Hello from Hyderabad

Ha.

Try and put into words the first few impressions of India?

Ha.

Far more talented men and women of all creeds and colors in all ages that visitors have come to India have tried to do just the same.

And I feel like I’ve read half their stories in the past 13 years, fascinated with India since a long-ago high school class demanded I play the role of the world’s largest democracy.

But all those books, and any other books you could ever read – and even all the movies you could every watch – nothing short of years in the developing world could prepare you for the first blast of India.

It’s not the airport. Delhi’s is nice and new. No different the Europe. Hyderabad’s, too, is state of the art. But the real India lies out the door.

A soon-to-be leaving officer picked me up at the airport bright and early Friday morning. Just as English Peter had done six years earlier, she shared a long list of goods and bads and an answer to every question I could muster. I couldn’t help but interrupt her monologue with a long series of “Oh wow. That’s the first (insert your favorite Indian stereotype here) I’ve ever seen in my life!”

I wasn’t fully expecting a full blast of culture shock. I thought maybe I’d studied it long enough that I wouldn’t be intimidated to see autorickshaws swerving to dodging cows and aunties alike; three-limbed beggars stooped right next to the gates of five-star hotels; tangles of low-clearance electrical wires strung between long lines of homes/offices/everythings caught somewhere between dilapidating and potential.

The result’s a whirlwind. One I’ll gladly admit that I don’t understand a bit yet. But I suppose that’s half the fun. Two years to learn and grow. To make sense of Hinduism alongside Islam. Palaces and slums. Outsourcing and scam-artists. Villages and metropolises. A live of privilege and a commitment to a greater good. My merry brand of hedonism in a traditional society. Etcetera. Should be fun. Hope it proves good writing. And reading.