A Passage From India CULTURE SHOCK CUTS BOTH WAYS by Jerry Meyerle This photo was taken by my friend Kay Taylor, another U.Va. Study in India student who visited a rural village school outside of Jodhpur. This past fall I went on the University of Virginia Study in India Program. When people ask me about my experiences there, I always have a hard time talking about it. It's difficult to explain exactly what I learned there and how it heightened my awareness, as all unique experiences do. Clichés about India abound -- i.e., it's a mystical place, it's an exotic place, etc. To a certain extent I found this to be true. I lived in Jodhpur, a small city of about 750,000 in Northwestern India on the edge of the Thar Desert, not too far from the Pakistani border. Nearly every house in the city was painted a deep blue, and the streets had that narrow winding quality that make places like Rome so appealing to travelers. Our group, fifteen in all, lived in Meharangarh Fort, an immense medieval fortress built on a large plateau overlooking the city. Viewed from above, the town was a fine example of the organic unity and flair for color that makes India a place of pilgrimage for so many people from all over the world. Jodhpur embodied this ideal more than any of the places I visited during my five months abroad. Varanasi, built along the Ganges river and known to be the holiest city in India, couldn't hold a candle to Jodhpur. The general atmosphere of the place was very welcoming. I realize this now that I am back in the States. Rather than the friends that I made being apprehensive of me as as a casteless American (technically having no caste in a caste-based society such as India puts you below untouchables in the religious hierarchy), they welcomed me as warmly as I could have expected. They were full of questions and were extremely generous -- almost to a fault. Being an American, I took a while to get used to the way young men my own age would sit very close to me, put their arms around me, hold my hand, etc. But by the end of my time in Jodhpur -- and just as the weather cooled down to a pleasant seventy degrees -- I had become accustomed to such contact, and I must admit that I didn't want to leave. In five months I had made a life for myself in this small city, having made little effort to be outgoing or compromising. Due to the extreme heat and the fact that I lived in a hilltop fortress over the city, I did not have many opportunities to make friends in Jodhpur itself, but it's just as well, since I had only so much time. When in the company of other Indians, on many occasions I found myself confronted with my own relative inhibitions. Having grown up in metropolitan D.C., I had a hard time shaking my suspicions of people in general. I just was not used to sitting in close quarters and exchanging personal information with other men whom I had only recently met. Generally that's something that I save for only my very close friends, and even then not so much. Yet living in India for a semester, I felt as if my own inability to be honest, open, and generally endearing to those around me was emerging more readily. I don't know if this was actually the case. I would venture to say that it was only a matter of comparison. In my hometown, you have to earn someone's friendship; being immediately open and endearing is considered (in my book) a tad overbearing. At first I wondered if these people wanted something from me and that's why they were being so damn nice, but that was not the case. As I left the fort for the last time, several members of the fort staff went with me to the train station, saw me off, presented me with gifts, and made me feel as if I had been an important part of their lives --that the place I was leaving was not just a temporary vacation spot, but my home. My preoccupation with personal space that is so integral to American individuality is not necessarily a bad thing. Now that I'm back in the West, I feel more islolated and contemplative. This being more true to my nature, I feel more comfortable, aware, and in control of my future. The readjustments that I've made during the month that I've been back are pretty signficant. I'm back to my old suspicious self: slightly self-conscious and careful about what I say. I'm back in America where the people around me are intent on bettering themselves, their situations, and the world around them (generally speaking), where we are taught to take a problem and find the quickest, most efficient way to solve it. Charlottesville may not be quite as exotically picturesque as Jodhpur, but at least there aren't feces in the streets, and women can go out at night without so much fear for their safety. I'm happy to live in a well-organized, effective, law-based society. An Indian friend of mine in the States said to me the other day: "India -- the whole place functions on pure intuition." I agree. America doesn't trust intuition; we like to have things written down, documented and well-organized. There's nothing wrong with this, it's just a little boring, that's all. Americans are very into the idea of drawing lines, and recording as accurately as possible the limits allowed in every possible situation. We like limits, boundary lines, defining characteristics and other such things that establish who we are. We may not have a caste system, but there's a hierarchy nonetheless, and its boundaries are not drawn simply along economic lines; they're drawn a million ways for a million different reasons. I liked the fact that I was never a subject of scrutiny during my time in India. I had my place in the lives of the people around me, and I never had to worry about it being compromised. So if you're feeling a little antsy or a little dissatisfied with American life, then I suggest you venture abroad for a semester. And what better place to go than India?

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