Where Dogs Walk with Purpose

When we first stepped out of the airport, one of the first things I noticed were all the stray dogs. Hundreds! Now, I've met all the lovely stray dogs on the mean streets of Mehico, but the abundance of orphaned dogs there, can't even compare to the volume here in India. What's funny to me, is that they all look the same. They vary a bit in shade, but generally fall in the dirty blond category. On the third day of watching and observing this magnificent species, Mila and I both realized something. These dogs walk with purpose. Serious purpose. They know what they want with life and by george, they're going to get it. When they cross the street they look both ways, they've got their days mapped out. When you see them walking on the sidewalk, there's a little pep in their step. They are definitely headed towards something. They are business men waking up, ready to start the days work. Which consists of: finding food, finding places to take naps throughout the day, get some exercise in and last but not least, to not get hit by a car or rickshaw. Not only that, they have friends. Best friends. They hang out with each other and have a laugh. You think I'm kidding, but these dogs honestly live in a world of their own. This is their town. When one crosses the busy street, he looks back to see if his friend made it, f not, he goes back to get him. They plan together. You can just hear them "Here, I'll jump first and see if it's steady, then I'll come back for you." They seem to be in on a joke with each other about us humans on the street. "Man, did you see what that guy just did, what an idiot!" They laugh it up again and then move on to the next thing. One will leave the pack and as he walks away he looks back as if to say "Alright guys, see you tomorrow."

Yes, dogs with a purpose. Nothing like it. And I must say that I've been to many a place that has many a stray dog. Ferrel animals are usually ignored or fly solo. But as my counterpart pointed out, here it's a whole new game. The canines work together, in conjunction to live, much like the human species... There is obvious communication and sharing of all kinds (space, food, love, you know, whatever). I decided, after not much speculation, that if I were a stray dog, I'd roam the dusty roads of India. 

Necessary Use of Horn or Honk Please

In the United States we have the Department of Motor Vehicles, which has come up with a set of standard that we motorists must abide by- this is enforced by the police department and highway patrol. We have spotted white lines to divide lanes, double yellow lines act as invisible walls, and whatever else I can't think of at the moment. For the most part, things seem organized, but reasons of which I am uncertain, accidents are always on the rise... Then there's driving in India. If there is one starkly noticeable difference, it is the use of one's horn. The honking horn is a tool, used more than the steering wheel, pedal (gas, brake and clutch) and definitely more than the turn signal. To a foreigner it seems that every driver is angry with one another and that road rage rules their hearts. After some investigation and close study, I've realized that the horn is like an awareness alert. A, "Hey you, I'm coming through, watch out." sort of thing. In America, we use the horn to get the attention of someone in order to flip them off, give them a dirty sneer, or to inform them of our displeasure in their driving skills. In India, when the horn is honked people don't widen their eyes or throw their hands up, instead, they swerve out of the way because they know they can't keep up. And if I haven't made my point clearly enough, painted on the back of all trucks and rickshaws it says "Horn Please". They want to hear the sweet melody of B sharp symphonize the airwaves... After a while, you get used to it and if you don't hear the blares then you know something's a little off or maybe you're out in the lonely country, which is where I saw the aftermath of some sort of accident; for the first time, surprisingly, especially with the erratic manuevering mastered here. A crowd of colors was like a pretty blob in the middle of the road up ahead. As we passed by, cautiously, I peered into the center of the bubble, a man on his side, his motorcycle as well just a few feet away. Peeking through the hovering, I felt bad for the injured but not bad enough to tell our driver to stop because it looked like he just fell off and was recovering. No blood, no help. That's what I say. (I never say that actually) Mainly, I scanned the faces to see any sign of reason to worry and there wasn't. Thus, I stand by my conclusion that Indians are the best drivers in the world. (Too bold?)

The Library

So basically I brought a ridiculous amount of books for the trip. I can get bored with reading one book at a time, but I think I went a little overboard. Here is the list of the library:

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

A Prayer For Owen Meany by John Irving

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

Speaker For the Dead by Orson Scott Card

Shadow Catcher by Marianne Wiggins

The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis

The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G Wells

So there's that.

I brought... A Farewell to Arms by one Mr. Ernest Hemingway (he's a lesser known author). Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. The Chess Machine by Robert Lohr. And we (and by we I mean Ashley) bought 1984 by George Orwell (so I can read it again cause I love it). 

I have this problem. Psychologists commence your analysis. I have an issue with good things ending. I have read many books. I used to actually be obsessed with reading as a youngun. I would come home from school and immediately pick up a book and read and read and read until bedtime. I would even be so annoying as to whisper read and my sister, all the way down the hall, would yell, "Shut-up!" and that's how I knew it was time to sleep. Being an avid reader planted the seed of imagination, fueling my desire to write. I would write these amazing epic stories at the age of seven, but there were never any endings. (I'm already beginning to analyze myself at this point) When I started college at the age of fifteen (yes, I'm a genius, whatever) I had to read so much and memorize loads of information just to score high on tests that would determine my future of getting into U.S.C. Reading for pleasure was a thing of the past... When I finally got to cinema school at the university, I decided I wasn't going to read anything anymore- this included assigned reading material; somehow this dumb-brained method worked, I got As and Bs and graduated. It took sometime post bachelor degree for me to pick up my old fiction hobby. And with the urging of my best friend (that's Ashley in case you haven't gathered that by now) I started reading again. I would go really fast up until I saw the end approaching and then I would interrupt my pace and put it away. This made my frustrated my bookworm friend because as she puts it "There's so many good books out there. The sooner you finish this one the sooner you can start another one. Why waste time with just this one." (I've completely butchered what she advises, but you get the point)

Destination, reached.

Flying into Mumbai was such a strange feeling. For one, I've never been this far away from home. When the plane landed, Mila and I both looked at each other and just started laughing. Wow. We're in India. As the doors opened, we waited for the offensive smell that everyone speaks of, and were surprised by a sweet sweet smell. Couldn't tell you what it was, but I liked it. Once we got our luggage, we stepped outside to meet Mila's family. The air outside was warm, but it wasn't humid. It was perfect. Her family spotted all of us and everyone hugged and we piled into the cars to head to our home for the next few weeks.

The light here is simply amazing. The dust in the air gives it a golden glow at all hours of the day. It's pretty much magic hour all freaking day. It's a photographer's dream.

Life here is very simple and easy going. The milk man and the vegetable man come to the house every morning. Even through the hustle and bustle of the city, there doesn't seem to be any hurry to be anywhere. It's quite a change of pace from Los Angeles.

As Annie would say, I think I'm gonna like it here.

The doors slid open and I was greeted with the kiss of Indian air. The aroma was staggeringly reminiscent of my one time history with India in 1989... The rumors were false, there was no stench that assaulted my nose. And although it wasn't quite the opposite, there was something to it. Something unique and indescribable. All I had to go by was memory. I remembered it and that's what I found amazing... There is no smell like it in any other country. The fragrance lingered in the thick atmosphere... It was not quite humid or even that hot. It was just pleasant and comforting. It was three in the morning and Mumbai was quiet. The streets were empty of people and cars, only filled with stray dogs all on the hunt for company and to appease hungry stomachs. It was hard to gauge the surroundings in the nighttime... For some reason I didn't feel the impact of being in a foreign country, it just felt normal. Then we arrived at our abode, a two story apartment in a towering eight floor building. Our driver, yes we have a driver, honked the car's horn and a man magically appeared to open the iron gates. When I stepped out of the car another, familiar fragrance wafted in to spark more sensory memories... Only India.

The Flight

I absolutely adored the plane ride from Los Angeles to Dubai. It was fantasmical. And by fantasmical I mean horrendous. And by horrendous I mean not so bad. And by not so bad I mean it could've been worse. Cause let's face it, as Ashley says, it could be be worse. If you apply this statement to all things that go wrong in your life it will make you feel better and you'll do that thing where you shrug and nod in agreeance. It's true. Next time you get mad or something fails you, say to yourself, "It could be worse." And somehow, magically, automatically you will feel better. And if that statement isn't successful in your life then you are just doomed for gloom.

I'm listening to Bryan Adams right now... Music is supposed to help with this sort of thing, and why I chose him is beyond me because it's not like he makes me feel the culture of India anymore intensely. Maybe I secretly long for America and my mouse finger subconsciously chose Bryan Adams in hopes to connect to my Canadian roots. I just now realized how off topic I am... Let's get on with it. Ashley, my mother and I flew on Emirates Airlines. If any of you like me who didn't/don't know how to pronounce Emirates, let me break it down for you: EM-EH-RITZ. As in the United Arab Emirates. Apparently they've only been flying from the U.S.A for four years. I thought it was interesting, or maybe it's not and in my delirium on board I was fascinated by such facts. For some reason I got to my seat before Ashley and I noticed this old Arabian lady hacking her lungs behind me. I laughed because I knew this would be Ashley's favorite thing. When Ashley arrived I figured it best to warn her and not let her discover such a treat on her own. The flight crew on this particular flight was truly laughable. I began laughing the second I boarded because I knew this was going to be an experience. This one attendant, Ashleigh was complaining right from the start. She was yelling at all the passengers about their baggage and the Arab passangers yelled back. This man wanted his bag in the compartment above his seat but there was no room so Ashleigh says, "No, no, no." and the man goes, "Yes, yes, yes." Again, I laughed. Anyhow, my favorite run-in was with Constantin, a not-so-hetero-male attendant. I was leaving the bathroom, walking back to my seat and I had to pass through the back quarters. My eyes scanned the area as anyone's would. Constantin was speaking to another joyful female attendant, and he stops and goes, "Yes, please?" and I say, "What?" and he says loudly and more rude, "YES, PLEASE?" I was kind of confused and didn't understand what the hell was happening so I just said, "Nothing." and walked away. At any other point in my life, I would have let this bother me and let it fester until I would explode but I've come to a place in my life where I'm trying to let these petty things just pass. So I got to my seat and laughed. Later, Ashley and I were getting ready to watch some serious cinema in the form of "Made of Honor" and I had saved my cookies from dinner. All I needed was milk, and Miss Joyful Attendant was passing by with water and I kindly asked for some milk, which annoyed her. She failed to bring it. Three-quarters into the movie I saw her again and asked again, then fifteen minutes later she brought me milk. It was all awesome. That was the tone of the flight, a lot of ignoring, huffing, puffing but overall a genuine out pouring of love, true love.

Commencement

Darling Ladies and Gentleman,

Mila and I have decided to make a blog, to record our travels in India. As you will see, my journal entries will be on the left in the font of Courier, and Mila's will be on the right in the default font. We do hope you enjoy the trip along with us...

Forever yours,

Ashley

Dearest Reader,

I must not take credit for this idea, for it is really Ashley who came up with it. As you all know, India is the country of my ancestry. Does that even make sense? No. It is home to my heritage. Also doesn't seem to fit... Either way, we have arrived in India, a much anticipated trip realized.

Je t'aime,

Mila