Indians are the same

Last night, on my night train from Delhi to Jaipur, I was attacked. By four people. They were some of the nicest, cutest kids you could possibly imagine. Their attack was verbal and simultaneous -- four bright, curious Indian kids hitting me with a barrage of questions, all at the same time. They were with their families (the kids were cousins), leaving a family wedding in Delhi and going home to Ahmadbad (sp?).

Did I mention they were ridiculously cute? And all of them, from the 12-year old girl down to the 6-year old boy, spoke great English (along with Hindi, some French, Sanskrit and what else I don't know), although due to their accents and the fact that their questions were nonstop, I didn't catch everything.

When the kids finally were sent to bed, I had a rather long and involved conversation with one of the fathers, Vinod. He runs a cotton trading company, one of several cotton-related companies that his father started, with his brothers handling the other various enterprises. He was a truly nice man, and it was refreshing seeing the "real" India (although I understand that this middle-class Indian family is only representative of one side of India), and meeting someone genuine, as opposed to all of the touts, drivers, shop people, travel agents and other shady operators that have so far made up the majority of my interactions in India.

We talked about a variety of things, from cultural differences, to personal histories, to business. And while much of what he told me was indeed different from what I experienced (the total dedication to family, for instance), I could tell that in his heart, he was a good person, and his family was not unlike what you would encounter anywhere else in the world.

What a refreshing change. He invited me to come visit him and his family in Ahmadbad (which I was considering including in my itinerary, anyway), and I think I'm going to take him up on his offer. A fortuitous train ride, especially since I had run out of reading materials, and talking with them helped pass the time much better than staring out the dusty train windows into the pitch-black Indian night.