It’s odd. It’s cringey. It’s beautiful. It’s disgusting. It’s charming. It’s stinky. I can’t quite tell if I like it or if I I hate it, to be honest. But I think that’s the general consensus on India and from what I’ve been told, there will be moments where I love it and moments where I hate it. I think that’s ‘normal’. That’s definitely how I feel so far.

Everywhere I go people stare. Men, women, young, old…everyone. Their energy is from a lens of curiosity. Admiration. My favorite moments are the ones where I catch a woman’s attention and we get to exchange a smile. The women here are so majestic. So triumphant. Their faces are the only parts visible behind their colorful dresses that cloak their bodies. It’s rare to exchange energy with an older Indian woman. They are disinterested in me for the most part, only looking my way to inspect my attire and then look away after concluding I’m appropriately dressed. They really don’t engage otherwise. The men look at me in disbelief initially. Like they aren’t sure if they are hallucinating or if I’m a mirage. Upon realizing I’m there…they often look away.. The men here have a softness to their energy. Almost a femininity. It’s really beautiful actually. Don’t get me wrong. There’s plenty of disgusting male energy here too. Two days ago in Old Delhi while walking around I noticed a very disturbing looking gentleman was following our group. He was not only following us as we weaved in and out and walked all over the bustling market, but he was following us way to closely. He had one eye that faced inward toward his nose and the other faced outward (proper cross eyes) and he was missing several teeth. His energy felt aloof. Almost like he was mentally ill or on drugs. But they don’t have drugs like that here in India…..so we just all sort of tried to tell him to go away and wished him good luck as he’s clearly mentally ill. But he didn’t go away. So we began to run to try to lose him. He still didn’t leave. Our friend Roberto even stopped to tell him “NO! GO!” And that didn’t work either. He was sometimes following so close that it felt like he was breathing down our necks. I turned around and noticed his hand was in his pocket and he had a raging boner in his pants. I immediately felt overcome with sickness….he was following us around and masturbating. Roberto this time yelled “leave or police!” Which seemed to have done the job.

Delhi doesn’t have “lanes” for traffic when driving. Cars going this way and that – rickshaws this way and that. Buses this way and that. Now I understand the expression “traffic jam” in a way I never before could’ve understood. It’s a constant assaulting of the senses. Constant noise. Constant honking. Constant slamming on the breaks. Constant waiting. When someone in India says “10 minutes” it could be 45 minutes but it could also be 4 hours.

Children everywhere motioning to their mouths – begging for food. Cows on every corner eating garbage. I watched a very young child get thrown off the front of a scooter when his dad stopped too abruptly. The boy landed on his head…no helmet. I can still hear him screaming.

But also. Moments of beauty. A man selling flowers and marigold necklaces chains (the “official” flower of India) insisted on giving me a dusty dessert rose. I carried it and sniffed it as I walked through some of the most disgusting smelling market stalls I’ve ever smelled. Perhaps he knew I was going to need something sweet to smell in those moments. But after the repugnant smells wafted away, I’d occasionally catch a whiff of some spices….teas…nuts…or dates. And those sweet and nutty and aromatic smells are even more of a delight when you’re in India. With the cows, the garbage, the noise….the honking….the stench. It’s the land of contrasts.