an american in india

Hello, dear reader, with whom I’ve shared so much. If you’re reading this, it means the time has come for me to leave. Perhaps, as you’re rubbing your weary eyes and preparing for bed, I’m up in the air, waving goodbye to you from the polluted sky above Bengaluru. Yes, after 11 weeks in the Garden City, I’m going back home. Back to a place, where, like they say on Cheers, “Everyone knows my name.” Then again, did anyone even watch Cheers in India? Another question I’ll never know the answer to. Add it to a growing list of questions I…

Dear reader, who I may know well or not at all, you are going to get to know all sorts of strange things about me. Let’s be forward with each other, shall we? Today, for instance, I am going to write about my toilet. Of all of the things I’ve been itching to share with you, I think I need to talk about my toilet. And while I’m at it, I might throw in some interesting details about the rest of the bathroom as well. You see, this isn’t really the type of restroom I’m used to. Pic: Holly Thorpe Had…

In the United States, I’m never really forced to think about the colour of my skin. I suspect very few white, middle-class girls are, although I may be wrong there. This is a privilege, a luxury that, despite its pricelessness, society rarely reminds me of. However, in Bijapur, a small town in northern Karnataka, I was constantly reminded of it. A naturally introverted person, especially while travelling, I really do my best to blend in. Neutral colours, quiet voice, don’t stray from my group. This would be easier if I were not so pale; I give off glare in sunlight.…

I was standing in awe of a temple carved out of stone, the colour of a sunset in a place in North Karnataka, when my travelling companion approached me. She’d been speaking with the man who gives tickets. “He said it’s Rs 10 each, but Rs 100 for foreigners.” Differential pricing for Indian and foreigners. Pic: Holly Thorpe I grinned. Clever joke, ticket-taker. But when I approached the ticketing window, a cheerful blue sign confirmed the sentiment: “Foreigners: Rs 100.” Grin successfully wiped from my face, I was a little taken aback. Was it really going to cost me ten…

From the moment I stepped off the plane, it became impossible to forget that I was in Bengaluru; the city demanded my attention. The humidity that alighted on my skin and curled my hair, the sound of new languages being spoken around me - it all seemed to say, “Hey! Pay attention! You’re not at home anymore!” As if I could forget. No sense is left untouched. At all times of day, the sounds, sights, and smells of the city surround me. I fall asleep and wake up to a barrage of horns, the howling of dogs, the sound of…

Looks can be very deceiving. Pic: Eden Ezsak When people ask about my daily discoveries in Bengaluru, I have a hard time recalling what I still find surprising in India. After two months, I have moved past the innumerous cows that so nonchalantly add to the congestion on the Bengaluru roads. The symphony of barking dogs, shouts, calls to prayer, traffic and endless horns has drifted quietly into the background of my consciousness. I no longer feel like rickshaw rides are similar to my childhood experiences at amusement parks. The perpetually burning mound of garbage near my apartment has become…