No Place Like Home

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

After almost a week of traveling, not staying in the same spot for more than 24 hours, I can finally say that I have arrived home. Home is where I have a room, a bed for myself, and basically a place to put my stuff. This being India, traditional amenities are a bit scarce, or at least not like they are back in the states. Nevertheless, it is still more than enough for me.

Before I go into describing the house, let me tell you about my bus ride, which turned out to be one of the most frightening and exciting times of my life. Atul and I departed from Delhi at approximately 18:30 on an overnight bus journey to Himachal Pradesh and Palampur. I should have gotten a clue about the nature of the upcoming journey when I noticed both Atul and the driving praying before departure. The driver went so far as to light incense on a portable shrine to Ganesh that he had with him at the front of the bus. Seriously, there was an altar in my bus. I should have realized what that meant.

This bus was in desperate need of renovation, at least by American standards. It shook, rattled and rolled during the entire trip, and the noise it made was enough to keep me up on its own. Add to that the nearly incessant horn blowing that seems characteristic of Indian driving, and I knew that I wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. Oh well, how bad can it be? Turns out, pretty bad.

The first two thirds of the ride were in the thickest fog I have ever seen. Less than five meters of visibility. Looking out the bus windows, you feel as if you are travelling to the Twilight Zone. That, or it feels like a scene from Stephen King’s The Mist. Yet the driver felt it was necessary to travel at about 70 or 80 kph. How could he see? Needless to say, I was a bit concerned.

Then at around two in the morning, in a span of about thirty seconds, the fog completely disappeared. We had reached the Himalayan foothills in Himachal which effectively killed the fog. “Good,” I thought, “the rest of the way should be much safer and more pleasant, and I will be able to sleep.” Couldn’t have been more wrong. Foothills, remember? That means the road stayed straight for no farther than 20 meters. The rest was hairpin turns and steep slopes. Still the driver didn’t slow down. For the next four hours, I didn’t sleep a wink. I was too busy hanging on to the seat in front of me and anything else that would stabilize me. It was like an old wooden roller coaster, except it lasted longer than 90 seconds and there wasn’t a creepy carnie taking my ticket. The worst part was that everybody else in the bus was fast asleep! By the name of everything that is holy, how could they fall asleep when I could hardly stay seated and was actively trying not to puke? Finally at 5:30, we arrived in Palampur. After kissing the ground and rescinding the promise I made to become religious, I was driven to my house.

The place where I am staying for the next few months is a two-story mud hut, which sounds filthy, but is quite clean. It’s just that the house is constructed out of mud, like adobe in the southwest. Décor is limited and the doorways are a bit short, but there is running water and kitchen with a wooden fireplace used for cooking. There is a wonderful man named Shammi who cooks for me and the other inhabitants who will be arriving later in the week. My bedroom is a small room in the corner of the house that is really more of a large closet, but I love the coziness of it. No heating of course, which kind of sucks because nights in the mountains tend to get quite cold. However, I have a very heavy blanket and my clothes are more than adequate to keep me warm. Chai three times a day also helps.

I start work soon. Every hour I am in the dark about the next hour’s schedule, but I don’t mind. It’s quite exciting, you know? Every day is an adventure, and in my new home, it looks like it will be that way for a long time.