We made it! Somehow I had survived the dreadful landing. My grey-haired, frequent flyer fellow passenger had offered a reassuring hand to support me during my ordeal. Although I was still as red as a ripped tomato and panting like a dog I was so relieved that I almost kissed him on both cheeks! But I had some ounces of dignity left. The rejoicing was for later, I instructed myself exhaling slowly; my initiatory voyage was not over.
It had been a bold decision to leave my own comfortable and predictable country to spend three months in crazy and sparkling India, not to mention in the most remote village of Tamil Nadu that was probably not even listed by Google Map.
As I exited the aircraft, the powerful heat and humidity strangled me. I felt sticky and moist. Why on earth could I suddenly picture granny’s desuetude gigantic cupboard filled with old embroidered linen? Why could I experience the nostalgia of her blue tiled kitchen? It was not Proust’s madeleine but the smell, wet and dusty, that seemed to definitely convey me into another dimension.
Walking through immigration, I decided that my artistically stacked up luggage trolley would be my bodyguard, my shield. Because I confess: I was trying to be strong and brave like a bull, but that night I felt like a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt . I proceeded through the faintly air-conditioned corridors of the airport, in-spite of the heat my heart felt cold. “But it is my dream come true!” the thought drew a feeble smile. A dream? Well, more like a nightmare now.
The exit doors automatically opened in front of me. A sudden wave of oven-like high temperature swallowed me. The sudden outdoor darkness left me disoriented. Here I was, a valiant gladiator yet vulnerable, in the middle of an overcrowded and cramped arena.
There were dozens; no hundreds; no wait, thousands of pairs of dark eyes belonging to exhausted Indian relatives apathetically waiting for their beloved sons, husbands or grand-children to show up, in the dead of night. I was unable to capture their humanity; like disturbing, expressionless and dull puppets, hypnotized by the airport doors, glued to an incredible torpor.
I frowned, yes, they had a funny kind of, was that a towel draped around their waists. “Of course must be a lungi! They mentioned it in the Lonely Planet!” I recalled. But where was the colorful and vibrant India I had been promised? Where was the exuberance, the noise, the noise, the powerful energy? My stomach churned: Dear god would I be able to survive here?
Eventually I saw him beaming at me like the Cheshire Cat. “Thanappan! I am so happy to see you! Thanks for receiving me”. “Welcome to India, Anne!” he winked at me. As he continued to grin his teeth gleamed in the dark like a beacon from a lighthouse.
And I was certain I would pull through.
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