You know that scene from The Wizard of Oz when the tornado strikes down and there are cows and houses and such ripping the town apart? And the cackle of some evil witch is the only noise loud enough to challenge the howling screams of hurricane-force winds... Yeah, so maybe it wasn't quite that bad, but it might as well have been per what I've experienced in life.
The house started to flood from the rain pouring down and our the water started creeping under our door, threatening to destroy all the gifts and knacks we've bought for our loved ones back home. We quickly picked everything up off the floor and placed it on our beds in case it got worse. Then, Lisa and I both held the door as we tried to open it, the wind threatening to knock us both over... and I wandered my way through the storm outside and began my rain dance, drowning, spinning, and shouting thanks for the relief from the incessant heat and sun that we've lived through for the past 3 and a half weeks.
It always rains at home, but I've never been so happy to be drowned before. It was sweet.
A few days ago, Lisa and I were venturing back to our homestay from the hospital where she found out her stitches are infected, and as we walked out from the metro to flag down an auto-rickshaw, we were swarmed by more than dozen drivers, all sweating, tongues wagging, shouting in mixed Hindi and English and Lisa and I just looked at each other like "Aye, aye, aye." I asked frantically to the shouting crowd of drivers if anyone knew how to take us to Khera Khurd, and of course, as they do, they all pretended they knew but they never do. We decided to get into one of the autos with one driver, and as we got in, the crowd of drivers shouting incessantly, another man jumped on top of the driver's lap and suddenly I realized what their intentions might be.
A wave of nausea overtook me and I glanced back at the crowd of drivers as our autorickshaw started to pull away into the bypassing highway of cows, trucks, rickshaws, bikes and pedestrians. The men were all frantically waving their fingers, their eyes wide, saying "No, no, don't go with him." And I believed them. I told Lisa to get out of the rickshaw, and she instantly jumped out as we were pulling away. We went back to the crowd and I made eye contact with one of the men there as the previous driver heckled us about leaving his auto. I made sure in some intangible way that the driver I was looking at would get us home safely.
He ushered us into his auto and drove us fast away from the shouting crowd. Many wrong turns, and lost minutes later, we drove seemingly aimlessly through cow fields and corn crops, the driver stopped to ask anyone in sight directions to Khera Khurd. He stopped once more at a canal where dozens of men were swimming and playing, and one came up and tried to deliver his advice on where to go. As the driver thanked him, he looked at Lisa and decided to reach into the auto to grab her. So goes a day in the life of a women in India. Subject to degradation and objectification. I am beseiged by reminders of how "Western girls are sluts" constantly, and I have to wonder... who created this stereotype? Is it our fault? Does the West perpetuate its own persona throughout the rest of the world?
Finally, we reached home and I profusely thanked the driver and tipped him nicely for getting us home safely.
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