travel

India, part 1: Observe and be observed

Hyderabad, Kerala, Roorkee and lots of moving

Blow horn! — scream the trucks in painted neon letters, which stand out against the asphalt highway. Oh, best believe I will — and the road is alive with rickshaws, cars, motorcycles and people, each of them following the trucks’ command. We are in India – I am an outsider held by hand of someone I now call family, who moves freely, carrying me through the current. I catch looks from across the street and the benches nearby – our eyes meet, curious and amused. India allows no quiet introduction. It immediately throws me into the plot, into its heat, its noise, its colour – and doesn’t let go.


A swirl of vendors beckons me inside, "Madam, this way, madam". Doors open and close, people pass by, pause at the ice cream stand, ask about prices, glance my way as I stand out from the average Indian crowd. Vendors see it as the opportunity: I watch Nipun's aunt bargaining from 2800 to 600 rupees for shoes. The whole family bursts into laughter at vendor’s audacity. Chaos is embraced and celebrated. The city of flows is sweeping me from place to place. Voices are loud, you might think people are fighting— but everyone is undoubtedly secretly having fun.


Dear, you might be surprised how me and your grandma would communicate without your translation while not sharing a language — believe me, childhood photos speak louder than words. I will have fun trying to read Hindi, and will finally pronounce the last letter of your name correctly after a thousand attempts.


I see the home country of my partner for the first time: the heart of his childhood stories. It’s a culture I meet now in person – and learn to greet with a gentle touch on the elders’ feet. What I see and hear stirs something new and unfamiliar in me, it is not a clear perception.Yet, showing India to me is all about radical acceptance. It is his way of saying: "Look, that is everything I carry inside me, my most honest and inherited self".

We land in Hyderabad and drive through the city. Suddenly, the cars slow and curve into an unexpected arc: cobra. It rests in the middle of the road, its wide neck ready to attack, forcing the drivers to distance, never letting them come close. I’m told these occurrences are rare yet do happen; and that alone leaves me startled. I lift my gaze from the cobra and see: motorcycles weaving between the cars, four people at one seat, people crossing roads amidst all this chaos, drivers honking. Already from the first evening I know: I have never seen anything like this country before, and oh boy, how much is there to discover. At the start, I feel both curious and overstimulated, thrown headfirst into the rhythm of India.
Next morning, we catch a flight to the South: Nipun, his parents and I. We are going to Kerala, the most Southern state of India.

Coconut shell breaks confidently under the sharp machete of a Master. His hands with a coconut are stretching out towards me, a straw is put inside. "This is surreal”, I find myself thinking as I'm taking mindful sips of fresh coconut water. On our way back, I stretch on top of the boat, waving to people from other boats, who greet me with a smile. I'm catching the wind fully, carefully, remembering the heat struggles on the first day — even in March South Indian heat with its humidity requires some tolerance from my side.

As I look up in Kerala, I see nets underneath coconut trees, a variety of bananas grouped on the branches, and many not yet ripe mangos. The taste is almost at the tip of my tongue, blending with the chili paneer I had before. It is bittersweet — perhaps the best flavour I can give to India, when its diversity comes into one picture.
Kerala. The sun is rising behind the water and outlines the silhouette of palm trees. Men are busy with early morning fishing, passing the nets to each other, while the third person is diligently rowing the boat. The kites join them, hoping to catch a good early morning treat from the backwaters. We celebrate the new day with the sun behind the palm trees and clouds on a horizon and honour it with a goodbye next to the ocean, watching the high tide that keeps us at a respectful distance.
We are back in Hyderabad, where I buy a new hat in Ramoji film city: I need to deal with this Indian sun. The largest film city in the world is a playground for architects: a place where buildings exist only to be filmed. Pink columns, tiny Lakshmi statues, ornate details – all swirl before your eyes. The European Street you see in some Bollywood movies bursts with colours. Buildings are both real and like a dollhouse, a strongly exaggerated fairytale. “Noted. If architecture doesn’t work out, I can always work on a film city”, - and we close the chapter of Hyderabad, rapidly moving to our next destination: Roorkee.
Roorkee is a place Nipun jokingly calls the “Delft of India”, mainly known for its university. Around 27 years ago, two people met each other there, in Roorkee Institute of Technology, going on walks and spending time together. Without them, Nipun would never exist, and neither would the two of us, standing here now.

These thoughts remain when I sit with his grandmother, flipping through a thick photo album. I recognize details that seem oddly familiar, which remind me of our own pictures we keep at home, and I smile. She points to a smiling toddler and says: “Nipun!” – and we laugh at this cheeky face. The distant features of a man I know now, serious, caring and loving, acquire new light in this chubby child I see in the photos, making my heart feel warmer.

The green walls are adorned with Sanskrit prayers, and Nipun’s voice is soothing at the home altar, telling me about Trimurti. On a kitchen wall, two portraits attract my attention, and I pause, looking at the sparkles of a wedding day on Nipun’s parents faces.
From Roorkee, I remember the Ayurveda centre where I buy skincare products for my family, the bamboo scaffolding, an Ayurveda hospital and the venue for Hindu ceremonies. Hinduism has many rituals, one of which is the name ceremony for newborn kids – Namakarana. Namakarana is a rite where a child is given a formal name, accompanied by mantras and chosen according to the astrological birth chart. This is how Nipun’s name was selected, too. His family still calls him Joy, a name given to him right after birth, even before they settled on Nipun.

I direct my film camera to the door, taking pictures of Nipun’s grandfather reading a book in the sunset light. A cup of chai, filling dinner, jewellery, gifts and his aunt accompany us to the bus. Time to go. Goodbye, Roorkee.

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