India has an incredible amount of color. If I were autistic, and unable to filter out important from unimportant stimulus, this place would be a nightmare. Rich fuscia pink scarved with bright green flowers, Faded baby blue buildings next to blood red posters; everything is colorful.
Seeing the boundaries and joys of this culture helps me better appreciate and understand those that exist in america.
There are lines here that don't exist in America: bounds of modesty and decorum. There is a profound respect for oneself and one's chastity that seems absent in modern american media. Although there are obvious issues with the old indian system of arranged marriage (mutual tolerance is a poor replacement for true romance) I can see that a result of this old system was a sort of humility about such matters. Parents are trusted and expected enough to know what is best for their child. Of course they want the best for their offspring, so why should the child doubt their parents? Even know, when young people date, it is for the purpose of preparing for marriage and not for "fun" or for "getting to know you." This would make asking a girl out a lot scarier. :)
Other lines exist in America that don't in India. Street lines, for instance. Mamma mia! If you could see how people drive here! Honking can mean, "hey I'm coming around a corner" or "hey I see you" or "hey I have a horn on my car, do you?" There is just one constant barrage of traffic, people on motorcycles and trucks and tiny yellow taxi tricycle things, all speeding within feet of eachother. There aren't really lanes, and a lot of people drive a lot like I do. :) But it scares me a bit when other people do it.
Here, you call everyone brother "anna" or sister "acka" and you bob your head back and forth like a bobble-head to say "ok" or "I am happy" or "my head wiggles, does yours too?" I really like it and have adopted it as a habit these past few days.
As I road on a motorcyle, taking pictures of incredible images as I passed, I couldn't help but smile. How blessed am I to live in this culture, with these people, even for just a few days? They are teaching me how to really love life. After a while I had to stop smiling because I realized I had dust sticking to my teeth. But I smiled on the inside anyways. The picture of life here is different, but it is still a beautiful balance of color inside of the lines.
Seeing the boundaries and joys of this culture helps me better appreciate and understand those that exist in america.
There are lines here that don't exist in America: bounds of modesty and decorum. There is a profound respect for oneself and one's chastity that seems absent in modern american media. Although there are obvious issues with the old indian system of arranged marriage (mutual tolerance is a poor replacement for true romance) I can see that a result of this old system was a sort of humility about such matters. Parents are trusted and expected enough to know what is best for their child. Of course they want the best for their offspring, so why should the child doubt their parents? Even know, when young people date, it is for the purpose of preparing for marriage and not for "fun" or for "getting to know you." This would make asking a girl out a lot scarier. :)
Other lines exist in America that don't in India. Street lines, for instance. Mamma mia! If you could see how people drive here! Honking can mean, "hey I'm coming around a corner" or "hey I see you" or "hey I have a horn on my car, do you?" There is just one constant barrage of traffic, people on motorcycles and trucks and tiny yellow taxi tricycle things, all speeding within feet of eachother. There aren't really lanes, and a lot of people drive a lot like I do. :) But it scares me a bit when other people do it.
Here, you call everyone brother "anna" or sister "acka" and you bob your head back and forth like a bobble-head to say "ok" or "I am happy" or "my head wiggles, does yours too?" I really like it and have adopted it as a habit these past few days.
As I road on a motorcyle, taking pictures of incredible images as I passed, I couldn't help but smile. How blessed am I to live in this culture, with these people, even for just a few days? They are teaching me how to really love life. After a while I had to stop smiling because I realized I had dust sticking to my teeth. But I smiled on the inside anyways. The picture of life here is different, but it is still a beautiful balance of color inside of the lines.
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