It has been a month since I have found myself in the South Indian city of Hyderabad. I did not come here to find peace or enlightenment, become a Vegetarian whilst visiting an Ashram — this is no ‘Eat, pray, love’. I came here to work for a pharmaceutical company.

Because of my work I spend my time in the spirit of the best of Capitalist traditions — in expensive hotels, air conditioned offices with the educated and the rich. Sitting in a conference and looking at the suited men with gold rings on their small fingers I started smiling to myself and thought that this is exactly what I want to try, I want all of it, ‘Sex, drugs and rock’n’roll in a suit’ — booming Capitalism can be sexy. I love India — I left Latvia to experience something different and there is no shortage of that here — I love India.

In my free time I, of course, drive public transport, eat street food and buy loose cigarettes one by one. Sometimes it all seems awry, a white girl rides a bus because she thinks it is fun not out of necessity, most Indians wouldn’t believe it can be otherwise. Being young and white, and a woman here can be awfully good and bad at the same time — bad since you know it still is discrimination , you are liked because of your skin color, good because you are really liked here. But never mind, people are warm and kind. They will push you when getting on the bus because everyone does it here and one cannot afford to be gentle in a city of 7 million people, but if you do get on a woman who is sitting will offer to hold your bags for you. Rickshaw drivers will ask three times as much money from you as they would from any local but won’t take offence if you bargain down the price and will put music on to make the drive more fun. School boys on the street will shout at you something about sex but if you ask someone for directions they will go out of their way to show you. One day I thought to myself, do gray haired grannies and grandpas look more attractive to Indians because of their silver hair, hair that is not shining black like everyone else’s — the culture can be such you can’t help but wonder. And even if it were true, it’s alright — love me India, love me even more, I am ready for that until the time comes when I will not be anymore.

Life here happens in cracks and crevices, little corners, little holes, under the floorboards, angled against walls on steep, slippery slopes — here nothing works like in Europe or doesn’t work at all but always everything happens and life is at boiling point. The pollution has dirtied the windows, made them dark and cities and buildings seem abandoned. After midnight the whole city disappears, streets empty because this city, my city does not believe in making friends after dark. People seem to never cry here — India does not believe in tears — you can smile, bargain, shout, on the streets die of hunger, but not cry.

I don’t know what I actually think of India, I am too happy here yet — new experiences, new adventures, new friends who love and hate India, unknown mentalities, misunderstandings, beef cannot be bought, girls in clubs drink for free, don’t open your mouth in the shower, coconuts are cheap and full of delicious refreshing milk — I love it.

by

Liva Paudere

livapaudere@gmail.com