Life Excerpt: Ivory Tower
The day we landed in Hyderabad, we were just planning on getting logistical things done. Go to the mall, get a cell phone plan, maybe get some groceries and just take it easy. We arranged our hotel taxi service to pick us up for our errands and soon enough our pristine white cab labeled “Oakwood Residence Taxi” in bold cursive letters arrived. The adventure begins when we shake the hands of our driver, Harfees (spelling not checked).
He quickly learns we are from the US and his demeanor changes. He becomes much more talkative and excited and then says “You should take a city tour”, and we were off. He was incredibly hospitable and became our personal photographer, ensuring that we were happy comfortable tourists in his care. Eventually he started demanding we take photos and intimidated by his serious tone, Bryan and I now have a photoshoot gallery of the two of us with various parts of Hyderabad in the back drop. We went to the Old City markets and the fortress that kings ruled and the grand tombs that they were buried in and then the small town of Golconda.
Golconda is a poor town in the Old City of Hyderabad, probably the polar opposite of where Bryan and I live in the financial district. The run down buildings and shops are pressed together like lego pieces but are alive with activity and daily living. In a town where the standard of living was just above the slums, there was no begging. Everyone was seemingly getting by doing something whether it was selling food, old machine parts, shoes, clothing etc. The ebb and flow of daily life is like any other town, but in conditions that would exhibit extreme poverty in the US.
Wherever we went, Harfees would stop every minute or so to point out something he felt was interesting and I would look out at the people and lock eyes with a bystander, give them a goofy smile and wave and get a small grin in return. We got a lot of intense stares because we were clearly not from here and seeing Chinese asians is a rare sight so this was my way of cutting the tension. But in Golconda it was different. The car would stop and I would fixate myself on the people close by. They would look down at the bold cursive letters printed on our buffed white taxi and naturally needed to see who was being chauffeured through their humble town. I did my normal routine of smiling and waving but this time it was different. It didn’t seem like they were looking at a smiling asian individual like the other people had but to the overall theme of our circumstances versus theirs. They saw the polarity of our stroll in our ivory tower looking at them, the people of Golconda and their town like spectators and zoo animals, just scraping to get by. The tourist and our attractions is all it was. Their looks of disdain cut through me. A smile and a wave wouldn’t change their impression. I think the most meaningful part of this was only being able to be sympathetic in the sense that I could not at all understand what they were going through to be empathetic in the first place. I have always tried to be mindful of these situations and realize what my privilege means in a larger context but that day I fell short. I have a lot to learn from India.
