Posted by: Corina Paraschiv | March 8, 2010

Brown, for India.

India is different.  Maybe brown could characterize it.  Brown for the camels, for the spices, for the dirt on the roads, for the tan of people in the streets.  India is grooving with life, at every step you take.

India was like what I imagined; it was alive, loud, noisy.  There are crowds, as you walk on the street, loads and loads of people tending to their daily activities.
Children walk hand in hand back from school, in their uniforms.  Street vendors, often old ladies with wrinkles, sit down between two columns and sell fruit.  Taxi drivers try to get the better of you by endlessly bargaining.  The sun is hot, but the traditional wears are made of such thin cloth that it is bearable.  The smells change as you go from street to street.

I cannot help but being surprised at how everything coexists in that country.  All the opposites reside side by side quietly, normally, as if they had never been distinct in the first place.  First, there is the rich houses, or the rich malls, and they are right in front of the poor beggars on the street.  Then there is the modernity of cell phones and cars, in front of camels and old tourist buildings.

The thing that made me most smile, though, is when hajar, my friend, told me: “Have you noticed, despite of how difficult it is to be a girl in this country, how the most beautiful jewel they own, the TaJ Mahal, has been
built because of the plea of a woman?”

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