4 February 2024
New Delhi, India
My last three months have been a time. I had two MRI scans in the last three weeks which pretty much sums up how it’s been going.
What I’ve been doing and what I’ve been feeling are two separate things. Physically I have been exploring India, challenging myself, making good friends, trying new things, and having great experiences. But emotionally I have been on a roller coaster – feeling anxious, confused, and listless. And a moderate injury to my ACL isn’t helping. This quarter has been about recognizing signs from my body that certain old habits aren’t working for me anymore. I am a person with needs that I must tend to not only in order to be healthy, but in order to function. Something needs to change, and I want to understand myself better. I don’t have any answers yet, but I’m beginning to wrestle with these questions.
India is such a rich place. I was reflecting on this today when I was walking back from dinner. In India I don’t have to seek out activities in the same way as I did in Australia, because just being in this country is amazingly engaging. It is a full-on, sensory experience. Everywhere I look there is something happening. There are people walking beside motorcycles between cars honking while cows cross the road and street vendors sell pani puri in the gaps between the storefront and the sidewalk. There’s no being precious about your personal space. You have to watch your step or you might bump into schoolchildren or plant your foot in cow dung or trip on loose pavement or walk into a dangling telephone wire. Being a pedestrian is every man for himself. I learned this the hard way when I stepped (and fell) off a local train while it was still moving because it had no doors. Nothing controls when, where, or how you can go. If your tuk tuk driver needs to merge onto the highway but there are only exit ramps, he’ll simply drive into oncoming traffic, staying as close to the edge of the road as possible. Driving is a free-for-all kind of chaos that somehow has become a shared language among locals. Car honking is loud and constant. Because you don’t use your blinker as a turn signal, you just honk really loudly so the person in front of you knows you’re passing them. The shops lining the street are small, specialized, and human, like the big-box stores haven’t caught up with them yet. If you need a lightbulb, you go to the guy with the lightbulb shop. If you need a notebook, you go to the store with stacks of books bleeding onto the sidewalk. You can buy a powerstrip from the stall next to the coconut stand. Even the city smell is unique – something like chalky smoke. And I love it all.
When I told a tourist that I was staying in Bangalore for a month, he laughed at me. “Bangalore is so boring!” he said. “There’s nothing to do here. Even seven days is too long.” But all I could do was smile to myself, because I could not disagree more. I didn’t want to see big tourist attractions; I wanted to see real life. And the wonder I felt just walking down the street in Bangalore was enough to spend weeks chewing on.
I have so much swirling in my brain about what I’ve seen and what I’ve done since coming to India. But it’s been really hard for me to sit down and sort out my thoughts. I have just been collecting. Like writing thoughts down for later, making notes over my iPhone photos, having Zoom calls, listening to people’s stories, going to interesting places, and jotting down comic ideas. There are so many concepts I want to explore about urban wildlife in India, and there is so much I want to make in terms of blog posts and comics – but I’m struggling to find the motivation to actually write. I’m feeling a lot of inertia. This quarterly report is great, actually, because it’s forcing me to write again, which hopefully will help me reconnect with the making side of my creative self.
I entered India with a bang, going on a steep sunrise hike 48 hours after I landed. I made two Indian friends in my hostel named Umashree and Nisarga, and together we explored Koramangala and played badminton at midnight. They bought me food to try and took me on long auto rides. Even though I felt tired, I was still on the same mental train as I was when I left Australia – pushing through, packing in the activities, and prioritizing social engagements. But then I got sick. I holed up in my private hostel room and spent my second week in Bangalore in bed. Even once I got better, I didn’t want to leave my room. I didn’t want anyone to talk to me. I just wanted to watch YouTube and call my girlfriend. I wondered if this was a sign that I needed to rest, but realized I didn’t totally know how.
Eventually I did go out again, and that’s when I met who would become two of my closest Indian friends at an indoor trampoline park. Their names are Kamal and Ragini, and they’re creative, full of energy, and some of the funniest people I’ve met. I slept on the floor of their apartment on the night we were introduced, and we bonded closely in just one weekend. Ragini picked me up on her bright orange scooter and took me to an art museum, to an ice cream shop, and to her stand up comedy show, and when we went home to the apartment we sat on the floor with Kamal and painted into the night. When I was leaving for Mysore, we made plans to see each other again. Kamal invited me to come to his childhood home in Punjab and Ragini invited me to her best friend’s wedding. I got on the train with a full heart. But then I got gastroenteritis.
After a trip to the hospital and a few days in bed, I met with Lakshman, the co-owner of a vegan hostel called BeAnimal, and his wife, Vanessa, and their six-month-old baby, Battu. Lakshman is from Bangalore and Vanessa is from Germany, and their hostel is special not only because it’s vegan, but because they built it with the hope that intentional hospitality can infuse kinship with non-human animals into the minds of their guests. We had a great conversation, and the three of us became friends. They invited me to stay at their home for the last two nights I was in Mysore, and we swapped stories, ate vegan food, and played with the baby. Lakshman had many interesting thoughts about India and advice to share about personal growth. I told him I was feeling a bit lost and he recommended I stay at a Sivananda ashram in Kerala (stay tuned).
After a hard goodbye, I went back to Bangalore and spent Christmas with Ragini and Kamal, who threw a sleepover party for their friends. They don’t typically celebrate Christmas, so had been on the fence about whether or not they’d host a party. But they told me that my being in Bangalore was the deciding factor. They filled the apartment with handmade decorations like snowflake garlands and paper wreaths, turned their house plant into a Christmas tree, and put on a YouTube fireplace. And when I didn’t have any nice clothes to wear, they dressed me up like an angel. It was my job to make Christmas cookies, but when I went to preheat the oven, I realized they didn’t have one. So it was the first time I’ve ever baked inside a microwave. The cookies were unrecognizable, but they were still a hit.
I also made a good friend named Sasha, who loves rescuing cats from the street and feeding stray dogs. He told me these dogs have their own territories, and that government efforts to relocate them can actually put their lives at risk. He also told me that when his cat injured a pigeon, all the veterinarians he called refused to treat it, viewing the bird’s health as trivial. But then he discovered a hospital called “Kabootar Daana Sewa Samiti” (Pigeon Donation Service Committee) that was dedicated only to pigeons. And so, I visited the hospital and took a tour a few days later, with Ragini there in support and as an impromptu translator. And on my last day in Bangalore, Sasha and I watched his favorite Kannada movie, and he gave me a hug goodbye as I stepped onto the bus.
And as for the last legs of my story to date: I started the new year living at an intensive Sivananda ashram in Kerala, where I chanted in Sanskrit every day, practiced meditation, and learned about the true meaning of yoga. I spent one week in Mumbai where I jumped off a moving train and sprained my ACL. I met with a Zoraostrian priest who told me about the role of animals in his religion and drove me around downtown on a motorcycle. And I joined Remi’s family trip to Thailand.
Now I am back in India, and this week by myself in Delhi is a bonus week of sorts. I got back from Thailand yesterday and was originally supposed to have only one day free before going to Punjab with Kamal and attending Ragini’s friend’s wedding. But our trip was postponed last minute, which means I now have an extra seven days before I see anyone again. And the relief that gave me showed me something.
I realized that in the face of these wonderful activities – and even in moments in Bangalore and in Thailand – instead of feeling present, I was feeling anxious and tired. Before I was even worried about my sprained knee, I was worried about my sprained foot, and I felt anxiety about balancing my social connections with my research. I was worried about how to keep in touch with friends and family back home. My body was screaming for time to just sit still and not think so much. But I didn’t know how I could create that space in my schedule, which made me feel trapped. And I started freaking out.
In a way, my knee injury was the straw that broke the camel’s back, forcing me to take time to rest and prioritize my health. I got a same-day MRI scan which only cost $40, so yesterday I got another one for my foot for good measure. And today I took myself to physical therapy, where the doctor told me to rest in my hotel room every day except for coming in for treatment. And I have begun seeing a therapist for my mental health again.
I think my next chapter is about learning to live vibrantly but sustainably – so that I’m not oscillating between climbing mountains on negative hours of sleep with a sprained foot and being on bedrest, but rather, am doing the activities I love with time to rest mixed in.
One thing I’m grateful for, though, is how my Watson project lends itself so well to this year. It can be done both actively and passively, which gives me a really good foundation no matter what my energy levels are or what location I am in. For example, on my way to get a haircut I stumbled into the largest flock of pigeons I’ve ever seen in my entire life, witnessing Jain people carting in fifty pound bags of birdseed to much avian delight. Even on days when I can’t be bothered, or when I’m feeling anxious and ungrounded, I still see my project everywhere which makes me feel curious and inspired again. Urban wildlife and human-nature relationships are everywhere, not only in pigeon hospitals, but in casual walks down the street, in Hindu scriptures, in everyday conversations, in contemporary art, in ancient temples, in Kannada films, and in environmental research.
The main theme I want to explore further in my work in India is the role of religion in shaping human-animal relationships, namely in Jainism, Hinduism, and Zoraoastrianism. How vegetarianism is weaponized by Hindu politicians against Muslims; how some people believe that street animals suffer due to their bad karma from a past life; how Jain people feed pigeons as a harbinger of peace; how Parsi people believe that all the dogs you pet in your lifetime will welcome you into the gates of heaven; and how feeding animals with faith but without knowledge has destructive effects. It is all insanely fascinating.
Back in October, my stepmom Julie told me that this year is like drinking from a firehose. There is so much information and newness and transition being thrown at me all the time, so it’s impossible to swallow it all at once. So I want to give myself credit, and know that it’s not only okay but also necessary to be slowing down my pace. Because in that time I can actually process what is happening, recuperate, focus on my project, and create as much balance as possible. I am beginning to experience the joy of saying “no,” and the joy of staying in bed, and the joy of a quiet day to myself. I am beginning to be more focused and intentional with my time.
I met with a photographer named Adira during my second week in Bangalore, and during our conversation I shared my creative discontent with her. I felt like I was struggling to keep up with the pictures I was taking; I felt like I was taking too many photos of the wrong things; I felt like I was disorganized and too overwhelmed to carry my camera around; I felt like I didn’t know where to focus. And she said: “Margaret, you can’t be taking photos and editing them all at the same time. You’re in the gathering stage right now. That’s what this year is for – it’s about being present and absorbing everything you can. And when you come back to the US, that’s when you can start editing your photos, because then you’ll see your photographs through fresh eyes. And after all is said and done, you’ll know what is important.”
And I think that is a metaphor for this year at large. My job isn’t to figure anything out; it’s just to be open to what comes. Stressing about if I’m doing enough or if I’m doing the right thing only brings me pain. It takes me out of the moment and shifts my awareness away from my center. And I want to ground myself again. What I need to do is accept myself. All I can do is try my best, pay attention to my feelings, act accordingly, and trust that what is happening now is what is meant to be.