People

The antique car rally ended in the palace gardens. Healthy, wealthy light skinned people bathed in the sunlight, went clink-clink with their wine glasses, and drank the blood of the proletariat. I have been trying my hardest not to instinctively condemn the elite of India, but it’s difficult when they seem so stereotypical. My roommate Erin and I strayed from the palace grounds. We crossed the invisible barrier between opulence and poverty and were suddenly in a land of little yellow plants and little people. Children streamed out of their huts and gestured excitedly at us, chattering away in Hindi. We tried to talk to them with our halted guidebook style communication while they touched our faces and our clothes. They mostly just giggled at us with that kind of uninhibited delight that only lasts for a while before it hardens to cynicism and fear.