A Sand Castle

I've struggled since my arrival in India to come to some kind of certain terms with it. Often, it's led me to bouts of insanity, confusion, disappointment, and even anger- the way India seems to be, without shame, itself, which is a convoluted, distorted, misleading, chaotic, yet harmonic, spiritual, intriguing, and functional enigma. (Wow, a lot of commas). I've repeatedly run myself into the wall of understanding this kind of place, only to come away with a continuous bruise that only says "contrasts." And regardless of what conclusions I've come to by running into these metaphoric walls, surrendering my Western inhibitions, or fighting uphill battles on a downhill slope, it's all amounted to too much struggle. What is this place? How do I really feel about it? What was this journey really all about?

We stayed awake all night last night to bring in our last day in Chennai in a fashion I've wanted to do in India for a long time: watching the sunrise over the Bay of Bengal. At 5 am, Aaron and I made our way down the quiet and desolate T.V. Road. I looked up, expecting the normal cover of clouds, smog, or dusty city haze, but instead, quickly found bright stars and a waxing crescent moon in the dark blue sky. It's been raining for the past 3 weeks and the rain has weighed down the city dust. This was the first time I saw the Chennai sky so clear.

We found an autorickshaw and for 100 rupees, we were driven to Marina Beach. It was a bumpy ride, as the roads were in their usual unkempt condition. When we arrived at the beach, the dawn was rapidly approaching. We walked across the plain of sand, which sat so quietly until suddenly, it formed a small mound, the downhill side of which plunged straight into the Bay of Bengal. The sound of the tide crashing was like a slow and steady heartbeat. Silence, then loudness, then a draw back to silence again. On the horizon, a display of cirrus and cumulus clouds held strong. The dawning light behind them, the magnificent shades of yellow, pink, purple, and blue, gradually, like a shy child anxious to speak, danced across the atmosphere. Never have I seen a new day come with such an incredible introduction.

Sitting on a bed sheet with tired eyes, Aaron and I watched the Earth turn. Somehow unable to enjoy the moment without the prospect of living it again, I began to record the sunrise, focusing my eyes and the lens up and down the second longest beach in the world and across the largest bay in the world. In the distance, fishing boats journeyed out for their daily income. Seashells and broken bottles decorated the sand. And every 20 yards, someone stood in awe, gazing out onto the majestic horizon.

To some people, God created the natural world. To me, God is the natural world. And being there with my God released my mind of the dirty fog of thoughts that were overwhelmingly shaping my ideas of India. Finally, a moment of peace, of pure beauty, of undisputed glory.

And as if India herself was watching, knowing that this was not her character and that the show must end, she reminded me of that dirty fog, and introduced two noisy and fairly desensitized Indian boys right up next to Aaron and me. On the second longest beach in the world, at a time when it's at its most desolate, and as if we were completely invisible, the boys found their spot right beside and slightly in front of Aaron and me. Noisy bastards who took each other's pictures, carried on in confusing Tamil, and looked only twice at the approaching sun. A moment of peace. Gone.

So I stood up, still recording, and much to the boys' surprise, moved about 10 feet away and tried to recapture the moment. After a few long minutes, the sun began to peak over the clouds, illuminating the sand and glistening over the calm water. Silence was rediscovered with only the steady drum of the tide to interject. This was going to be a good day.

As soon as the sun broke over the clouds and the colors gently faded, it began to heat up quickly and Aaron suggested one last Indian breakfast. We took an autorickshaw back to No. 1, T.V. Road, where I changed my shoes and shirt, and then we walked down to a cute restaurant near the office. I had a butter dosai (the Indian version of a crepe) with a nice curry and Aaron had a masala dosai and poori (a thin, puffy pastry; in photo) with curries and coconut chutney. After eating my breakfast with my right hand, I enjoyed an authentic cup of hot chai tea.

We then walked to the grocery store to pick up some spices and gifts, but found that it had not yet opened, a reminder of how early we had started our day. So, we ventured back to the office and began our work day early. When the early evening came, our eyes resisted the visuals. We went upstairs for a brief nap before we went to buy the last remaining gifts. Despite alarms and calls, we overslept by an hour, and when Aaron woke me up and said, "If we're going to go, we need to go now," I jumped out of bed, pulled back my hair, and within minutes, we were negotiating the fare to Spencer Plaza. We had a list and we had destinations and to our most profound amazement, we found exactly what we were looking for exactly where we went to go looking for it. As we left, I regretted that we had little time and no more money to spend. I would've loved to sit in the food court, think of things to go buy, then hunt the mall again considering how smoothly it was going.

For dinner, Aaron and I returned to the Night Queen at the Vestin Park Hotel. The Night Queen, a rooftop restaurant, was where Aravind took us to dinner on June 19th, the first night we arrived in Chennai. I remember nearly falling asleep at the table because of the jet lag, much to my own and our company's amusement. Aaron and I ordered some hummus and garlic chicken kabobs. Naturally, I had my room temperature bottle of Aquafina and Aaron enjoyed 2 bottles of Kingfisher beer. Other than the incessant mosquitoes and their love for Aaron's feet and my arms, the evening at Night Queen was beautiful and the food was, as always, delicious.

And the conversation was exacting. It was while we were eating dinner that I looked over out onto the city and then to the sky, where I immediately recognized the constellation Orion. Orion has always had a place in my life that's hard to describe, but whenever I'm at a certain peace with life, I almost always immediately find that constellation in the night sky. I remembered the sunrise and the beach, and concluded that it was like no other beach in the world, and just like every other beach in the world. But then, I figured, India is that way, too. Again with the contrasts.

But to experience India? It's like building a sand castle. India is a beach and it can be approached and appreciated in different ways. You can walk along the sand and observe. You can play carelessly in the water. Or, you can build a sand castle. And in the moment of trying to recollect my final thoughts about India before we depart, I realized that Aaron and I have been building a sand castle, an experience for ourselves. Regardless of how far from the water we chose to build our sand castle, the tide of India always crashed into it somehow and never once was our sand castle perfect. But then again, never once was it not exactly what it should've been. For every sand castle needs water to support itself, but too much will make it weak. So you add more sand when the tide comes in to strengthen it and you never stop rebuilding, expanding, learning new ways and directions to build your castle. And though you can choose not to build a sand castle, you'll never really appreciate the beach until you do.

And that is India.

No more walls. No more fog. The Journey of India is a sand castle.

Finally.

Terms. Understanding. The deepest sense of appreciation I've ever had for a place.

Right as it's time to leave.

It's 1:17 am and we leave for the airport at 4. With the remaining laundry in the dryer, the gifts from today not yet packed, and the shipping box that must be loaded, 3 hours isn't much time. Therefore, I bid you namaste... and look forward to another beautiful sunrise.