The energy of India is something else—something spiritual, something in the air that I can’t quite put into words but can absolutely feel. I thought I knew chaos and hustle, but India takes the cake. Yet, amidst all the noise and dirt, my hair is growing longer and healthier. Maybe it’s something in the air or the hot-ass weather? (Probably the almond oil I massage into my scalp weekly.) My skin itches from the heat, and the Monsoon season manifests the air as humid and thick.

It’s a place where small details carry the deepest meanings—like elders dyeing their hair orange for Indian pride or Gojek drivers tying a string of lime and chili on their cars to ward off negative energy; it speaks to a deeper belief in warding off the bad juju—the evil eye. Everywhere you go, there’s an energy that’s a blend of Indian tradition and chaos.

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Ganesh statues, yoga, and Hindu festivals - celebrating gods and goddesses; it’s not just something people do here, it’s how they live. These festivals bring the streets alive with color and devotion. Hinduism runs deep, and it’s beautiful. My coworkers tell me about the 10-day-long devotion to lord Ganesh, a man turned elephant that is accompanied by a long fasting period. The Ayurveda lifestyle is something I’ve always tried to tap into — every oil and herbal supplement I’ve purchased can be traced back to the earth’s purpose of using nature as healing power.

But at the same time, there’s this harsh reality of poverty and injustice. From kids who fake having injuries for money (which I have now found out they are likely part of gangs) and people banging on car windows for petty cash. It’s right there, in your face, unlike anything I’ve ever seen in America. It’s funny because you see the class system so clearly here. If you’ve got money or the right accent, you’re treated like royalty. I’ve never been called “Miss Matthews” and “Ma’am” so much in my life. It makes you hyper-aware of your own privilege, and honestly, I feel a little spoiled sometimes. Like last night, I was having dinner at The Bastian in Bandra and accidentally dropped my fork, the staff ran so fast to pick it up and get me a new one, or how my bed is made for me every day.

Being here reminds me of my favorite movie, A Little Princess—the first film that ever made me cry. I remember watching it with my mom and realizing that films could make you cry, not from physical pain, but from the visuals, it was the first time I was able to connect my emotion to a visual feeling, of seeing cinematography. I understood that tears aren't just tied to (the physical) like sadness or hurt—they can also come from the emotions that visuals evoke. That’s how India feels. It has its beauty and its ugliness. Just like life, there’s always that balance, the yin and yang that I’m constantly preaching about. You can’t have the good days without the bad ones.

India, with all its contradictions, is alive with energy, and I’m here for all of it.