Why am I here? Is usually a sort of soul searching, meaning of life kind of question. A question reserved for people on acid trips, having had a near-death experience, or an encounter with god- all of which can be described as religious experiences. But no, I am writing from India, and here, the question is of much more a practical nature: Why am I here? Or in my case, “why did I come back here?”
It all started in 2006. I had laid the seeds for a new solar energy company called Sunflower Solar in the fall and winter of 2005. But by the spring of 2006, the market had not quite yet come due to a delay in subsidies for solar energy in Colorado, but they were promised soon. So, without too much careful consideration, I explained to my long term girlfriend that I needed to leave for a few months (let me tell you how excited she was about that) and met my brother, recently out of the Peace Corps, in Thailand.
After a month of enjoying ourselves in Southeast Asia, we made the decision to go to India for reasons that are now lost on me. All I can say is that I lived through the experience, and despite the numerous frustrations associated with being in India, it was a great learning experience in which I even found some joy.
However, learning experiences usually involve things that are not altogether fun, and can rarely be described as a vacation, so I can hardly explain my insistence on returning once again to the subcontinent.
It is still hard to be here. Though last time I was here, I believe I had mastered the serene acceptance of the unending hassles of India, I clearly had not put those into long term use because I have allowed it, once again, to scam me, annoy me, and generally get under my skin.
But India is a learning experience and it does make you tougher. It lays bare people’s motivations and makes things, through the chaos, more transparent. The beggars who simply say “money money money money,” while holding out their hands lack a certain refinement- but they get the point across. And the point, I am finding, is that most people who interact with you want something from you. And that is usually money. Sometimes people just want to practice their English or alleviate boredom, but usually it is just this: you have money, and they want it. As a result, many interactions I have here on a daily basis resemble someone at an ATM, with me being the ATM. Mind you, in true Indian style, I have made my ATM extremely difficult to operate and I refuse most bankcard pleas for cash. In India, seekers of divinity commonly use a mantra, which they repeat day in and day out. Mine is this: “I know you want my money, but I am not giving it to you, so please go away.” I would prefer it were “Om Mani Padme Hum” (I am one with the universe) but for now, it’s all about the money.
Staying in the ashram boom town of Puttarpathy, I had briefly lost my voice due to sickness, so I decided to just stop talking altogether. Now, 3 days into my experiment, I have told no to exactly zero people, though many have asked. Their requests, which used to hold sway over my western sensibilities governing politeness, are now declined through the power of my intention and my actions rather than the words of someone being held-up at guiltpoint.
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