Welcoming an Attitude Change

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India is the perfect scapegoat. A wonderfully easy receptacle for all of my homesickness, frustration with global politics, and confusion regarding my place in the world. Delhi, being my primary lens in which to view India, can fit this judgment very comfortably. Yet there is something beautiful, something that I have missed until now, that is inherent in a country of more than a billion people whose primary goal is to create democracy. It is erratic, and at many times overwhelmingly abrasive, but beneath the dusty surface, India is full of warm and loving people who are proud of their country devoted to their families.
Rickshaw drivers, who I once believed were the bane of humanity, more often than not work in the city in order to support their families in the countryside, whom they rarely get to see. True, rickshaw drivers are notorious bargainers, and almost universally rip off tourists. Even more true is that most foreign tourists can afford to be ripped off. With that said, I once encountered a rickshaw driver who I thought was a complete prick and tried to take me to every shop in South Delhi. After an excruciating ride, I left his rickshaw in a hurry, only to be followed by him for what seemed an eternity. When I could not ignore his calls any longer, I turned angrily to him. He was holding out a few rupees. I had left him more than we had agreed, and he could not conscionably take the difference. It is this kind of honesty, a kind that rests not on truth but on mutual agreement, that continues to amaze me about this place.
This past Diwali has brought the human side to light of what I had previously deemed a horrible place. Diwali is often described as the Hindu Christmas by those who undoubtedly don’t celebrate Diwali. This is true in that Diwali is a time for family and a time for bright shiny lights. From an American perspective, however, it may be easiest to think of it that way. Diwali is largely a celebration of the homecoming of Rama, the central hero of the Ramayana, to his kingdom, where he is welcomed with lights. The Ramayana is a Hindu epic, indeed THE Hindu epic, but is really just a cultural story, in the same way that Christmas and its celebration of the Nativity is. What I mean by this is that the story of the Nativity seems to me to be less important than what Christmas has come to represent for those who celebrate it. Hardly all who celebrate Christmas even believe in Jesus as the savior, but all recognize it as an intended time for giving and being with loved ones.
The Ramayana is the most well known story in Hinduism, but Diwali is celebrated by Sikhs, Jains, and Buddhists, all of whom have attached their own variations on why Diwali is celebrated. It has thus become largely an Indian holiday, and is a time to be spent with family and to enjoy the gift of life. The air becomes noticeably friendlier in India during the weeks before Diwali and during the few days that it is celebrated. Everyone is excited for the holidays and is welcoming of others. Although I was away, many of my friends were welcomed into Indian homes, homes in which most of my friends were no more than a friend of a friend. Yet they were treated like family. Indian weddings are no different. And with six months out of the year being devoted to holidays in the Hindu calendar, something which I had mistaken for overkill, there is plenty of time to welcome others. For the first time, I am not enraged by the fireworks going off outside of my apartment at four in the morning. I am only awoken and then mildly disgruntled.
So am I ready to live here forever? No. It’s not my home, and I am used to a different culture, a different life. India is different from the United States, undoubtedly. I disagree with many cultural practices. If I were raised here, I may have a different attitude. But if were forced to live here, and I were with my loved ones, I could make it work. That may not seem like high praise, and I suppose it’s not. It may even be pretentious for me to essentially say, “Ok, I could maybe grace this place with my presence.” But I’m sure India would welcome me regardless.
The truth of the matter is that India doesn’t care whether I like it or not. Delhi, especially, be damned if it cares. I’m just a guest. I’m not family. But I’m always welcome.

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