Tigers to end it all:
Ellen and I (Alice) were in charge of the final leg of our student-directed travel: the visit to Ranthambhore National Park in Sawai Madhopur or to many, the best chance in India of seeing a tiger. Armed with our sharpest elbows, Ellen and I woke up at 3 am that morning to get tickets for the safaris, and experienced first hand the corruption that is so prevalent in all levels of Indian bureaucracy. Although we were first in line, the Indian men who’d been sent by their hotels to procure tickets somehow disappeared after the gate was opened, and after waiting 10 minutes for the man selling the tickets to pay attention to us, we were told that only the worst tickets were available (in a diesel car–the loudest and biggest). Dejected, we bought those tickets for the morning. We’d already reserved tickets for the afternoon in order to maximize our chances of seeing a tiger. The first safari was all right; we were allowed to feed the Indian magpies that swarmed us, perching on our hands and heads. Our guide didn’t speak much English, however. We returned that afternoon, and as we were about to leave the park, our guide (who spoke very good English) heard a deer warning call, signalling the approach of a tiger, so we raced towards the noise and found a TIGER. We watched it as it crossed a lake, then followed it into the brush. After about 30 minutes of following it, we left, only to find yet ANOTHER tiger leisurely strolling down the road. By then it was just excessive. There is some debate about how many more we saw, but we saw at least 2, and one of them ended up catching a monkey for an afternoon snack. Real life is definitely better than the nature channel.
Farewell, India!
Three months later, the Shanti India Carpe Diem group has returned to Delhi, the place that initially tested our determination to go to India and stay there. Now that we are back in Delhi, I find it an appropriate time to do a short tribute and goodbye to India, the place we have dedicated 3 months of our lives to. As the waves of nostalgia and the realization that I will be leaving in just a few hours hit, I find myself already missing the brightly colored saris and the impeccably dressed men. I’m already forgetting the things that so often made me miss home and the US: the immense poverty, so obvious in the plethora of slums; my bag getting stolen; the intense heat; the constant call of “Yes, madam?” as if everyone I saw on the street were continuing a conversation we’d had earlier; the rip-offs aimed at tourists; the dirty, smelly trash everywhere; cows left to die in the street; the constant stares and occasional gropes; and the obvious gender inequality.
Instead, I am left with a fondness for this strange, crazy country and its (mostly) kind people; the bright, occasionally blinding colors; the delicious thali plates of dal, veggies, and rice or chapati; the huge diversity of landscapes, from the beautiful, serene mountains of the north to the find sands of Rajasthan; the loud tuk-tuk rides for which you ferociously haggle, though the difference is less than 20 cents; and the delicious, ubiquitous cups of chai and tea stalls. Sitting on the roof of Hotel Amax, where we began this bewildering, stressful journey, I feel ready to go home. Yet, I am absolutely certain that I will miss this place and that I will return. So goodbye, India. Somehow, you made me love you.