Okay. I am still here in Montañita. It was a business decision. With the influx of American and European summer vacationers beginning, it seemed prudent to stick around to capitalize on the income generating opportunities resulting from this seasonal gringo invasion. At least for a short while longer.

I’m now waitressing at the biggest restaurant in town and still selling my wares on the street to more discretionary and moneyed customers. So as not to bore you with the mundane details of my temporary daily routine, in the next several columns I thought I’d ferry you back to some of my previous travels through Asia and the Middle East.

Herewith, I offer reflections on my nearly two years in India. Parts of this piece were written while I was still there and will set the stage for subsequent offerings. If you have visited the subcontinent, I hope these ruminations will evoke memories of the madness and magic that is India. For those of you who have not experienced this most unique destination, perhaps my words will inspire you to someday to do so. Either way, I hope I do this amazing place justice. Like one’s most memorable romance, my passion for India remains unabated….

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India, 2006 -- If the Creator was on acid, India might well be the manifestation of his/her hallucination. A collage of contradictions, a patchwork of cultures, castes, languages, religions and morals, India is like a huge department store boasting a dizzying array of products -- turn in any direction and the view changes.

Simultaneously confusing, exasperating, exhilarating and inspiring, it is a disparate nation of wealth and poverty, puritanical values and devalued life; where the cow is honored and woman often dishonored; where sati and wife burning -- although illegal -- still occur in remote villages; where a baby in her mother’s arms has already learned to proffer an open palm to extract rupees from a passerby; where tourist babas beg and sexual repression provokes widespread homosexuality and an alarming increase in rapes. It is a country that gave the world Ghandi, Mother Teresa, and Amma, “The Hugging Mother,” where the Buddha attained enlightenment and the Dalai Lama set up shop. It is a country where Bollywood stars stroll the red carpet while the homeless and infirm carpet the streets. It is a country of gurus and basheesh-induced officials, high tech and low income, a country where Goans and Kashmiris don’t consider themselves Indians and where it sometimes feels as though you need a passport to cross state borders, so diverse are dialects, geography, clothing and lifestyles. India is a country of vast expanse and diverse beauty, a cacophony of sounds, sights and smells. It is a nation that promotes sensory overload and spiritual epiphanies and it would take a lifetime, even a reincarnated one, to fully explore and understand this dichotomous behemoth.

The idiosyncrasies of Indians can be a source of amusement and irritation. When I first arrived in 2004 the ubiquitous Indian “head roll,” a noncommittal gesture which I eventually adopted, drove me crazy. Is that a “yes” or a “no”? A nod often means no, a head roll, maybe or is it no, or is it yes? Subkuch malega, “everything possible,” is an oft-used phrase, until you request something that cannot or will not be honored. Then the response is invariably Nei malega, “not possible.” “Not my problem” is a mantra I heard there more often than I’d care to recall. Then whose problem is it when the rickshaw breaks down en route to the train station? Well, okay, I guess it’s ultimately my problem when I miss the damn train. Should your overnight bus from Kasol to Delhi suffer an aneurism, expect a throng of Indian men to stand around idly looking at, not fixing, the engine. Why does it take so many Indians to observe a disabled vehicle? I think there’s a joke in there somewhere.

But Indian men like to look. They particularly like to look -- actually shamelessly stare -- at foreign women. Sometimes they like to touch us, as well. Although I was spared that experience, I’ve heard stories of Indian men reaching across the aisle of a train’s sleeping compartment to grope a dormant female tourist, despite the nearby presence of her mate. I’ve heard even more disturbing incidents involving public exposure and masturbation. They would never deem to treat an Indian woman in this manner, but foreign women are fair game. The assumption seems to be that we are loose and possibly all prostitutes, an impression likely garnered from the porn sites some Indian men enjoy surfing on public computers. (I logged on more than once to a computer whose last user neglected to exit the porn page he was “reading.”) One woman I know learned to say “penis man” in Hindi to her would-be assailants, an insult intended to thwart unwanted advances. Only later did she discover that she had actually been attempting humiliation with the term “peanut man.”

Ah, sometimes so infuriating, India and its citizens. You are lying to me and cheating me, I know. You know I know so why do you persist in doing so? The price on the package clearly says 14 rupees, so why do you charge me 15 rupees… or more? Oh, you don’t have the one rupee change. I see. The dance, the haggle, the cheeky way in which Indians toy with us like a cat taunts its prey before putting an end to its misery. Sometimes it’s all too much. But then the light shines, as it does so often in this land of legends and gods, and some real heroes appear, as I discovered when participating in post-tsunami relief efforts in Tamil Nadu. Working with Indian nationals who tirelessly and devotedly navigated the sea of bureaucratic red tape to expedite delivery of provisions, instigate rebuilding, get the fisherman back out to sea, provide health and counseling services and untold other things necessary to victims after such a calamity was both an honor and revelation.

My tenure in India was pretty short, relatively speaking. Many I know have been visiting or living there for decades. Some arrived dazed and bemused, lost in the labyrinth of society’s expectations. A former boyfriend stumbled into India from Italy when he was 19, finding salvation in Hindu teachings and refuge in an ashram. There are thousands like him, reformed Westerners, so to speak.

Upon contemplating my time in India, I am trying to somehow congeal my memories and often bewildering impressions. Like others, I have a love/hate relationship with the country. Sometimes you just need to get out for a while as I did, to take a breather and reflect. But most return, sooner rather than later, as I know I also will. India seems to possess an invisible magnet more powerful than the pull of gravity. There is so much to do, learn and experience. It is never boring and always challenging. India assaults and massages one’s sensibilities and it is almost impossible not to grow there if you are willing. Even when lost, you discover the path.

by Suzan Crane -- the Global Gypsy Girl