Making the Unfamiliar Familiar

No stranger to this unfamiliar land.

I am an innocuous being amidst the sea of gold and shrines. Standing on the left side of the Rajpath, a winds breath from Raisina Hill, the blonde sun glows, sparkling atop the country it shepherds. Suddenly silence blankets the city as an address is made, it is the Prime Minister.

Murmurs congest the air as what feels like the entire population of New Delhi congregates around me. It is Republic Day.

Standing amongst the congested crowd, there are thousands in attendance.

The women, a rainbow of colours, stand in the morning light, the glow of their dewy brown skin perfectly complimenting the glistening of the bangles and the vivacity of their saris. With layer upon layers of silk they congregate together and invite me to join them.

The Men stand tall with stern but amicable faces. Their strong features and rich hair epitomizing the meaning of masculinity.

Bang! I duck. Bang! Bang!

The noise punctures the looming cloud of murmurs above, grinding them down again to silence. The 21-gun salute continues and captures the attention of all, standing in awe.

The silence is then interrupted by a melodic tune, the national anthem stretches across the grounds. A tear skis down my face as the patriotism of those in my midst absorbs me. Transcending race, I am not a stranger experiencing a strange culture, but a traveller, exploring the vast similarities experienced amongst many cultures on a day of national celebration of their land.

The sun nests at midday. The parade continues and as the patriotism rises, so does the crowd.

My view continues to falter as the sea of silk and gold flourishes. A child scrambles to find his feet and a location to view the parade. His pants an inch too long, it sweeps the dust from beneath his feet as he rushes past. The exuberance of youth within him, he yells to his friends as they congregate beside the wall, grabbing hold of the metal bars above, showing the early signs of rust, as they hoist themselves up to see the men in military uniform march down the street. Their childish hearts unable to contain the excitement of dreaming that one day it will be they who march in tow, badge on suit, pride on chest.

And after a sea of rose petals and the exhibitions of art, the elephants march and the dancing begins. School children from all over the country parade their finest moves to the tunes of patriotic songs. I am taught a hip twist and an arm swing as the mothers smile appreciatively as I wholly immerse myself into the festivities.

A quick round of the stalls and I am exhausted. Local merchants shedding their finest products into my backpack with my wallet subsequently shedding its weight back to them.

The fly past marks the conclusion of the parade, yet the illuminated glare of my new friends’ eyes tell me that we have only just begun.