Friends have been asking about my India experience so far. To that I chant the Hindu Advait Vedanta matra- Neti, Neti, Neti meaning “Neither this, Nor That”. There really is no one way to explain what India is or has become (even the past, present, future tense stand still here).

I get up every morning and along with chai (that mom makes) get the newspaper. At that moment I feel love and belonging like none else. As I read the paper the feelings get a little more complex. The newspaper reads like an absurdist tabloid. There is an article, two full pages long, about a conference held for and attended by the worlds leading luxury goods manufacturers who see India as their fastest growing market. Jostling for space is another article about farmers who are unable to pay off their loan and are forced to commit suicide. Sharing the same page is a news about record yield of strawberries and how India is to become the largest exporter of strawberries to Europe. There is an article in today's newspaper about the influence and power wielded by women politicians. Yesterday there was one about a woman in rural India who was accused to being a witch, tied to a tree and beaten up- all this on broadcast TV. A school teacher beat up a student with a stick and she died (parents say due to injuries, doctors say its unclear). Another article tells me that the government has announced plans to set up eight more IITs and seven more IIMs- those hallowed corridors of education that catapulted India into the world technology and business arena. When then does one begin to rejoice and when lament?

Even if one were to step out of the incongruous and confusing world of the newspaper on to the roads of Delhi, the contrasts are hard to miss. I am not even going to go to the absolute lawlessness of the roads (that is now a subject too blasé for discussion here). The new metro public transport system shines as truly a much needed and much awaited blessing. A sign that things are improving- slowly yet surely. Yet we get power cuts that last hours ( I dread the fast approaching summer), everyone buys mineral water because what comes out of the taps is undrinkable and every year everyone digs deeper and deeper to pump water from the ground. No one seems to care or talk about the time when there is nothing more to dig and what when you can't dig anyways because there will be no electricity to pump water with.

I went to a mall with a friend last week and I am sure I was very irritating company for all my surprise oohs and aahs. There isn't a creature comfort that you can't get. From designer clothes to Brookstone kind of stores that tell you what you may need and then sell it to you. It could be a mall anywhere in the US. The service was impeccable, even if a little amateurish. Most of the salespeople are young college or school graduates who still haven't developed the professionally polished calm and disassociated politeness of the salespeople of the west. They are so eager to please they stalk you through the aisles and don't rest till they have found what you are looking for (that you are having to move an inch to look for something on your own is an insult to their profession). At the restaurant where we ate the manager asked several times if the food was ok and did everything to accommodate our needs- something I don't remember ever happening in my past life in Delhi.

Yet most of my mom's needs are met within a km of where she lives and she finds little use for malls and grocery chains. A banana seller comes every morning, followed by a vegetable seller and a fruit seller. They all ring the door bell, bargain without much gusto- as if they just need to go through the motions to justify the sale they made. Last evening I went to the local grocer with mom. We have known him forever and a few days- since the time his dad ran the shop. After his father passed away he took over the family business. His mother helps in keeping things organized. People come and rattle off their list of requirements. The mother assigns tasks to a couple of helper boys who then bring whatever you asked for and put in a basket. The basket then goes to the son who with his brand new handy dandy computer calculates your bill for you. I had barely made it to the front of the shop when my mom reminded me to say “Namaste” to the grocer's mom (“she always asks after you”) Not only did the lady remember me but also every detail of my life. She inquired after me, my work, my life. All this while the rest of the people waited for their turn to rattle off their grocery needs. If this wasn't enough we realized that we were a few hundred rupees short (on account of my having made my mom buy a few “healthier” things). I was going to tell him that I could come by and pick up the stuff later but he raised his hand, palm facing me (a universal gesture for “ I shall hear none of that”) and made mom sign the back of the bill, then put it away on one of those little spears that hold loose papers. There was a thick wad there from other people who hadn't paid the guy yet. He did not take any money at all saying that he would rather clear it all later. How is that for a credit card? No APR either.

It is an India of many Indias- owned equally and unequivocally by the farmers -ones who commit suicide and ones that find the next big cash crop, by stores in malls that aim to make life easier for you the consumer to shop owners who are an an intrinsic part of your life, by politicians who are caught taking bribes and by those few that hold up the hope for sustainable development, by parents fighting to get their kids into high end private schools and by kids that shine despite their less than perfect circumstances. India is a promise and promises can go either ways. Until then India remains, at least for me, Neti, Neti,Neti.