word of God and to help relieve the poverty and lack of education in the slums. Although it was hard work, it was also extremely rewarding and entertaining. This is just a small glimpse of my experience. Enjoy.

Well, when we arrived in Chennai, India, after 22 hours of flying and 7 hours of layover, they didn’t tell us we would be swarmed by people trying to take our pictures. My whole family had traveled to India and our white skin and blonde hair turned regular citizens in to paparazzi dying to get just one shot.

We then boarded another plane, heading to the Port Blair, Andaman Islands, our first destination; I tried to rest my eyes. By this time it had been about 33 hours of traveling and, and maybe 2 hours of sleep. After the plane ride from Germany to Chennai, my sister and I were afraid to go to sleep after my sister awoke to the Indian man beside her stroking her arm, yea no one told us about that either. So now, here I sat dangerously resting my eyes, when I heard someone rustling in the seat in front of me. I opened my eyes to find a young boy peaking over the seat through an outdated camera’s lens. “Snap!” he took a picture. What in the world! But, I just say, “Oh gosh,” and laugh uncomfortably. Once we were walking around a park and just happened to look up at the beautiful buildings to spot some people filming us and taking pictures! I wasn’t sure if I should feel like Britney Spears or violated. Either way, it was strange.

We stayed at Hotel ACC a very strange grim picture of the Andaman Islands, but I didn’t mind. Somehow, roughing it made me feel more a part of the culture here, like enduring the open sewer ditches leading to the seemingly infinite gaping hole that happened to be right next to the great Hotel ACC. Our bathroom and shower had no dividing line. Just a toilet, shower head, and sink, all placed in the same small space. That was interesting, no one told us about that.

The most horrifying experience I had, happened when our camping rolls of toilet paper came to a sad end, and I came to the realization that people in India did not use toilet paper! No one told us that! Our second destination was Calcutta, now named Kolkata. Once there, I made it clear we needed to get toilet paper first. Eight of us hopped into a taxi with no air conditioning, and wild Indian music playing. The man’s car was covered in orange flowers which I later found out was for a Hindu holiday. Just to breath we stuck our heads out of the windows, but there is no exhaust regulation for the cars. When we wiped our faces with our scarves draped around our necks, black exhaust came off. Later on when we blew our noses, it was black from the exhaust filling your lungs. No one told us about that.

There are also very few traffic laws in India, and the ones in place are rarely followed. On our 45 minute excursion across Calcutta to get toilet paper, we scraped the side of a city bus, hit another taxi which was solved with a yelling match between the two drivers and hit a cow (thank goodness it was not a government cow; otherwise we would have been fined.)No one told us about that. Finally we reached a market and got a box of toilet paper. Since back, I have never been more appreciative and excited about something as simple as soft white toilet paper!

I knew India was very poor, but no one told us about the huts in the slums, the size of a large American Mini Van. No one told us about the baby’s crawling naked and parentless in the trash under freeway bridges or the little children covered in sores and flies. I guess it’s easier for people to pretend circumstances like this don’t exist, but rest assured, they do.

No one told us not to shake touch someone’s left hand (remember the whole toilet paper thing; yea well let’s just say they have “built in toilet paper.”) No one told us about the rickshaws, which are little motorcycles with a carriage with seats and a roof built on to the back. No one told us about the cows roaming freely everywhere, because they are sacred. No one told us how much chicken we would eat; it was in almost every meal because it’s the main and sometimes only meat they eat. No one told us there are different languages all over India, in the Andaman Islands, hello is, “Namaste,” in Calcutta hello is, “Namaska.” I didn’t figure that out until saying, “Namaste,” to people in Calcutta who laughed at me, woops. No one told us our loose fitting clothes were still inappropriate, we needed to wear salwar suites, scarves, and pants at all times despite the 80-90 degree weather.

It was an experience of a lifetime and despite all of the things I had to so quickly learn and grow used to, I loved it. I hope to go back next January, and this time, I won’t have to learn things the hard way.