It’s my last night in India. Four weeks have gone by faster than you can say Namaste. And what a four weeks it’s been.

Christine asked me today if my experience here has changed me somehow. In a way, it has, but not in some soul searching kind of way… rather, in the way that a lifelong student and journalist would soak up an experience such is India. I’ve observed a lot, and in the process, have learned a lot—about the country, its people, and the complexities that make India a beautiful, charming and serene but yet dirty, chaotic and sad place.

The sites I visited were breathtaking and amazing to see first hand. Any one of them would’ve been worth the flight here. The natural landscape in the small towns between Delhi, Agra and Jaipur are amazing and offer a stillness not found in the loud, hectic crowds which fill three cities with the population of more than two thirds of Canada. You can smell the pollution and taste the dust and no matter how hard you try, you never escape the garbage that seems to be everywhere or the roaming cows that seem to be sifting through that garbage on city streets for anything they can digest.

My four weeks here has taught me that India is a place of dualities. The day I arrived, I went to the Ambiance Mall (a gigantic seven floor building which is one kilometre long on each floor) down the street from the volunteer house to buy some Indian clothing. When my roommate and I got there, we had to go through security at the entrance, and then again when we entered a store and then again when we left the store. The mall was filled with Western-style clothing and European shops geared towards women, even a Starbucks, McDonald’s and Thai spa. The mall, however, was very empty, and the few women I saw there were wearing sarees or other Indian-style clothing. Here was this gigantic empty mall, bigger than any I’ve been to in Canada, and all I kept thinking was: Who is buying these clothes and products? The average household income here is about $800 US dollars a year and before I came here, I was explicitly told that India is a conservative country and not to wear too much of my western clothing.

There’s also the duality of India being the world’s largest democracy, and yet one of the biggest issues facing the government is corruption. Or the duality of being one of the largest IT and high-tech centres in the world but yet electricity and flushing toilets are luxuries here and construction still takes place with wooden scaffolds and people still travel by camel. Or the duality of having car lanes painted on the roads but drivers making up their own lanes. Or, the duality of me staying in a guest house with air conditioning, hot water, free wifi, and three meals a day on a semi-comfy bed that I don’t have to share and then going to volunteer in a slum for the same organization hosting me where children fight over pencils and erasers, use old work books as hard surfaces to draw on and sit on a floor topped with dusty and smelly blankets that likely have not been washed for months.

Or, the duality of a woman whose three room house does not have a refrigerator or table to eat at and whose two children sleep in the same bed as her and her husband because there’s nowhere else but was happy to invite me and four others over for lunch and kept telling us to eat more. I felt humbled by that experience, as I always remember something my mom said very often (in Lao): “I don’t have much to give you except an open door and food to eat.” My family never had a big house, or expensive cars growing up or the latest fashion trends , and we didn’t get a lot of presents for our birthdays or at Christmas but there was always an abundance of food, especially to share with family and friends and friends of friends who came through that open door.

And so, India, four weeks has come and gone, and it was likely too short to learn all of what you have to offer. I will not miss your crazy drivers, the frustration of trying to get a SIM card for my phone, your 24 hour construction schedule, your stray dogs barking in the middle of the night, your organizational issues that prevent NGOs from doing meaningful work, or the need to haggle over the price of a tuktuk ride. I will miss your delicious food, however, even though most of it was vegetarian, and I will miss the colourful saris, the sunshine, learning your language, the smiles on the children’s faces when they said goodbye to me each day, the women who showed me that they are in fact empowering themselves, and the beauty that I know you are capable of despite the poverty, corruption and lack of infrastructure. For now, goodbye. I’m sure I’ll be back. Phir milenge, India.

–Bea