Not Being Asked About India
“Oh yeah that’s right! How was India?”
I knew to expect the question. With the emphasis on the last word. It is the question so to speak. It’s difficult to think of a different way to ask it. It’s difficult to think of a different way to answer it.
“Incredible.”
Certainly makes an impression, gets the point across. Use 70% of the time.
“Amazing.”
Credible, but overused. Use 20% of the time.
“Life-altering.”
Risk of seeming somewhat pretentious. Use 10% of the time.
As soon as I finally yanked my suitcase from the conveyor belt at SEA-TAC, I thought about how I would answer the question. I didn’t want to give the same one-word answer every time someone asked me the inevitable. I wanted to answer in a way that brought people into the experience, at least momentarily.
But I knew I couldn’t do it with just one word, and that was the type of question I was expecting.
How was it?
Illuminating, challenging, isolating, exciting, slow, unnerving, etc.
There’s a lot of one word answers, all across the spectrum of sentiment. But they don’t tell the story. Not the way I wanted.
So with all the complications surrounding these coming exchanges, I decided I didn’t want to be asked about India. I would answer the questions because people wanted to know, but I wouldn’t really be able to divulge anything deeper, to most people at least.
And in the weeks following my return, my cynicism was upended. I’ve been asked many truly great questions by all sorts of people in my life.
“What was the scariest moment?”
“Did you make friends with local people when you were there?”
“What was your favorite thing you wrote about?”
These questions forced me to reflect, and uncover stories from the strangest, most wonderful six weeks of my life. And stories are truly the best way to share, to give others a sense of what it was like and to better remember the details and subtleties that made the experience what it was.
The truth is I miss Kolkata. A lot. The bulk of the experience is stored somewhere in my mind, being processed, popping up in visceral flashes. At times I can feel like I’m back and walking down the street, damp with sweat, barely able to contain my excitement about everything careening around me. It’s admittedly frustrating at times, feeling like I can’t properly relate the experience to people when they ask about it. But I’ve been reminded to let go of that anxiety, and just try to be honest. The same people that I decided would never understand have helped me gain new meaning from my adventure.
