cocoons

7/2/13 - 2:30pm - mussoorie, india

i had a big day yesterday. 18 hours of travel. taxi, plane, bus, bus, bus, taxi. it was frustrating, mostly because of my white skin. every time one mode of transport came to an end i was flocked by people either trying to rip me off or just staring at me as though i were from another planet. the longer i am in india, the more i realise they may be correct. not from another planet but definitely from another world.

i’ve walked past too many beggars. too many mothers have thrown their children in my face begging me to help. some of the kids have been injured...a little baby with raw burns all down his neck creeping i don’t know how far under the neck of his t-shirt. the diseased and disabled line the streets hoping that someone will notice their world. it’s not the world i live in. the reality of poverty is, again, smashing my brain. it hurts to be here. what can i do? what can you do? these aren’t new questions to me. the questions are like the beggars themselves. persistent. chasing me down. speaking to me. “ma’am, ma’am.” trying to get me to look them in the eye...for it’s only when we look that we see...and it’s only when we see that we act. the questions are big and deserve a response. the poor deserve the same.

it was dark when i left my hotel to get to the airport yesterday. 4:30am. i was gazing out the window noticing again all the piles of rubbish lining the streets. as my eyes became accustomed to the light i realised that what i was seeing was not rubbish at all, but people in blanket cocoons. so many people. i counted about 100 on one stretch of road alone...blankets tucked under feet and pulled tightly over sleeping heads...a sea of human cocoons in shades of grey and brown...not rubbish at all. this is not the world i live in.

the colour of my skin caused me some problems yesterday. i got taken advantage of by more than one person. i got lied to by more than one person. slowly, the colour of my skin is making it nearly impossible to trust the words of people i meet on the street. sad...but the colour of my skin did not cause me to be a blanket cocoon. it afforded me some luxuries that the cocoons will never know. it allowed me to book a flight out of jaipur, forfeiting the train ticket i was supposed to use. sharing a berth with lisa on our last train journey together was about all i could take. i was introduced to some new friends. a half crazy man on the top bunk who took drugs all night. a great guy next door who spent the whole night hocking up something from deep in his chest and spitting it out. and a cross-dresser who elbowed me in the side of the head as he was flailing about fixing up his sari. i also met an amazing gastro bug who kindly stayed with me for 3 days so we could get to know eachother really well. (i suspect the culprit was some mashed potato i ate in varanasi...laced with water fresh from the ganges.)

i had a big day yesterday. i cried...more than once. i was scared...more than once. i was lost...more than once. but at the end of it all i made it to my hotel in the beautiful hill station of mussoorie...and i slept in a bed. i suspect that you did too.

cocoons aren’t meant to stay cocoons forever. they’re meant to turn into colourful, life-filled butterflies. that will be a good day.