My breath caught in my throat as I stepped through the door and onto the ramp. What has most stuck in my mind after that first second in India 4 years ago was the heat and the smell. Brimstone, fire and brimstone. The smell of a burning city drenched in heat. It was one in the morning and still the heat and humidity made it hard to breath. My eyes could barely take in all that I was seeing as I made my way to the crowded bus that would take us to the terminal. Again I was bombarded by smell, the smell of onions, garlic, and body odor. India was so much about smell in those early days. I was pressed into the bus, folded in with the masses, as we rolled towards a building that hardly looked to any standard I have known. This was an airport but looked more like a condemned building.
Stepping off the bus and into the halls my eyes took it all in, broken tiles, filth like I have never seen, the red stains on the wall from the spit of pan. I kept following the crowd and tried not to stare at the worker sleeping on the floor in his dirty clothes or the heavily armed military that were standing at each doorway. Such things I thought I would never get used to as I saw them for the first time. A rat as big as a cat scurried by, and I was the only one who seemed to notice. The women ushering children in their brightly colored saris pushed forward without a thought.
Through customs and onto the baggage claim where I again was in awe of the mere masses. People pushed and shoved and with no regard for each other and hurried to the front to be the first to wait. Yes, waiting was to become a very big part of my life, I just didn't know it yet. Most intriguing was the man next to me, shrouded in white with gold blessings on his forehead. He was rudely speaking to one of his "helpers" who was obviously in charge of his bags. I say rudely speaking not because i knew his words but because you could see it in the way he spoke, in his very candor. He was certainly far more important to the man he was speaking to. This, to me, was completely foreign. As an American I was raised believeing that all men are equal, I have friends in all walks of life and pay scales. I would soon find out this was not the case in India, the caste system was alive and well.
This "very important man" was blocking my way to my bag, so I respectfully squeezed my way to the belt and grabbed it. I struggled with it and managed to slide it off the belt, no one offered to help me. Somehow they made room for me to pass by and I noticed many eyes on me and for the first time realizing that I was quite literally the only white person in the whole area. I was the minority, this was a new experience that I later would treasure. Seeing the world from a different view point. Color and race have never been an issue for me, I don't see the difference, but being a minority and a foreigner for awhile was very good experience. It taught me a lot about the world and myself.
I had to face armed personnel again, to give my last piece of documentation to. I have never seen as many guns in my life as i did in that first hour in India. Their constant presence reminded me that i was a long way from home! I was ready to get outside and away from this chaotic mess and on to see my husband, who i prayed was waiting on the other side of the door! Again the heat and humidity blasted me as I left the doors and found myself in a large corral. On the other side of the fence were thousands of people waiting to meet their loved ones. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people I faced, but there he was, an easy face to find in the crowd. Never in my life had I been so happy to see him and at the same time the uncertainty of what was to come was lingering in the back of my mind.
This was India, my journey had just begun...
