One of my best friends when I was young was Vinod Kumaroo. I knew almost nothing about India at the time, but I guess I’ll credit him with first introducing thoughts of India into my sub conscience.
Two books also influenced my interest in India. The first was Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha. I read this my freshaman year of college, just as I was discovering philosophy, and struggling to figure out what my quest in life was. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I think there is a tendency in the West to romanticize the philosophy and religion of the East, and of India in particular. It was Siddhartha’s quest which interested me.
The other book and the real spark which inspired me to travel to India, was The Razor’s Edge by Somerset Maugham. Again it was the quest, this time the character Larry’s, which spoke to something inside me. It was his journey to India which was the trigger. By the time I turned the last page, I knew I had to go to India.
The only question was: when?

Having lived in Germany, Sweden and Denmark, I firmly believe that being fluent in the language of a country is essential to getting to know the poeple. There is such an intimate interplay between culture and language, that one can’t get to know one without the other. If I was going to India, I was, by God, going to speak a language. The only question was, which one? [note: English is one of the 16 official languages of India]
This decision was simplified by the fact that UC Berkeley, where I intended to take the class, only offered Tamil and Hindi. I chose Hindi, fistly because it is an Indo-European language and should be easier to learn, and also because it is spoken beyond it’s original borders. So, I enrolled in a Hindi Class taught by Usha Jain and a graduate student. The class was good, but tended to focus on grammar and not on creative use of the language. This is understandable, since a good 80% of the class were ABCD’s, who probably already understood Hindi (or at least Marathi, or Gujarati).
As an aside, it turned out that the GSI, Shobna, had grown up in Germany, and was more German than Indian (if she’ll forgive me for saying so).

For those of you not familiar with Bollywood, as the Bombay film industry is affectionately known, I will give a brief introduction. Bollywood movies are always 3+ hour long musicals; usually romances about the struggle between tradition and freedom. These are romances where nobody actually kisses. There are colorful costumes. People are likely to break into song and dance at any time for any reason. There is always at least one wedding, and almost always one funeral. Sound crazy? It is. And I watch them all the time.
By now, I have seen more Bollywood movies than virtually all of my Indian friends. I’m sure they think I’m somewhat soft in the head. But, these movies are a wonderful window into Indian culture and the Indian psyche. Art films may portray a people’s intellectual aspirations, but popular cinema speaks to their real hopes and fears.
In many ways India is stuck between two worlds. At least in the urban areas, there is too much education and exposure to the wider world for people to blindly follow tradition. At the same time, there is still a deep respect for family and tradition, and poeple don’t want to turn their backs on them. In many ways the movies remind me of the movies and television shows of the 1950’s. I don’t mean to imply that India is somehow behind us culturally, just that in our mad rush to embrace individualism, we have dropped many of the questions about family and tradition by the wayside. India seems to be taking more time and effort to reflect on these issues.
I can’t leave this entry without giving you some of my favorite Hindi movies: Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Lagaan, and K3G.

If you have suggestions, just leave them in a comment here. Thanks for all your ideas.
Cheers,
Geoffrey

Next came my introduction to Indian driving and traffic. At night the roads were full of large, brigthly painted trucks which loomed up out of the mist belching clouds fo smoke. Nobody followed lanes, and swerved and suged around each other like a swarm of bees. The horn, I soon discovered, is used much like a fog horn, to let the other drivers know you are there. More on the traffic later.
Eventually we reached smaller streets, where I could see the prostrate forms of people sleeping next to the road: on the sidewalk, charpoys or on their bicycle carts.
By the time I reached my opulant hotel, I was completely dazed. I reached my room, sat down and said to myself, “what the hell have you gotten yourself into?!?”
On Monday I was saved by Vish’s cousin Anu. She picked me up from my hotel and baby sat me for the day. I doubt I would have had the nerve to leave the hotel otherwise.
In the afternoon we went to a poorer section of town where she had to do some work. I waited on the street while she went upstairs. I was constantly surrounded by people trying to sell me things. A small woman with an infant in dirty rags followed me for 10 minutes saying, “manee”. I had all my money toghether, and was too freaked out to take it out right there, so I eventually ignored her and kept walking. I am still working out my feelings about all this.
Tonight I am fleeing to the hills (quite literally). I take the night train to Dehradun. By tomorrow night I’ll be in Mussoorie.

From here you wind your way up through the beautiful but crumbling Victorian architecture of Landour Bazaar. The small shops here are home to, among others, several silver smiths and many tailors. You pass clusters of old men sitting on collapsing porches playing cards. Horns blare as cars, motorcycles, scooters and pedestrians make their way up and down the narrow lane.
From the top of Landour Bazaar it is another ~2km steep climb up to the Landour Language School and my hotel. My hotel, Devdar woods is named after the towering pines (devdars) which cover the mountain. The building itself is a converted house, and has a homey feeling.
The people of Landour and Mussoorie are amazingly friendly and welcoming. As I have said, I think I will float away on a river of chai, as anybody will take any opportunity to invite you to sit and have chai.