Seeing Dreams

So it has been almost two months since I left India...but a tattered letter I had written in August to myself made it to my Davidson mailbox from Jaipur today. Even though the envelope was completely slit open on all sides, by some miracle my letter still hung in there. My voice on that first morning of my homestay was so full of hope- for direction, possibilities, self-awareness, and dreams. Looking back from where I stand now, I see, with such awe and clarity, how so many of my experiences in India laid the bricks for the road I now walk upon. My Hindi name, Sapna (pron. sup-nah), which means "dream", feels like a sign of destiny, as I am dreaming a lot these days and trying to actively pursue them.

When people ask, "How was India?" or "What was India like?" I find it impossible to sum it up in one sentence. Instead I think about the staggering diversity of descriptions that burst through the constraints of our imaginations and knowledge of the world as it is. One author described India as a schizophrenic country...one of paradoxes, contradictions, or conflicting forces. To me, India can simultaneously be wildly chaotic--rickshaws strangling the dusty roads...bazaars buzzing with a million pockets of livelihoods, tragedies, secrets and dreams--yet it can also serenely peaceful to the extent that sacredness and holiness abound--gasping at the blushing sun as she peeps onto the stage of desert hues...the cloudy feel of bare feet on cool marble at temples or mosques or on hot sandstone at palaces and forts...the flutes and drums drifting through the verdant tapestry of rubber trees and coconut palms. Or it can be so mind-gratingly frustrating--the ways women are daily confined by stifled expectations and obligations...the pervasive corruption that thwarts honest intentions and obliterates trust in the government...the inability to take care of children on the street with beseeching eyes and clinging, empty hands--but yet so powerfully inspiring--openly weeping with hope as young girls make eardrums throb with songs about fighting for their education...seeing villages transformed and blossoming due to a reliable water source...feeding smiles with simple cake and love at a humble birthday celebration...

I suppose in a place where things are constantly changing and at odds with each other, I began to realize that being consistently and genuinely myself was the best way to open my heart, give back to people around me, and grow in love and purpose. It's exhausting and unfair to ourselves and others when we are dishonest with who we are and spend precious life painstakingly constructing a facade that we think will help us get somewhere or obtain something. The truth MUST go hand in hand with love and hope. I think that as more of us strive to be true to who we are, we will be better able to see with our hearts and strive to love genuinely and hope beyond ordinary limits. Love is ultimately the most real thing we can truly hope for.