After surviving a twelve hour long non-Air Conditioned overnight bus ride full of first class body odor wearers and non-stop starers, I decided to let my hair down (or my sleeves up for that matter) and do what any respectable Indian woman might do when she heads to a metropolis for the weekend with friends: shop. Rupees in hand and Hindi on the brain, I ready myself to bargain my way towards urban retail therapy.
The whole ride down I couldn’t help wondering if it was okay for me to justify an entire trip to Bangalore, formerly known as Bangaluroo, India’s third most populous city to accompany some Indian friends on a tour-de-force shopping trip (with maybe a coffee or two at Café Coffee Day in between). However, sitting in an auto-rickshaw again after so long, my heart yearned back for my former life in Delhi, and the answer came to me as an overwhelming “yes!”
One nice predictable thing about India is that when visiting anywhere, nine times out of ten, there will be a holiday. This weekend many devout Bangalorians were celebrating Lord Ganesha, the elephant god of prosperity, wealth, and good fortunes. Thus, it came as no surprise that throughout the city all weekend long, amidst colored lights and elaborately decorated Ganesha figurines, people were dancing, drumming, and celebrating Ganesha’s givings in true hallucinogenic style. Lucky for me, I was so delirious from my bus ride that while the others complained about the large groups of crazies causing serious bouts of traffic throughout the city, I enjoyed watching people being truly happy. I was especially mesmerized by an elderly woman no fewer than eighty years young, running and dancing alongside the parade and her comrades like a rebellious young teenager. Ganesha truly has done wonders.
By the end of this short trip in this bustling (and supposedly friendliest) Indian city, I am reminded how truly exhausting city life can be. On my way back up the ghat, I can’t help thinking how nice it’ll be to not have to fight with any number of auto-rickshaw drivers so they don’t, quite literally, ‘take you for a ride’ back up on my mountain. Rickshaws haven't even made it up there yet.
And then, I guess it seems, my wandering soul will never be truly at rest, as no matter what I do, where I go, and what my ambitions may be, I will always be looking for greener grass on some other slopey hill. Thus, why not let your inner passions come forwards every once and awhile, step into that pair of jeans and somewhat modest tank top and give in to those bare necessities? Only then may heart, body, and soul remain truly at ease.
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