Roll credits

So, India. You scared me.

I got off your plane and boarded that hot, dilapidated bus with all those people. The unmarked one that looked like it might be going somewhere I wanted to be.

But, I said *might*.

Your people pushed passed me and skipped me in line without the slightest acknowledgement.

Your bathrooms welcomed me paper-less and toilet-less.

You squeezed three cars, one rickshaw, a cow and two people side-by-side on your narrow two-lane streets.

Your cars honked like quacking ducks with chronic hiccups*.

Your men stared at me like I was the window to another universe.

I mean, really. You scared me.

But you grew on me, India. You grew on me slowly and precipitously at the same time. How is that possible? Because you’re a contradiction, India. You know this.

That’s why it’s going to be so hard to write about you. You are so complex. So colorful. So energetic. So languid. So easily misunderstood.

I started off in Hyderabad. Google has an office there.

Google India in Hindi

Hyderabad office

Welcome

Voted best company to work for in India

Word.

In part, because of the snacks.

Spiced. Coated. Fried. Peanuts.

And they'll even prepare you an omelet with your lassi.

The cabs on their way from taking Googlers to work.

The guesthouse rocks.

My little lounge.

The awesome staff makes us dinner every night. This was Italian night. We even had Chinese night. Indians like Chinese food.

And yummy fresh fruit.

I was in HYD for a 2-day conference with my immediate team – annual planning, team strategy, syncing with the business, Bollywood dancing – you know, the usual.

Our instructor shows us how it's done.

Rekha breaks it down.

Jazz hands!

Our team's only guy. Mukesh, we're sorry!

We're tryin'!

This guy knows his shit.

Can we video conference him in for lessons?

We all had fun. Soooo much fun!

Then I went to the Golden Triangle with Kelly. We booked a rigorous 3-day trek to Delhi, Agra and Jaipur. The Capital. The Taj. The Pink City. After that I was back at Google Hyderabad for a week of work and then on to Kerala - God's Own Country – to travel alone (or at least that’s what I thought).

After two glorious weeks in India, I feel like I need to roll some credits – Bollywood style. But instead I’ll tell some anecdotes about my trip. And roll credits along the way.

Act I.

In Kerala, I was welcomed by a man in a skirt holding a sign with my name on it. I was so relieved to see this man in a skirt. I smiled big when I saw him. And he smiled big right back.

He reached for my bag and I reached for his hand. Shaking it. He giggled. Then he pointed to the parking lot and to himself. And then pointed to the ground and then to me. Then he was gone.

A few minutes later, there he was. Grabbing my bags and putting them into his car. I got in the front seat and pointed at the monkey that said “Happy Birthday” hanging off his rear view mirror. I smiled and nodded. He smiled and wobbled.

He didn’t speak any English. And I didn’t speak any language BUT English. But I knew I had a driver and a guide. And I assumed – as we headed down the road – that we were going to pick up the guide.

I felt confident getting into the car with a stranger in a skirt for one reason. Sid. Sid had arranged through his uncle to have a driver and guide who he trusted to take me around Kerala for 4 days. I had talked to Disha (Sid’s wife) and to Sid’s uncle that morning. They said the driver would be waiting for me at the airport.

And there was my name – just as they’d said. On the little piece of paper outside the airport. With a smiling man with a mustache standing behind it.

About 10 minutes later, my driver started talking on his phone. The language he was speaking was funny. It was super fast. I liked listening to it.

And then he handed his phone to me. Smiling. And nodded his head toward me. For you.

I took the phone. And someone was speaking English. With the accent it was a little hard to understand over the phone. I took it that I was also a little hard to understand over the phone because after asking me how my flight was, he was gone. Hello? Hello?

I looked at my driver. He waved his hand and smiled. Like – don’t worry, we’ll see him soon.

As we drove, he tried to make sure I was comfortable. He waved his hand in front of the air conditioner and pointed at me. Looking quizzical. I smiled and nodded. “Good.”

Then he pointed at me, made a small square and gave me a questioning look. I shook my head. I don’t understand. Then he pointed at himself and made a small square and smiled and wobbled his head.

OK, I definitely didn’t understand.

Then he took out his phone. He was trying to find something.

I waited.

Then he showed me a small child. A little girl.

He pointed at himself and smiled really big.

I lit up.

She’s yours? I pointed.

He wobbled his head. Smiling.

That’s great, I said. I was so happy to have understood. He was such a proud papa – and I loved that that was the first thing he thought to tell me.

You? He pointed.

No. I said.

I looked back at her photo. She was a toddler.

I pointed at her head in the photo. And then at mine. Someone had given me a bindi and I still had it on my forehead. She had one too. Bindi, I said.

He smiled and wobbled. We were communicating.

Later we saw a truck with some containers on the back. He pointed to it and then made a gesture that resembled drinking from your thumb. Then he made a circle around his ear in the "crazy" signal. He did this twice before I deciphered, "alcohol." There was homemade alcohol in that truck.

Then he pointed to me and made the crazy sign, asking, "Do you drink?" I said, "No."**

He made the drinking signal and then waved his hands in a "No" and then made a smoking signal and waves his hands in a "No" and pointed to himself, smiling.

I smiled back.

Then we saw a church. He pointed at the church and then to me. I didn't understand. He made the cross from forehead, chest, shoulder, shoulder and then pointed to himself, smiling.

Ah, I said.

Christian.

He smiled and wobbled.

"You?" he pointed.

"Yes," I said.

He smiled.

Then he made the cross sign again, asking, "Catholic"?

"No," I said. "Um...yes, but - Protestant," I said. Not knowing if he understood me. Yes and no was hard to get across with sign language.

I saw a sign that said Thekaddy 200 kilometers. That was where I was headed. To the Spice Village. A little bed and breakfast I’d booked on TripAdvisor.

Good, I thought. At least we’re headed in the right direction.

Then he saw that I was getting sleepy. He held his hand up and then slowly reclined it back. And pointed at the seat. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his head to the side, showing me sleep.

I really did want to sleep. Riding in cars makes me sleepy. As does flying. I pointed at the clock. What time, I said, with my shoulders in a shrug and my forehead in a wrinkle. He paused. I pointed to the clock. How long? Then he understood. He held up four fingers.

Four o’clock.

Two hours.

OK, I thought. I have two hours. So I took a nap – reclining back slightly. But then he turned on the music. And I heard some songs I liked. Ones I later asked him to play over and over. One song was from a movie called Bheema. It was kind of awesome. I didn’t understand a word of the lyrics. The chorus sounded like something the boogie man would say. Luckily I found it on YouTube.

After about two hours, he pointed to the road. There was a man there with a backpack on. I went to roll down my window and he held up his hand and waved. Saying, don’t worry.

He stopped and the man got into our car. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” he said.

This must be the person I talked to on the phone.

“Are you my guide?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Great,” I said.

They talked to each other – animatedly – in their language. They seemed to know each other.

Are we going to Thekkady, I said?

Yes, he said.

How long will it take?

Oh, we’ll be there around 6:00. Wow, I thought. That’s a long car ride.

Do you like traveling by car, he said?

“Yes”, I said. “Road trip!”

I handed him a sheet of paper where I’d jotted down a few things I’d found online.

Tea plantation.

Spice plantation.

Periyar Tiger Sanctuary.

Handicrafts.

Night trek.

Parasailing.

Hot air ballooning.

He laughed, "Parasailing madam? This is not the season for parasailing."

"That’s OK," I said. I knew that one was a little crazy. "It’s just a wish list."

He took all my print outs and read them carefully – taking my wish list very seriously.

I was glad to be in good hands. Yesterday I’d called Sid’s uncle to get my driver’s number. Instead of a voice mail, I got something I likened to “Bollywood music” which is probably just Indian music. I told Sid and Disha that I couldn’t get through to voice mail and she said, “Oh, there’s no voice mail in India.”

"There’s not?"

"Not really."

"Text him," she said.

Text. People text but they don’t leave messages. Interesting.

So I did. And he called me right back.

My cultural rubric was coming together.

So there I was, in a car with two people I didn’t know. Feeling comfortable, happy and safe. Ready for an adventure.

On the way there, we introduced ourselves. Stephanie, Saji and Pradeep.

The first of my credits

We were to be the three musketeers.

*now that’s a simile.

** you people know I drink but I thought it was safer to say no seeing as I didn't know this person (yet) and didn't want my driver pulling out a bottle of Jim Beam from under his seat.