I was just about to entitle this entry as "belated blogging", or something along those lines, but then I thought no - that's boring. And India, is anything but that.
I should have written a blog upon arrival, or not long into the first week - documenting my experiences here is a vital part of the journey for me. My memory will soon tarnish the richness of my adventures and mishaps so far here in India. I could change the date on here, so it looks like I've written it when I "should" have; I could pretend, but what's the point. I do promise though that this shall be the first blog of many; listening to KT Tunstall's soothing sounds, I'm quite enjoying this. I believe I've been avoiding writing a blog for the past few days, not long after I "recovered" from traveller's diahorrea (don't worry, I won't dazzle you with any of the details), because of my innate ability to procrastinate and to dodge even the simplest of tasks continuously.
But. This is isn't simple. Describing India through my eyes, ears and all other senses, is quite difficult. Especially when doing it last week would have been much easier. India is a unique place. Unique to each and every individual and how they percieve it, or not. It's a beautiful place ravaged by dust and pollution, crumbling buildings, poverty and age-old stigmas. Yet it is so strangely and seemingly easily entwined with vast landscapes, astonishing architecture, a vibrant culture encased in immeasurable years of brilliant history and a rapidly evolving scene of modernity which is unfolding throughout this city faster than the hurried, monday-morning limbs off a london tube station.
I should warn you before I embark upon an ocean of rants and raves, I can Ramble On quite a bit. Quite a lot in fact. There's nobody around to save me from my sorry grammatical fate either, so if anyone is reading this - I suggest skim-reading if you're planning on looking at more than one. See, perfect example of my colloquially crafted excuse for typing words.
The first week was pretty jam-packed, although my belly wasn't as it decided to pay homage to the fact that it is not the most reliable part of my anatomy. Tuesday off, immodium tablets out. Wednesday off and the doctor diagnosed me with traveller's diahorrea. 4 pills to be taken, anti-biotics. Here was me being "confident" in the cheap fact that immodium really does cure diahorrea, and not just lessen the toilet trips, and that the doctor can't tell me anything I don't already know for rps 1,500 (that's around 21 quid). Worth it though, and definitely the smart thing to do, the money is nothing for healthcare in India if you're an ignorant "tourist" in need of a quick recovery like me. Besides immodium is aparrantely a thumbs down, it can cause temporary bowl paralysis if you keep taking it - it sounds more serious than it is. I may have had this from doing so, I was just bloated for a little while at one point. So, lesson number one on arrival in India: don't be a stubborn know-it-all, get a doctor; get better. I did, and with great anticipation I set off for the Agra express with the 30 other fellows, including my sick-buddies (a few of us had sickness and diahorrea at this point), somewhere around 5am. It's great waking up when you've got a damn good reason for it - I'm always thoroughly excited about the ritual of tooth-cleansing every morning. Haha, no - the Taj Mahal was the motivation behind this early wake-up for us all. I wasn't bothered about getting up that early, in fact I would have preferred to have gone earlier (or maybe later) for the golden hours of photography - 1 hour after sunrise and 1 hour before sunset. It's not just this "perfect" setting for a photograph, and in my case many, many photographs, but I'd love to watch the sun progressively rise over the delicate palace, the landscape evolving with the subtle but striking changes in light, tone and colour. And it would just be nice of course.
The experience was netherless wonderful, not so much packed with tourists (that would have been disappointing) as Indian opportunists grabbing the moment you appear like you want to have a photograph with their freind, your friend, their wife.... It was very flattering recieving all these requests, at first. But honestly, I was trying to get some damn good pictures! It's not great when you think you have the focus and the awkward uncomfortable squatting position that comes with it, when some guy bounds on over to you asking for a picture. Generally, from what I "know" about the culture, and from my experiences, it is because I'm white - and I look paler than I usually do in a hot country, 2 days in bed doesn't help, neither does lots of factor 50+ suncream. But hey-ho, it didn't bug me too much, creeped me out a litte - if only because I know what I look like in the mornings, never mind with a sweat-plastered forehead and an inconspicious wet patch on my garments down my front from the incessant sweating. I was also stood next to, on a few occassions, quite beautiful Indian women - draped in exquisite saris, jewellery and giant grins. My own goofy grin was no match. But here I have a habit of concentrating on conveying a story too visually to portray a reality that may be generally seen, a lot of the time men would ask for photos - not exactly your favourite aunt in a colourful sari. But that wasn't important, interesting, slightly amusing and somewhat irritating - but not important in terms of the whole day, even less so of the whole week.
I'm getting tired now, it's past two am - sorry KT Tunstall although you have a lovely background for my minds concentration plane - my bed is calling to me.
Much happened on Thursday, many pictures and a couple of sneaky videos have been captured for consumption or for the unknown whereabouts of my expensive and needed storage device. Friday was spent in bed by my again, and Saturday and Sunday were characterised by reflections sessions and an evening departure for Mumbai fellows in the former; a long lay-in, a city stroll and a 'catch-up' on tasks on the latter day.
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday will be discussed in tommorow's blog - I'll even upload some pictures!
Well, it's a long over-due lights out over here - and I have no idea what's happening with you guys in the UK and elsewhere - but I bid you a good nights sleep. My fingers are itching for some strings, trying to find a guitar is difficult. As can be a lot of things at first. But that's all part of the fun. India is like a string, or many strings - immeasurable, undefinable, changeable.
Carpe diem.
