The Final Post

India Time – 23:24 hrs. Been awake since 4:30 am. Went to bed at 1:30 am, and before that hadn’t been to bed at all in two days. 13 ½ hours since my departure from India. I’m beyond tired, beyond emotions, and have much to catch you up on…

Tuesday was my Hindi final, my last academic obligation in India. Hadn’t studied for the class the whole semester, so frantically picked up my textbook four hours before the exam, crammed relentlessly, and managed to hold a decent conversation with my teacher about the cultural differences between India and America and the difficulties of living in Delhi (obviously horrendously over-simplified). Held massive celebration / farewell party that night, which entailed the lethal equation of: 2 chocolate cakes with beedi candles + massive amounts of White Mischief, McDowell’s, and Magic Moments (the 3 cheapest brands of Indian booze) = 1 chocolate cake smeared living room, the guest appearance of our local hippie-nudist Tammy’s bare breasts, my drunkenness-induced victory spree at the beer pong table, one very pissed off landlord, a very sleepless night, and subsequent morning discovery of cake remnants behind my ear. Successful Tuesday night.

On Wednesday, my last day in India, my worrying expectancy of the worst case travel scenario was on high alert and so, as personal history could have predicted (like that time I forgot my Green Card…), less than twelve hours prior to my departure the great Jessica vs. Travel Agent showdown of 2009 took place.

It went a little something like this: Travel Agent had been pestering Jessica for some time now in regards to friends’ outstanding balance for the previous weekend’s Varanasi train tickets. Angelic, forward thinking Jessica had already paid her portion and therefore began to ignore harassing phone calls when reached annoyingly incessant level – perhaps not the wisest of decisions. You see, Travel Agent, crafty as he is, found through espionage-esque sneakery (i.e went to phone company, presented Jessica’s phone number, and thus retrieved ALL personal information, including passport number) that Jessica was leaving the country the next day. This quickly escalated into Travel Agent calling from outside Jessica’s house, screaming into the phone, and threatening that if R6,000 did not find its way into his hands that very minute that the police would become involved and she would not be permitted to board her flight in 12 hours. Important sidenote: Jessica does not have 6,000 rupees. Swift and shameful cursing coupled with frantic episode in manner of headless chicken ensued upon hanging up the phone.

It was horrible. Had to run downstairs and try to coax the angry Indian man parked across my street not to turn me in, to go to the people who owed him the money instead etc. etc. What a night! But at last after some panicked phone calls to said friends, I managed to get Travel Agent to pick up the money from their houses that night and not have me detained in India. Relief washed over my scattered nerves at last, and then the two of us sort of hovered there in an awkward post-fight moment before he asked, “So, tomorrow you leave India… when come back?” My exhaustion and anxiety finally got the best of me at that moment, and I just managed to blubber out a quick, “I don’t know,” in response before the tears poured out, making our strained moment even more awkward and scaring Travel Agent away completely.

Sneaky India, creeping up on my defenseless heart unexpectedly once more. I didn’t think I would cry so soon, not at least until I said goodbye to my friends, let alone find myself weeping through the street back to my home, flanked by people not even bothering to cover up in Hindi as they pointed and shouted in plain English, “Look, she is crying!” Perhaps it’s all because I’ve found something in this country that I know I won’t encounter anywhere else. Maybe because over the last nearly six months I’ve poured a lot of myself into the place, and been given such a mixture in return. The friends I’ve made here I will have back in California, but the culture of India, the other half of this dysfunctional relationship I’ve nurtured for half a year, I will not.

I got to see the sun rise over Delhi on my taxi ride to the airport. I inhaled the nauseating smells of the sewage run-off river in Mukherji Nagar for the last time. And I smiled as I sat in the backseat, sans seat belt, watching the driver weave dangerously close between trucks and centre dividers, and curse at the pedestrians he almost flattened. Then he asked me the same question that so surprised me on my last night in India once more. Well, as I sit here en route to Cyrus, surrounded by Germans for the 13^th consecutive hour, a country of people who appear to have a penchant for dying their hair weird colours, sausages, and cities that sound like Muppet characters (i.e. München), I have your answer Vijay:

Yes, one day I will be back, and No, you won’t be driving me to Rajasthan.

I just want to say thank you to any of you who read this blog and followed my journey through India. It will be one I'll never forget, thanks in part to this site and the support I had from those who took the time to read my words. And of course, I have to thank India, Bharat, Hindustan, for being the inspiration behind all of these entries; Mein aapko hamesha pyar karungi.

Thank you again, bahut pyar,

 - Jessica