Sweat, Sewage and Jasmine

by Sophia Hinton-Lever (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown India

Last night while lying in bed in our small dark timber panelled room in Darjeeling, I addressed a question that had been festering at the back of my mind for a while. Why I had not been able to bring myself to write for the past few weeks? In the dark silence, punctuated by the oversized mountain moths blindly hitting the walls, I considered the potential reasons for my writer’s block. How was I supposed to try and explain to people that to me India smelled of sweat, sewage and jasmine while listing the top coffee shops in Pondicherry? I wanted to write of the disparity within this great country and my struggle to figure out what the hell was going on. Just when you think you are getting to grips with a situation, India will throw an obstacle. It could be; a hungry monkey, an oily haired man, a booked up train, bed sheets stained with unknown substances or a stroll that you were told would take five minutes by a smiling local and turns out to be a forty five minute hike along a perilous mountain path (these are known to travellers as an Indian five minutes.) Saying all of this I didn’t want the blog to turn into a self-indulgent deluge that only my mum and grandma would’ve enjoyed. But clearly only writing quick run downs of things to see and do wasn’t working for me as it takes the soul out of the place. I was thinking about what I would’ve found useful to know before I came to India that can’t be confined to a list. The first thing that springs to mind and something that I have really struggled with during the trip is being a female traveller in this baffling, beautiful country. I stress that what I address in the forthcoming text is not the experience of Indian women, I would never dream of imposing my opinions onto a culture that I know nothing of. I wish that I had known how hard it was going to be to have my partner recall an interaction with a local and remember how friendly they were. When my experience was so different because the conversation had been between the two men, I was treated as a silent bystander and when I had forced a parting hand shake my hand was looked at like I had dipped it in a pot of month old mutton biriyani and then rubbed it all over a pye-dog. After almost a month of interactions like the later, I found myself taking a back seat. It was completely unintentional, and it was only until I found myself getting lonely I realised that I hadn’t really had a conversation of note with anyone apart from my partner in a long time. We had found ourselves slipping into traditional gender roles, he carried the money because people gave him the bill, he asked for directions because they felt more comfortable with him. I had become a passive shadow. I do not mean to paint any of India in a bad light and I want to impress that ‘mum I am having the time of my life’ but these are things that I feel aren’t spoken about in preparation for India blogs. I didn’t realise it at the time, but the situation was getting me down. I wanted to get stuck into the culture by talking to those who lived it, but it wasn’t for me. Something had to be done, both of us were uncomfortable with our new roles in the relationship. During a long chat we decided that I would just have to be more forceful with my presence and learn to brush off any negativity I received. I understand this is all easier said than done and it isn’t revolutionary advice but with perseverance I started to notice a difference in my mood. By finding humour in situations where I was looked at like a crazy woman for offering a handshake and knowing that the stares were that of curiosity rather than sinister leers, I stopped smelling the sewage, and let the warm Indian breeze waft Jasmine into my travels.