stranger no more

Four months ago, a small Indian woman approached me with her baby. Without hesitation, she plopped him onto my lap. As she stood unsteadily, the weight of her thin frame pressed against my side (interfering with what most Americans might call, “personal space.”) Leaning forward to unglue my damp back from the seat, I clasped my hands around the infant. I didn’t ask any questions. The bus began its bumpy journey.

On the village bus that I regularly rode from Shanti Bhavan to neighboring towns, this was a typical scene. Men, women, children – and occasionally, goats – crowded onto this large vehicle that teetered precariously down meandering rural roads. I usually found myself perspiring profusely as more and more people piled in, handing their bags and children to those seated, and wedging themselves into places I would never have surmised possible.

While reminiscing over my year in the globe’s most populated nation, I find myself recalling moments like this and thinking, maybe Indians in India have it right. In America, it would seem strange (and perhaps foolish) to hand a complete stranger your baby. What struck me most about the situation, however, is the level of familial trust Indians have amongst each other. Even when they are complete strangers.

It’s difficult to understand what I mean until you have experienced it. Every region through which I traveled in India – whether it was the villages around Shanti Bhavan, the Himalayan foothills, Kerala backwaters, or nearly forbidden Kashmir – I felt the warmth of the people I met. The genuine friendliness and helpful nature of the families with whom I stayed is something I have not witnessed nearly as often in much of the developed world.

Of course, it would be dishonest to paint a naively rose-colored picture. As a female traveling through India, I had my fair share of unpleasant encounters. This was primarily because I was determined to travel the local way. I rode regular-class trains, buses, and rickshaws. I walked when I could. I occasionally hitchhiked (not recommended). Because of this, however, I got a glimpse of India for what it really is. No sugar coating.

To shed some light on my unique perspective, I need to give a bit more background. I need to explain how I – a first-generation American girl of Indian descent – fortuitously experienced the country’s filthy rich, middle-class, and the destitute. Not merely experienced, but rather, formed relationships with individuals of all levels in the societal hierarchy. Friendships, even. But I will save that for my next entry. Until then, just know that India is brimming with more warmth than it’s often given credit for, and you'll find it in the most unlikely places. As I recently sat on a congested NYC subway, I found myself thinking a bit of nostalgia, that lady would never hand me her baby. It’s funny what you miss.