Broken Barriers

I woke before it was light out. I had wanted to get to Agra early, in order to see the things the city had to offer, so I had arranged to meet Sonu at the (at least to him) ridiculously early hour of seven am. He showed up five minutes late, with a noticeably cleaner car than last night.

“I am sorry, but I must wash car!” Sonu’s English was perhaps the second best I heard in India, and as we drove through the streets of Delhi he explained major sights and some of their history. Sonu took particular pride in pointing out hospitals and various schools, describing how new generations of Indians were getting better educations and taking care of other Indians. His pride and excitement were infectious, and I found myself liking him, and against my instincts, relaxing.

The road to Agra had a life of it’s own. The two lane highway was packed with horse and donkey carts, oxen, camels, goats, dogs, cats, the occasional monkey and of course, cows. The Indian cow is a massive creature, with huge horns, and a strange, massive hump that I’d never seen on livestock before. They are usually pale white but it’s their eyes that really make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’ve heard the description “cow eyed” applied to people who were considered stupid or dull, but when I first locked eyes with a Brahma I was transfixed by the sense that the beast was seeing into my very soul, and was wise beyond measure. The first thought that crossed my mind was “I see now why these are sacred.” Due to the Hindi religion, the cows in India are safe from slaughter, as to kill one would be to kill an aspect of god.

This presents an interesting problem, as the cows have a tendency to wander in and out of traffic with impunity, and stare down cars with a kind of arrogant disdain. They know they are safe, and don’t care if they back up the highway for kilometers.

Sonu stopped at a roadside restaurant for breakfast. “I always stop here when I travel to Agra. Because the food is best!” I politely decline his offer to buy a meal, and watch while he wolfs down a roti with some kind of spicy pickles.

My stomach growls and I sip my chai, wishing I’d joined him. He gives me a knowing look and passes me a piece of roti. I spread the pickles on it, and bite into one of the most delicious things I’d eaten in India. In this way, Sonu and I share our first meal together, and another of my barriers is broken down.

-Doug