Arrival of the Senses

Originally Written : May 20, 2010

“What happened to Tuesday?” 

“That’s how it works, we’ve traveled half way across the world,” my mother replies.

Having left New York on a Monday, I was dumfounded when I realize that I had reached India on a Wednesday.  Laying in an air conditioned, yet muggishly humid, bedroom of a small house in Cochin, I found myself backtracking the last several hours to find out how I could have forgotten an entire day. It turns out that the combination of a late Monday night departure, a few time zones crossed, and an early Wednesday morning arrival had attributed to my time loss and I accepted that I now had one less day in India than expected. 

My trip to India began at New York’s JFK airport where I spent a few hours suppressing my feelings of anxious excitement and fear.  The last time I visited India was more than ten years ago, and I had constantly been hearing from those whom had recently visited that it was drastically different.  Although very excited to revisit old favorite places and explore new ones, I wasn’t sure that I would feel comfortable in what I knew would be a wildly foreign atmosphere.  Apprehensions aside, I boarded a Qatar Airlines flight bound for Doha.

13 hours later I landed in Doha with a tummy ache and dry contact lenses in my eyes; I made the mistakes of having Popeye’s chicken before departure and forgetting my toiletry bag at home, which contained my contact lens case and glasses.  As I stepped off the plane I was met with a warmth—a hot breeze that felt surprisingly refreshing—and so I did not mind waiting on the tarmac until a vehicle came to transport us to the terminal.  The second I boarded the transport, a smell triggered a wild rush of memories from my last experience in India.  For some reason, vehicles abroad have a very distinct smell, different than those in the US.  Needless to say, I became very excited as more memories of my previous time in India revealed themselves. 

A few hours later, I was aboard another flight bound for Cochin, one of the largest cities in Kerala, the most southern state of India.  After touching down at Cochin International Airport, the feelings of excitement and fear returned, amplified by the realization that I had arrived and there was no choice to turn around now.  What felt like a few hours later, I had cleared customs, had arranged myself a pre-paid taxi, and was headed towards the heart of the city where I would be staying. 

My first impressions of Cochin came by night from the backseat of a cab driven by what I thought to be a drunk, mad man.  It turns out, everyone in India drives like they are being chased by police and the only one on the road who matters is themselves.  With fists clenched tightly to my seat as the driver swerved between rickshaws and trucks, referred to as Lorries, I began to take notice of the passing landscape.  Cochin is a concoction of signage and lights, advertisements and billboards plastered in every conceivable manner on every conceivable surface.  I am blinded by the lights of oncoming cars as I hear a truck honking behind us and the smell of manure waft in as we pass a herd of cows on the road.  There was clearly no lack of stimuli or excitement here and I was immediately overwhelmed.

For about an hour, I watched the changing scenery of signs, stores, and houses.  Finally, around 3am I saw a familiar and comforting sight—my grandfather’s house nestled in the heart of the city.  I had arrived.