Arrival

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I have grown uneasy. Inevitably, maybe, for what sense can I expect to make of this strange place? I have been hiding in my room at the International Youth Centre for most of the day, finding solace in A Suitable Boy and struggling vainly to ignore the lonely state of things. I took a walk to break out and demystify this sandy, hot, smelly city, but it only led to further disorientation: a prison encased with rusty wire and crumbling moldings, a turbaned man vomiting on the lawn of a large estate, a monkey chained to the back of a passing bicycle. I hurried back, wondering what happened to the India of my fantasies. Where was the music and curry-tinged air? The cuisine? The myth? I have only peanut butter and stale "butter bites," hot highways and the pervading scent of urine.

I recognize that there is value, beauty even, in mercilessly removing yourself from all you hold dear, and tomorrow I will certainly find the magic I'm looking for. Today, though, I am just frightened. It didn't even help when I met two other girls from my program in the lobby- we were too much like desperate sailors clinging to a life-raft, politely beseeching the others not to let us go adrift.

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