Shoondor

My first impressions as I looked out of the taxi window are hard to describe. Perhaps it was because of the falling rain adding to the chaos, but the streets we drove down were unruly and in a frenzy. I saw people in various kinds of clothing – western, Indian, women in dresses, others in burkhas, men in suits, others in loin cloths, children in shorts, others wearing nothing at all.

The roads were paved but there were potholes everywhere – the driver seemed to know them all and swerved around them. Everyone seemed to be driving in the same lane, pushing in wherever there was space. The air was filled with sounds of human voices, car and bus horns as well as a strong smell of diesel exhaust. Pedestrians, bicycles, cars, motorbikes, men pulling rickshaws, bulls pulling carts piled with an assortment of merchandise, farmers herding goats and sheep and then yes, the famous cows and bulls meandering through it all. Benny was explaining, pointing out landmarks but my ears weren’t listening as my eyes tried to take in this extraordinary new world in which I found myself.

It was still raining when we stepped out of the taxi. The wet scent of dust and mist invaded my lungs, pressing down, making me cough. The driver gallantly held an umbrella as he opened the cab door for me. I thanked him then immediately stepped into a muddy puddle. “Oh phooey!” I muttered under my breath, as I shook and jerked around my sodden feet. I looked around for Benny but he had moved to the trunk of the cab waiting to unload our suitcases. For a fleeting moment I felt annoyed that he had left me standing there, but pulled myself together. He was excited to be back, to have come home after being away so long.

I looked up at a nondescript, once whitewashed apartment building. My eyes scrolled over seven storeys of discolored, gray cement blocks with handkerchief sized balconies. Poles protruded from many of them, balancing a variety of sarees, blouses, shirts and dhoties flapping like bright flags. A small brown and white cow stood at the gate chewing on a dry leaf. It interrupted its early morning meal to look up at us as if it recognized Benny.

My husband shielded me from the animal, and led me up some steep narrow steps into a windowless lobby. A dusty, potted plant stood dejected at the bottom of the stairs, thirsty and forlorn. Cigarettes had been stubbed out in the dry soil around it; the floor was littered with dead insects. A strong smell of disinfectant hovered above us. Benny led the way up the stairs and I followed in my wet, slush filled shoes.