HOLY COW!





It must have been at the (old) airport in Bangalore when I first came across this book. The art work drew me to it and I read the back cover.... something about a prediction about the author that came true, and something about how she originally hated India with a passion.


Well, an year or so later, I bought this off the pavement ... I'm not going to help some ranting woman make more royalty money ... for all its faults, India is where I was born and raised.... I am an Indian and I owe this country far too much for all it has given me.


This is a travelogue ... it begins in Delhi, moves across to Varanasi, Ladakh, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Bangalore, Amritsar, etc. The author for the most past rants about India, hating its disorganization, its traffic, its lepers, its weather.... well pretty much everything. At some level you empathize .... the author was born and bred in the (non-existent) population density of Austrailia, and clearly the sheer amount of human energy in thought and action is overwhelming for her in India. Her ranting assumes a cresendo so virulent that at times, I was left feeling glad that I don't live in Delhi :) . Having been there myself, there is some truth to it from a south Indian perspective ...I recall the shock that I endured ... mostly cultural ... Delhi on the streets is can be a brutish place and culturally, most of India is a far cry from the four southern states. Even so, the author is however unfair... there are far too many references to people breaking the wind... so much so that foreign readers may be scared to light a match in this country for fear of igniting the copious methane.


Anyway, after her initial set of rants, the author cools off and begins a pilgrimage ... clearly she expects one of those Beatles' style interactions with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, but that's not about to happen. In this country, she is far too typical a tourist.... someone with currency-converted means, some connections resulting from her boyfriend's employer, but little else. That means she does not have a private jet, has to travel in trains and planes like the rest of us, and for the most part, has to stand in line. Predictably, her spiritual endeavours do not result in enlightenment, which was a far fetched goal given the amount of anger she carries anyway and given the rooting she has in the illusion, amplified in every sense now that she is in India.


That said she has her share of spiritual experiences .... India is generous :) ..... she experiences corporeal transcendence at a Vipassana camp and expereriences radiance in the presence of Mata Amritandamayi of Kerala. There are other (somewhat comical) situations during her visit to the Kumbh Mela and her experiences with Naga Sadhus.


I was baffled at the reference to how captivated she is by Bollywood ... she makes an effort to meet Amitabh Bachan, and is giggly intoxicated by meeting Priety Zinta and Aamir Khan. Crazy!
She also joins her Delhi girlfriends in taking Bollywood dancing classes ...... If this is not conversion, I don't know what is!


The book also contains introductory passages on the major religions of India (refreshing the memory of my school books). The author is (thankfully) silent on her discomfort with religion ... she must have been far too scared eventually, but she expresses a preference to Buddhism for its existentialist moorings.


There are interesting parallels to my own experience of when I travelled to Ladakh, and noted that it was far too delicate an ecosystem, both culturally and economically to handle the invasion of UP and Bihar carpet sellers who have migrated there .... something I just cannot understand. Having lived near a small town called Khaltse for 10 days, there are just not enough white tourists there to sustain a carpet economy. Ladakh also had Goan and Punjab based trinket sellers, who declared that they were in Ladakh during the Goan off season. The contrast between the demure, soft spoken locals and the carpet selling, souvenir hawking brutes is just far too stark for even an Indian to miss. As with everything else, economy dictates.


The point is, that this book, like anything subjective, is heavily anchored on perspective. There are some things which transcend perspective, like the author's relationship with her household help, which is at a very human level and develops strong bonds, but this is one of the few things that saves her as a journalist (yes, she is a journalist in Austrailia, albeit an average one given this book) and lends her some credibility.


Also, I have to mention that outside India, this book is sold with slightly different artwork, with Lord Shiva wearing sunglasses ... I imagine that this is largely to help sales, but also reflects the mood of the book ... despite spending 2 years here, the author eventually remains supercilious and fails to develop the one thing that she claims India teaches her.... sensitivity and co-existence :)