When calling with family or answering texts from friends, one word has come up in every conversation about India: intensity. Before beginning my Fellowship with AIF, I had never set foot in India. Through readings and conversations with people who had lived in or grown up in the country, I had a picture of what it would be like. Stepping off the plane in Delhi was a reminder that a conceptual understanding of a place is wildly different from experiencing it on the ground. My first month here has been a constant process of repeatedly learning the fact that here, like an amplifier in Spinal Tap, things are turned up to 11.
The intensity of India comes out in many ways that have humbled me and made me struggle. Visiting the Charminar, one of the most famous sights in my host city of Hyderabad, I had each of my five senses pushed to their limits. Some of the largest crowds I had ever seen pushed into each other, jostling me around. Rows of street vendors loudly shouted, hocking their wares to passersby. Lights blared from stands playing music while the scents of roasting meats and stewing biryani clashed with the odors of trash bins overflowing from the day’s monsoon rains. As I navigated these crowds, I looked up to see the Charminar, a massive, ornate, 200 foot tall gate built during the Qutb Shahi dynasty to welcome visitors to the city, glowing purple from colored lights. This level of overstimulation has been repeated constantly, in Hyderabad’s massive flows of traffic, numbers of people I have never seen before, and daily flooding that laps at the floor of my auto-rickshaw ride home. India’s size has also repeatedly shocked me. While I knew that it was large, I am repeatedly surprised to hear coworkers say they are going to a nearby village for the weekend, and that it is just an 11 hour drive.
India’s problems have their own levels of intensity. The scale of poverty is different and in many ways more cruel than the poverty that I have experienced through work in the US, the Balkans, and East Africa. Gender divides are more prominent and difficult to overcome. In Hyderabad, the separation of religions across poverty and social lines is undeniable. However, these challenges are met by people who are working to fight them with unrivaled passion and dedication. The head of my organization called me into her office on my first day of work. Sitting over plates of chapati and dal, she looked me in the eyes and said “I realized years ago that the work we do here is the purpose of my life. My children are grown, my husband has moved away for work, and I am here to dedicate the rest of my living years to creating change and helping those in this community.” The problems my host organization and others like it aim to combat are massive and complicated. But throughout my organization, the city, and the country, people just like her are willing to put their entire being towards creating lasting, meaningful change.
This double sided nature of the country’s intensity is also true in what is great about everyday life. Historic sights are not only more ancient than anything I have ever seen, but grander and larger than pictures do justice. Food is delicious, laced with spices and rich in flavor, making it difficult to stop eating despite the spice that has caused your nose to run and lips to burn. More than anything, there are levels of kindness I have never seen before. Coworkers have invited me to their homes hours after meeting and countless people in restaurants, the streets, and businesses have gone out of their way to make my day easier and better.
My godfather, who is from Chennai, called me on the eve of my departure. He told me “Graham, going to India will be like drinking directly from a firehose. If you don’t drown, it will be the most amazing experience of your life.” While I am not sure all parts of his metaphor really make sense, his message has rung true. India is massive, vibrant, and challenging. While many things are difficult here, the potential to learn, grow, and experience new things is limitless.
