I left my heart in New Delhi

I lived in India for a year. I spent six months at the University of Delhi completing my undergraduate studies and taking sitar lessons. Then I stayed in the country for another six months to travel and resume my lessons. I wrote a thesis on how my experience with my sitar guru altered my perception of India and the ideas of “East” vs. “West.” I explored the opulent Taj Mahal and old, decaying temples spattered with bat guano. I sunbathed on the roof of a houseboat in Kashmir. I got pelted by fistfuls of colored powder and balloons filled with colored water in celebration of Holi (for clarity, this was fun, not a form of abuse). I body surfed on massive waves and danced on the beaches of Goa. I met people who invited me to their homes for dinner within minutes of our first encounter, while others threw rocks at me as I walked down the street. I shared a flat with a family of six where I had my own bedroom and the others shared three beds in one room. Fifty steps away people slept on the sidewalk.

My year in India was perhaps the most transformative experience of my life. It’s the topic I most enjoy sharing when people ask me about myself.

It also happened over twenty years ago. And the more I talk about it, the more I remind myself of Al Bundy.

Al Bundy was the main character of a TV show from the ’80s and ’90s called Married… with Children. It’s a program I would now consider a guilty pleasure–a goofy sitcom with plenty of low-brow humor, misogyny, and other qualities I would normally avoid. But buried beneath its superficial surface, that show left me with lessons I still cherish.

Al leads a less-than-envious existence. He and his wife show their affection by berating each other. His kids don’t respect him. He works a low-wage job selling women’s shoes. His time with friends mainly involves drinking beer and complaining.

But there’s one aspect of Al’s life that fills him with pride: he scored four touchdowns in a single football game . . . in high school. He may be in his 30s and 40s over the course of the program, but that doesn’t stop him from bringing up his teenage glory days at every opportunity. Al’s life may be going nowhere, and he may not be doing anything to change that. But by reliving his past, he’s able to feel like a hero again; at least for a moment.

I don’t want to diminish the impact that my year in India had on me. But if I need to go back over twenty years in order to find a part of my history worthy of sharing, it’s time to adjust how I live my life.

One way I can go about this is to try new things, particularly ones that help me grow. I know that living in another country taught me a lot about myself and the world around me. It pushed me to adapt in some instances, such as the intensity of my sitar practice versus prior musical training. In other cases, it highlighted my weaknesses–I don’t think I could give directions to any part of Delhi even after spending most of a year there. What else can I do to challenge myself?

I can also become more invested in my day-to-day life. I’ve taken trips to exciting places and barely even looked at the photos I took. I’ve met interesting people and made little effort to stay in touch. I’ve walked for miles and never stopped to look around. I’ve read books and watched movies with my eyes while my mind was somewhere else entirely. If I can learn to be more present while life is happening, and take more time to reflect upon what happened, these experiences will become much more interesting–at least to me.

I’m grateful I had the opportunity to spend a year in India. But I’m not there anymore. Now I want to learn to appreciate today, look forward to tomorrow, and develop new stories to share.