A Quest for Community
Monday, October 27, 2003
My next impression, even more
starting, is to find myself staring into a sea of hundreds of
dark-skinned faces, arranged by height as if for a photograph. Each
face has a pair of very white, almost bulging eyes, surrounding dark as
night pupils. They all are perfectly still, staring at each of us as we
come out of the terminal. It's a strange kind of greeting ritual,
they're not as well dressed as the people allowed inside the Terminal
building, but all seem attired in nearly identical long dark pants and
very white long shirts, almost starched-looking. I can hardly believe
their motionless silence, it's as if they've gathered to watch these
alien creatures from another world entirely, emerging from their flying
machines onto their native soil. The impression is one of those that
you feel will stay with you forever, and at that moment I know
viscerally that I have arrived in mysterious Mother India.
