Now I'm reading The white tiger by Aravind Adiga. It follows the life of a low caste boy and his rise. It is not depressing as it might seem, it's full of life, hate, some love, fear and lots of greed and survival. Accoding to the main character not even most Indians understand fully the caste system, I'm starting to believe him. Why are caste fiction stories interesting? Because they deal with man's ultimate quest: fighting one's destiny, looking for a better life.
While in India I noticed some order of things (mind you, some insane version of order, some sort of wonderland but still an order), I noticed an airport clerk with a servant for example. It infuriated me. The clerk even refused to take something from the servant's hand and he had to set it down on the table so that the clerk could pick it up. I was appalled. Two months later and from the confort of my home I think that despite all that, it is a good thing that that man had at least a job in a country that is pouring out more babies than it can feed. A bad job is better than no job at all in those conditions.
Perhaps now that I witnessed India and got confused by it I have time - and silence - to think about it, to read about it, basically to learn about it. Also today, the day that I bought another book that in some way regards India, the Western world in awaking to a terrorist attack that killed almost 10 Europeans. The terrorist knew that by attacking a posh hotel they would get the media, the media is a great pressure on the India government. But despite thinking those actions are horrible, that most media these days are dreadfull vampires, I wonder why the world is shocked at 10 Westerners dead when thousands of Indians died. If I die in Thailand will that matter to Thai people who can afford a tv?
Perhaps I am more prepared for India than I was when I visited it. I'll know more when I ran out of books about it. I think.
