Seeing the Ordinary in India

Contributed by: Angela Richardson | Looking from the window of the stale, humid coach bus out to the blooming lush and yellow mustard fields of northern Rajasthan, India, I am plagued by questions. The foremost of which being what the hell am I doing? Is my daily life really so mundane? It must be if I’m willing to fly 7,000 miles away from it. The bus is making the five hour trip from Bharatphur to Ranthambore, both small towns known only on the map for their equally small animal sanctuaries. The drive marks the middle of my expedition, and for the first time I find myself reflecting on where I have been rather than where I am going.

First: Agra, and the shining domes of the Taj Mahal. The mausoleum was the most anticipated location on the itinerary. And as one of the Seven Wonders of the World, it deserves all of the fame and notoriety it receives. I went at dawn and spent the morning drinking in the serenity and majesty of the monument. In a word, the experience was extraordinary; everything surrounding the moment drove that message home.

"It was as if the Taj Mahal was too grand, pulling everything around it into its gravity, distorting the environment to suit its glory."

The city of Agra is orientated entirely around the tourist industry. All of the shops cater to international shoppers, and you cannot step outside without being swarmed by hawkers desperate to sell their souvenirs. The streets closest to the heritage site were clean and unassuming, but the roads just outside of it were the opposite — in shambles and littered with filth. It was as if the Taj Mahal was too grand, pulling everything around it into its gravity, distorting the environment to suit its glory. Everything was off, and there was a large part of me that was relived to be heading to my next location.

"The slow-moving traffic and rural mustard fields gave me the sense that my encounter here would be wildly different."

Next, I arrived in Bharatphur. It was early afternoon. The slow-moving traffic and rural mustard fields gave me the sense that my encounter here would be wildly different. Unlike the frantic pressure on the tourist industry in Agra, the people of Bharatpur were neither bothered nor impressed by my arrival. Most of the town’s economy is agriculturally based, and every evening I sat on the hotel roof, watching the farmers coming in from their fields at sundown. The idyllic scene restored a sense a homesickness I hadn’t realized I’d been harboring. Watching them, it wasn’t difficult to see the farmers from my hometown — 7,000 miles away in rural Iowa — similarly weary, driving tractors from their labors.

Holding these memories I now see their glaring differences. Where Agra was grand, Bharatphur was humble. When Agra was nosy and clamoring for attention, Bharatphur was quiet and out of the way. But most surprisingly, despite Agra being extraordinary and Bharatphur being plain, it is to Bharatphur that I most want to return. In this discovery I find the answer to my original question: I am not looking for something amazing, but for a new way to see the ordinary.