A PERFECT START

       I could not have timed my arrival in India any better.  Not only is it festival season, it is also wedding time in Patiala.

       Despite the fact that I had only slept three and a half hours, I made it a point to rise at 9:30 that first morning for it was important that I begin to reset my internal clock to fit the drastic time difference.

       My bedroom is situated on the second floor with an adjoining terrace overlooking the neighborhood.  As I lay in my bed taking in all the new sounds,  I thought I heard trumpets and a rapid drum beat rising over the roar of the traffic from the nearby four lane.  Curious, I stepped out onto the terrace startled by the sight of the top half of a bull appearing above the concrete wall that surrounded the house.  He slowly made his way down the road, his tail curled to chase away the flies as he disappeared from sight.  In the distance, the tail end of a group of people were rounding a corner.             

      Downstairs, Navneet, was calling up at me to grab my camera and go in search of the wedding procession responsible for all the racket. The drum sounds, she explained, were authentic.  The trumpets, that sounded out a few bars resembling Mexican songs, were, to my surprise, sounds created by the trucks' horns.  I was barely awake and looking a bit disheveled, but I could not resist such an opportunity, so off I went, camera bouncing off my chest as I ran down the narrow side street, passing the bull and a few undernourished dogs along the way.

      At the main road, the over-exuberant procession of colorfully clad Indians were gathered and dancing to ethnic music and a sounding drum draped over the male player's shoulder.  They seemed oblivious to the horn-honking cars that passed frighteningly close, the approving drivers catching a quick glimpse of the goings on.  What was the chance that I would start off my first day witnessing a scene that begged for the lens of my camera?  But there it was, a wedding procession, big and bold!

       I stood along the sidelines keeping my distance so as not to be too conspicuous, focusing my camera on the groom with his suit of gold threads and a beaded turban adorning his head. He was accompanied  by a boy;  both were seated atop a horse draped in a brightly colored cover.  

      I promptly learned that my attire and light-skin were a real attention getter. Within minutes all heads were turned in my direction.  It was one of those, discovered and no where to go, kind of moments, and I realized that I was the object of the crowd’s curiosity, asking myself...what to do?  A lively woman dashing toward me was about to decide my fate.

       This extremely animated woman was in my face babbling on at me in Indian.  My bewildered response: “I don’t understand,”  No matter, she took hold of my arm, swept me into the crowd and locked me tightly in an embrace, no doubt for the benefit of the cameras that were capturing the crowd’s mood. 

The professional camera men shifted their attention, readjusting the settings on their lenses while taking advantage of the opportunity to add a different flare to their photographs and shoot pictures of me...

      “Where are you from?” a voice from the advancing crowd shouted. 

      “America,” I replied, freeing myself from the clutches of my captor.  

      The faces of the halted crowd lit up at the news, curiosity replaced with an admiring smile.  Someone rewarded me with a cup filled with an orange drink.  The women leaned into each other, whispering, giggling, fixing their stares on me.  A captive in their surround, I could feel penetrating eyes...even from behind. 

I scanned the crowd and spotted a little girl, all frills and ruffles, standing with her mother...a  perfect opportunity to divert my attention from the staring people.  I showed the mother the camera.  She nodded her approval and gripped the girl's arm tightly, showing off her forearm wrapped with sparkling spangles complimenting her outfit.  The child gazed at me wide-eyed while I shot the picture. Meanwhile, others decided they needed to get into the act with a pose.  My camera was clicking picture after picture.

      My  self-appointed“guardian” was waving her arms in the air now and swinging her body from side to side. All were urging me to follow suit.  It was a perfect opportunity to set aside  the drink I feared was made of fresh water, and one I had no intention of drinking lest I start off my Indian experience with an acute stomach disorder.  Cheers followed my awkward attempts at mimicking the woman’s strange body movements. Nonetheless, I through all caution to the wind and allowed myself to get caught up in the whole scene; admittedly I was enjoying the attention.  The camera men came in for a close up.  Talk about the sleep-deprived American! Eyes barely open wide enough to see the light of day, much less camera ready.   I ran my tongue over my unbrushed teeth and produced a reluctant smile.  A man with a tray of the same orange drink saw that I was without.  I tried to decline but to no avail for he was determined to fill my empty hand. I took the drink and felt my stomach lurch in disapproval.       
      It had all came at me so fast and furious that I forgot about the poor upstaged groom who had waited so patiently on his horse while I innocently stole his thunder.  And of the heat that was rising off the pavement and cooking my sandal clad feet. And of all the urges a morning brings that needed attention.  It was time to make my exit.   I gradually eased my way out of the crowd, attempting to show my gratitude with my body language, and finally waving goodbye as they once again focused on the groom and moved on.  

I caught one last glimpse of the departing, expressionless groom, now being attended to by the woman who'd set the stage for my incredible experience, and the horse whose only concern was the flies gathering around its hind end.  

     When I was absolutely sure no one was looking, I left my full drink behind on the sidewalk for the benefit of the street dogs, no doubt close by.

     Back at the house, Navneet, was waiting anxiously for my reaction. I delivered a long-winded and very emotional response, and told her how I'd managed to avoid drinking the beverage.   Her response: “You have just sampled your first taste of Indian hospitality, and the drink was orange soda!"

    And so it was, for the next two days---while Navneet tenderly cared for me and helped me recovery from the long trip-- that curious family members, friends and neighbors would come to look upon the face of the fair skinned American woman. For as, Navneet, later explained:  “Your kind is a rarity in Patiala, so you will be stared at and revered wherever you go.”  Little did I realize how true a statement that would prove to be.