IndianVoyager

At 22, I travelled alone for the first time - well not ‘alone’ alone, since four other kids were with me, but I had weaseled out my dad’s protective arms, and mom’s watchful eyes. What a liberating feeling that was! As a research team funded by the Ford Foundation, we had to visit some colleges across India to talk about Communal Conflict and its Resolution. ‘Nerdy’? Nowhere close to true! We were on an Indian three tier train compartment on our way to Goa (via Mumbai), and to Delhi for the final seminar. Train journeys in India always feel like local trade fairs – vendors show up with delicatessens of savories, make shift barber shops and massage parlors, cheap toys, toiletries and technology products, and the craziest tricks up their sleeves. When we got off the train, Goa beckoned us. But before that, we had an overnight stopover at Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji terminus. There was zero funding for hotel bookings. I remember spending the night on the platform taking turns to sleep and guard luggage. After that Goa it was… Once we finished our presentations, the kids at the college we visited took us for a tour. I savored the local cuisine and had my first taste of port wine; saw the beautiful churches and temples of old Goa, and the dazzling beaches with beautiful bikini clad women. It was the first time I saw real women in bikinis. My reaction (gaping mouth etc.) made my friends doubt my orientation. We bade adieu to Goa and carried our tanned selves to a refrigerated Delhi. We reached the venue a day before the final presentation, unpacked and settled ourselves in cramped bunker beds at the International Youth Hostel in Chankyapuri. Some other kids shared the dorm with us – introductions happened in a jiffy. Soon we were sharing email ids and ghost stories. By midnight, as my team and I were going through our notes we realized that we had left the presentation slides in Goa! Music of impending doom began to play in our heads. None of us could afford laptops, so PowerPoint decks were out of question. We had photo copied transparent plastic sheets with texts and diagrams, which displayed quite well when put in front of a projector’s beam of light. There was hardly a choice. Although we feared getting robbed or killed, we rushed out in the cold, in pursuit of an internet cafe with copy machines. In what felt like eternity, we eventually located one, bought some plastic sheets and got the job done! Whew! It was one hell of a trip I’ll never forget.