Writer Seeks Experiences
By Barbara O'Neal | February 27, 2019 |
The madness and beauty of Old Dehli
If you’ve been reading WU for a few years, you might remember a blog I wrote called Saying No to Say Yes, about my long-held desire to visit India. Please notice the date, which was November 2015, over three years ago.
I finally made it there in January this year. It took me that long to work up the courage to go by myself, because no one wanted to go with me (one friend just couldn’t make it work). I joined a small group foodie tour, but I made my way there on my own, and spent the first two days alone in my Dehli hotel.
It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. Dehli was a slam to the senses, so insanely different from any place I’ve ever been that I reeled with it at first. On the way from the airport, I practically giggled over seeing cows ambling and tuk tuks putting and dogs trotting and brightly painted buses packed to the gills and women walking along in such ordinary ways, each wearing a sari more beautiful than the last.
Dazzling.
It was wedding season, so the air was filled with firecrackers, and one night in Jaipur we chanced upon a wedding party dancing down the street with a groom on a horse. We feasted on thalis and learned to make proper chai and…oh, so many things.
I wrote to myself on the way there, “I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t know what I’ll find. But I have to do this.”
My personal life has been completely insane with family crisis after family crisis the past three months, and one portion of it exploded the day I was heading to the airport. Everything was packed and I was taking a walk before calling an Uber when I heard the news.
For a long, painful moment, I wondered if I should stay home. My heart ached with the need to be present for everyone else because that’s who I am, Demeter, the nurturer (in case you never guessed).
But no. I decided, made a conscious choice, to put myself and my hunger first. It was entirely for my imagination, for the girls in the basement, for the fifteen-year-old I once was. I knew the crisis would be ongoing and I would be twelve (and a half) hours opposite my family.
In a way, it might have been a relief to claim a family emergency and stay home. By departure day, I was filled with worries of a million varieties—what if I hated it, what if it was awful, what if I hated everyone on the tour, what if, what if, what if….?
I left anyway. I dove into India with everything I had, showing up for whatever I felt or saw or experienced, with no judgment. I accepted that I would still be participating long distance in the crisis at home. I had texts in the middle of the night sometimes, and felt sorrow and anger and upheaval.
But I saw a monkey steal bananas from a paratha stall in Dehli. I spent the night in a castle with the most elegant bathtub I’ve ever seen. Ate dosas on Chowpatty Beach in Mumbai. Rode an overnight train and listened to the people snoring in all the berths like cats purring in the contented quiet. I watched the landscapes of Rajasthan and Gujarat through the windows of buses and trains, and saw the forts of the Mughals and drank fresh lime soda.
I also got very, very sick. Not with Dehli belly, though I did have a day of that and had to miss the Bollywood movie in Jaipur (sadly). The air in Dehli was very bad and several of us picked up a chest cold, an ordinary virus that turned evil.
None of my fears about India proved true at all. I loved it. It was magical and rich and even more amazing than I expected, and I’m in love with so many pieces of the history and culture and have only been able to get the tiniest taste so I have to return. I won’t lie—it’s not an easy place to visit. It’s just that it’s worth the challenges.
But that trip home—36 hours on various flights and layovers—was the most miserable I’ve ever experienced. By the time I made it to Denver, I could barely breathe, and was so feverish and exhausted that I burst into tears when I saw my partner, standing at the international arrivals gate with a 7-up in his hand.
You needn’t worry or comfort me—I’m fine now. Serious antibiotics and a week with the covers over my head cleared it up. (Mostly.)
That was part of the experience. All of it was. The family crises, the terror, the joy, the monkeys, the saris, the hotel room with no window in Agra, the friends I made, the bracelets I brought home, my increased curiosity and hunger to learn about the ancient land emerging as such a player in the new world.
What does this have to do with writing?
Everything. I keep imagining a gigantic stock pot on the back burner of my imagination that has been packed with all of this, everything from the past three months. It’s a very, very rich stock, made of everything life contains–wild highs and sorrow and adventure and beauty and poverty and exhilaration and history and loss and hope and illness.
It also has India in it now. I can smell the fragrance swirling up in the low steam. Readers have asked if I will write a book about India, and the answer is I never have any idea how my experiences will show up in my work. I only know that it’s my job to keep gathering the material and stowing it all away. This is a very, very important part of what we do–gathering new material and experiences and absorbing them deeply into our bones
Once I finally have time, I’ll begin to stir that pot and see what might be there. I feel replete with experience, renewed by sights and sounds and emotions and passion. A bit about a Mughal builder might show up in a paragraph about something else. That searingly beautiful pink might appear in a garden. Maybe that still courtyard of the mosque will arrive in some other guise.
Who knows?
I don’t. I only know that I am full of all sorts of things. I’m ready to write in the quiet months to come.
How about you? How are the levels in your creative well? Are you due for a deep fill, like I was? Or have you been topping it off on a regular basis? Is there a place you’re burning to see? A dream you must cross off your bucket list?
PS. If you want to read some of the travelogues I posted, here they are:
#1 The Madness of Delhi
https://www.facebook.com/barbara.h.samuel/posts/2153909081366336
#2 All is Beauty
https://www.facebook.com/barbara.h.samuel/posts/2156857037738207
#3 Foodie India
https://www.facebook.com/barbara.h.samuel/posts/2170389379718306
here.)
[coffee]
Barbara O’Neal is the author of more than a dozen award-winning, bestselling novels, including the runaway bestseller, When We Believed in Mermaids, which has been published in more than 20 countries and spent many months on the Amazon Charts, as well as the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Washington Post bestseller lists. Barbara lives on the beach in rugged Oregon with her husband, a British endurance athlete who vows he’ll never lose his accent and their zoo of cats and dogs. You can find more information on her newsletter and where to find her on social media at barbaraoneal.com.
Welcome back, Barbara! Sounds familiar. Our friends/neighbors recently went to India, and both got very, very sick (theirs was a NY Times Food tour, in November, I think). Both said it started with a seemingly simple chest virus. She became very sick overseas, and couldn’t participate in several planned events, while his got much worse on the trip home. Both were pretty much in bed for a week once home. Though they also found the trip worth it, somehow your similar stories are not increasing my interest in a similar experience, lol. Glad you’re on the mend!
I so agree about filling the well with travel. And you never do know how it’s going to come through in the work. My wife is the travel planner in our house. Unless she has an upcoming trip on the books, she’s restless and out-of-sorts. Me? I approach every trip abroad with a sense of mild (and veiled) dread. I choose not to even think about them until, like, the day before (which drives my wife batty). But I’m always very glad for the experiences, and mostly exhilarated during the trips (interwoven with angst, of course).
It may seem obvious, but the experiences that push us farthest out of our comfort zone end up being not only the most memorable, but the ones that are most likely to show up in our work. I know this, and yet I resist. And dread. Thankfully I have a much more adventurous (and brave) wife.
Thanks for sharing your adventure, my brave friend.
Thank you for calling me brave.
My Neal is much like you are–he likes going abroad once we’re underway, but he does dread it a bit most of the time. He likes things be familiar.
As for your friends who also came down with a chest virus–it’s evidently been all over India this winter, like a nasty cold here. My theory is that if you encounter viruses your body doesn’t know, they’re sometimes worse. ? :)
“This is a very very important part of what we do – gathering new material and experiences and absorbing them deeply into our bones.” Wow, yes! Good on you for going, especially under such fraught circumstances. Your decision strikes me as heroic. A ‘yes’ to the ‘no’. Elizabeth George said that she made trips to England just to breathe the air. I interpreted that as her soaking up the sights sounds and smells. The moods. the light. Which is what you described so beautifully. I look forward to seeing flashes of these things on the page of a novel some time in the future.
Welcome back. If nothing else, your post is a testimony to the power of rich details to bring a place alive. I felt like I’d taken that tour too.
I wonder what your trip showed you about people, as well. Africa showed me many things about the condition that we in our privilege call poverty. In Ethiopia I bought a package of tissues from a little girl on the street. When I handed her a few worn Birr, her eyes went wide and her face beamed in wonder. In that moment she was richer than I.
Why do I now shake my head over our household grocery bill? My eyes should go wide with wonder. My knees should buckle at the miracle of our abundance.
A different normal recalibrates the moral scale. The walled compounds of white South Africans with their roving armed response teams may remind one of the country’s unimaginable crime rate, but also of the very different economy that arises when there is stark disparity.
From our American bubble we cannot judge. That, perhaps, is another of the gifts of the travel experience. It not only opens our eyes to details but resets our hearts to a state more open, and what is better for fiction writers?
Oh, this, yes, so much. The people. The villages that were surrounded by beautiful, well-tended fields–and were built of concrete with open roofs. Everyone sleeps on the floor. And the contrast to those women’s lives to mine made me deeply emotional at times.
I found the grocery store at home difficult for the first week–it was so overwhelmingly bright and full of ridiculous amounts of choice and contrast. I grew used to it again very quickly, but yes, I’m more mindful of the extreme abundance of my life.
Opening to the world is always good for fiction writers.
Barbara, my kids are older now–you should’ve called me to accompany you!!! I’ve made it back only once–22 yrs ago. When I had the time, I didn’t have the money; and when I had the money, no time, lol. But soon, I hope. Must sell more books!
I’m sooooo happy you made the trip despite the family chaos. What a gift! I’m sure India has already buried herself into your very cells. She’s in mine. When I stepped off the plane and got through customs, I had to bend over to kiss the ground, land of my birth. Thank you for sharing your links with more pictures and memories. God Bless you!
My creative well gets filled even though I’m a homebody. But the place I want to visit before I die is the Holy Land. My sister is visiting right now and I’m taking in her pictures.
Oh, Vijaya, what a wonderful image–kissing the ground. I wanted to, truly. Where in India were you born?
I honestly cannot wait to return. This time I will not wait so long.
The Holy Land would be a wonder, for sure.
Barbara, I was born in a little village–Khandwa–it’s in Madhya Pradesh, close to the border of Maharashtra. Most of my family is in Mumbai/Pune, but I grew up in Bhopal (capital of MP).
We are planning a family trip before the kids get too much older and get busy with their independent lives. My hope is that they’ll get the opportunity to do mission work there with Mother Teresa’s sisters.
I’m impressed at how much you traversed in a short time. You’ll have to make a separate trip for S. India–I’d never been until our visit 22 yrs ago and my husband loved being there for 4-5 mo, working and getting familiar with the culture.
It was a LOT in a short time, and next time, I’ll go to fewer places and stay in each one longer. I just had no idea what I might like or not like (Goa left me yawning, but I adored Udaipur). I would love to traverse the south, and it’s on the list. Remarkably, my beloved is very understanding of this passion.
I did visit Mumbai. I think I asked you that question before, but it has been awhile. A friend of mine says Pune/Mumbai are great, so I’d like to explore them more.
Barbara, how you’ve inspired me! I get what you mean about how India is in your imagination pot and who knows what that will cook up. I have an upcoming trip to Ireland that stirs my same wonder, excitement, fear, and worries about what could happen while I’m away. Family, God bless them, what a lovely ball and chain. And yet you stepped forward with all drama. Your post reminds me to go for it. To believe and take the leap. Thank you.
Ireland is a big bucket list for a lot of people. I hope you find it as thrilling as I found India! I’m so glad for your trip.
Can’t wait to hear more about this in Albuquerque, Barbara. :)
As for myself, I am definitely due for some filling…
It will not take much to get me jabbering your ear off, Erin! :)
This is gorgeous, Barbara. I used to say the same thing about raising my kids when they were little — they might not specifically remember the details but it all goes into the mix. Thank you for reminding me that all our experiences are beautiful, some a little messier but all a part of a the rich tapestry of life. xo
How lovely thinking about this with our children!
The message behind this is great, Barbara. . . that creativity is a plant that needs soil and rain. I heartily agree.
You went to India proactively it seems and, no doubt, your creativity will draw up India in various smells, dramas and light.
I make sure I can see, hear and smell the people and landscapes that drive my stories. Without doing so, my characterizations of both would be thin (false) and real plot elements might never get a proper hearing in the room of muse.
Researching a tale of spiritual renewal, I traveled into Tibet (some call it China) for 60 days before Tibet was shut down in the run-up to the 2008 Olympics. I spoke to monks, farmers, students and the elderly and spent the night at 10,000 feet. Details then bled into my narrative and true forces in society shaped my characters. Now, due to politics, an author will not be able to gather such wool.
Go when the heart calls. See you there.
How wise of you to visit Tibet when you did. It sounds completely magical.
See you there indeed.
Thank you for painting such a vivid picture with your words. You’ve made India come alive on the page and I’m sure it will live on, on future pages of your fiction.
It’s true, we must all fill the well creatively. I took a short cruise recently, my first. It would seem a rich persons way to travel, but it’s a very inexpensive way to get to places to see a life very different from our own. We had a couple of stops in the Bahamas. On Nassau, we paid for a bus tour around the island. Our first stop was the amazing Atlantis complex, built for tourists. After that? We rode through long stretches of what we’d call slums in the states that many Bahamians, a happy people from what I’ve seen, call home. At each stop, we could get off and explore to our hearts content, knowing another bus would be along every hour. We saw sights and colors and tasted foods the likes of which are rare in regular life in most of the U.S. I carried so much of that back with me.
Fill the well. Wherever you have a chance to go, go. The experiences are the thing.
Cruises are a lovely way to get out and do things that might otherwise feel daunting. I know a lot of people who love them, and your visit to Nassau sounds especially enlightening. A great trip to fill the well and make you feel the richness of the world.
What an exciting trip and how brave! Congratulations! Something is certain to show up in one of your novels! The imagery is so vivid!
I love your bravery and determination! Oh, and your writing. Ah hell, I just love you, period. Deal with it. :)
And I really love the “deep fill” concept. It’s something I’m trying to do right now, but through a reading journey, rather than a physical one. But your post reminds me that I’m long overdue for a new physical journey, because there is so much to be learned by traveling to new and unknown places.
Thanks for a moving and inspiring post.
I just love you right back. :)
Reading is a great way to fill the well, and in fact, I really notice if I am not reading enough.
Love the term “deep fill.”
Everything you wrote this morning moved me, Barbara. You are one amazing woman. I’ve gone out on my own to OWN some individual territory, but your trip breaks my records! And thank you for taking me to a place I probably will never see. I salute you on all levels, Beth
I still can’t believe how brave and tough you were. And can’t wait for India to show up in a book, so I can pretend I went…
Glad you are finally feeling better, and hoping the family crisis is better as well.
Barbara, that’s a vivid juxtaposition, pulled into those shimmering sights and sounds of a foreign land, but also tugged by trouble at home—that conflict is a story in itself. I sense that “the girls in the basement” had the wind in their hair from your story.
But the sickness, oh dear. I returned from a trip to Myanmar draggingly ill, and it took two months of antibiotics to right the ship. No regrets though (except finding out later the horrors of the Rohingya pogrom).
Travel to other lands can be magical, and also loony, when we come back to our own cultures. I lived on a tiny Micronesian island for a year, and when I came back to a US supermarket, I just stood in front of the deli section, gaping. So many kinds of cheese…
Thanks for the word pictures.
Thank you so much for your post. Keep sharing
I took my 12-year-old son with me to India last January: a couple days in Delhi, then a week in Chennai and Pondicherry. Trying to describe what we experienced is a great writing exercise. Even just getting the air right is a challenge: a mixture of dust, exhaust, burning garbage, and spice that seems to be unique to India.
Travel definitely refreshes me, and I’m glad to be able to share my experiences with my son. Who knows what will make its way into his books some day?