An Exposition: 365 of Writing on the Road

“Are you ready?” Sundhava asked me, his voice singing over a cacophony of rickshaw engines.

Was I ready?

I stepped back, inhaling wafts of rotten mangos. After three months in India, I still wasn’t used to the smell of decay. My stomach gurgled, reminding me I was sick.

Nope.

This wasn’t the India of palaces, yoga, and spices. This was the India of poverty and slums.

How did I end up here?

While my college peers dreamed of drinking in London pubs, I dreamed of drinking chai in the desert. In 1999, my chance to study abroad arrived and I left Seattle for Jaipur, India.

I soon learned the India of my dreams wasn’t real. Instead of riding camels, I was killing mosquitos and ignoring shouts of “konichiwa”, even though I was Japanese American. I barely passed Hindi class. I wanted out of Jaipur.

I read about JANAM, a street theater troupe in Delhi. JANAM used theater to teach slum dwellers about social issues. Figuring I couldn’t do any worse with communist thespians, I headed east.

In the belly of the Socialist Headquarters, I met one of JANAM’s leaders, Sundhava. A short man in his forties, he dressed like an American teenager. After interrogating my political views, he said, “Come tomorrow, comrade.”

I joined rehearsals the next day. Afterward, we’d walk to dinner dressed in black to order barbecue. Even though JANAM was the antithesis of what I expected from India, I liked them.

Then, I got food poisoning. Between trips to the toilet, I questioned what I was doing in India. I didn’t fit in. I earned the name ‘Comrade Pus Eye’ after I developed a crusty eye infection. And I certainly couldn’t act – I couldn’t even speak Hindi!

I rallied by show day, but with no desire to perform. At the slum, JANAM ran through the alleys screaming, “Listen!” I braced myself against a wall as a wave of nausea hit me.

“It’s time!” said Sundhava, grabbing me.

With no time to think, I started performing. The crowd clapped, and for a minute, I forgot I wanted to puke.

Through my crusty eyes, I suddenly saw India for what it was – a country with a history, but also a place with a multifaceted present and future. I stopped wishing for the India that should be and started enjoying it for what it was.

I still seek out my storybook ideal places. But now I remind myself a country is as much about its present as it is about its past.

I dream of returning to India. But instead of riding camels I want to find my way back to JANAM, knowing exactly how I ended up there.