Senses

When I first got to India, every aspect was sensory overload. Little things would mesmerize me and regress me into a second childhood. The sound of drumming and music seemed to float everywhere. Colors were so bright, and everything was so new. I didn’t know how to speak to anyone, didn’t even know how to use the toilets properly here. I literally had to be taught everything again. I remember walking down the street and hearing the call to prayer in the middle of the day- I thought it was a concert. It wasn’t until I heard this music day after day that I finally realized what it was. We all know what learning from experience is like, but it had been a very long time since I had to learn such basic things just by living them.

The first month every day would make me so tired. Not only from the heat and the bike rides, but from sheer sensory overload. Life is either so beautiful you want to cry, or so awful you want to do the same. There is no middle ground.

After it rains the weather releases a torrent of dragonflies and butterflies. Thousands emerge from all over the huge green campus, so much that I have to dodge them when I ride my bike to class. They flutter through the air aimlessly and make me feel like I’ve stepped into a wonderland, or a time portal where nature is preserved and development is not overwhelming. The body takes in so much when I’m at home and I never even realized it. The next time you walk down the street, think- and I mean REALLY think- about how many senses you experience, and how fast you register them. What do you smell when you walk past a gas station, or the green grass of your front lawn? How many different colored cars pass you on the street, and what kind of dog just dodged out of the way of one of them? How does the air feel? Cool, hot, heavy, light? When a car honks is it high or low pitched? What language do you suppose the man waiting for the bus was speaking? Bite into a snack and close your eyes. Is it crunchy, sweet, fried, soft?

Our senses are capable of taking in vast amounts of information without us even being conscious of it. But here in India that first month, I was quite aware of EVERYTHING. And it was exhausting. People always talk about how much more “intense” things are here. The smells, sights… But I wonder if it’s not actually more intense, just new. I wonder if my senses won’t be just as magnified when I go home, because for a few weeks, everything will be rich again.

Now when I walk to class I don’t register the sound of drums as quickly. They fade into the pulsing background of Hyderabad; muffled among the honking, shouting, and the rest of the persistent chaos that surrounds everyday life. It is a little sad that we grow so accustomed to life over time. However, I believe callousness has its place in this world; a person cannot walk around being constantly mesmerized. They would be a useless child. But sometimes, in the form of a blessing, a gust of wind will pluck leaves off of their branches, and fall into a spiraling whirlwind. The rain will release of torrent of dragonflies, and I will wake up and hear the drums again.