Not My Country and/or Closure?

This is what two hours of sleep looks like at the Taj Mahal

Almost one month ago, I left India. So, I have been back home for 1/4 of the time I spent most decidedly not-home. Is this enough to gain perspective?

Here's a wrap-up of my last few weeks in India. I finished my Independent Study Project on a "topic important to Indian literature, theater and feminism" (most people in America don't know what "modern representations of Sita in performance" means), finished up my abroad program with one very memorable week, did a two week apprenticeship at the Akshara Theatre in Delhi, and had a ball performing and hanging out with amazing people.

Shouting in TV cameras in front of India Gate in Delhi

During my last two weeks, this really bad thing happened. Maybe you've read about it? Anyway, it set off riots and protests and unrest and talking and discussing and re-evaluating and a whole lot of other things which rocked the country of India. I was there for some of it, I was angry too, and I participated. But it was not my country.

It got me thinking about my place in India—as a visitor. As an American. I am not Indian, nor will I ever be. If anything, something my time in India really brought home to me (haha "brought home") was that I am actually American. The way I think is American. The way I approach issues is American. The way I walk, talk, and socialize is American.

[NOTE: Please remember—ask me to define what I mean by "American" and I probably to definitely couldn't tell you exactly. This theory needs some more thinking on my part].

When I am in India, I am an outsider. I felt that in my research, as I was analyzing a topic dear to the Indian consciousness. I definitely felt that in my everyday life, as I attracted gaping stares wherever I went. Because of that, I looked at the country as an observer, being careful not to judge or even really question—just take in what was happening. Is this the correct approach to living in a foreign country? I have no idea, but it is what I did.

Example: one day I was on a train with my study abroad program going to a Himalayan hill station (Mussourie). We stopped at a station, and I looked out the window to see a man in his underpants running around the platform. I start to giggle because this is funny, right? A man is in his underwear dancing around. A police officer walks over and appears to start trying to get him to stop. The officer, like most officers in India who are not armed with giant rifles, is carrying a cane. I'm now giggling at the scantily clad man trying to reason with the officer. Then, the officer brandishes his cane and starts beating the man with it. I immediately stop laughing. I'm scandalized, but then I check myself, reminding myself not to judge.

But how would I have felt about it if it was my country? If it was my government allowing my police officers under my laws to beat people for a not very good reason? If it was my people getting whacked with a cane for the horrible crime of not wearing pants? I probably would have been angry, but since India is once again, not my country, not my culture, not my anything, I just observed and didn't make any judgements.

Even with the rape protests, while I was angry, and had felt the effects of India's attitude towards women during my 4 months there, it was still not my country. I could sympathize, I could chant slogans in Hindi, I could march towards potential water cannons and tear gas shells, but I couldn't own it in the way that Indian people could. Is this a step towards becoming that "citizen of the world" that study abroad programs say that you can become? Is realizing that you do belong to the country you grew up in, meaning that you realized that your home country shaped who you are, a part of finding your place in a global society? Do you have to acknowledge your own subjectivity before you can try to form opinions on the rest of the world?

Well, how's that for some closure? In other news, I also gained confidence in myself, became a better problem solver, am a lot less pleasant to mess with, learned a bit of Hindi and other blah blah blah that is actually true and makes me sound like a study abroad advertisement. My fall semester was complicated, but it was also wonderful. I did wonderful things, met wonderful people and had wonderful experiences—both good and bad.

I think a sign of how much you loved a place or a time is how sad you are when it is over (is this a good approach? Maybe I'll revise that later in life), and if my unabashed sobbing black tears (I was wearing a lot of eyeliner—I literally ran off  a stage right after bows and had the entire cast of the show take me to the airport...thanks again guys!) while checking my bags and getting quizzed on whether or not I was trafficking drugs means anything, I can say with confidence that I loved my time in India.