My dad was mostly met with shock when he announced we were going to India for Christmas sometime last spring. My brother wondered where and when he would be able to run his team’s required distance, my mom grimaced at the potential diseases we could contract, and my sister felt nauseous just thinking about the number of hours we would be traveling. I questioned our reactions to the foreign foods. Also, I wasn’t sure my already-near-albino-level skin, paled even further by the complete lack of sun in Ireland, would be able to handle the Indian sun.

Eventually we all realized the announcement wasn’t my dad’s way of giving us a choice- it was more of a set-in-stone, already-planned sort of thing. And considering none of us could deem ourselves remotely talented in the trip planning category, it was kind of a lost cause, a pointless fight from the get-go.

So, after two planes, three bottles of hand sanitizer, and hours of movies on repeat later, our crew of six arrived at our first stop on our three-leg tour of India. In the 5-hour car ride from the airport in Delhi to Agra, I was able to get my first taste of the country and what the next several days would entail. And it was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

Men stood by self-made stands selling food or clothing. Women cradled babies or carried jars on top of their heads. Dozens of small children roamed around half-clothed, often wandering dangerously close to the gravely street, which to their credit barely looked different from the dust and dirt ridden sidewalk. Animals- including but not limited to camels, elephants, goats, dogs, and pigs- pranced around, compiling a population equivalent to the number of people.

Then there’s the driving. I thought I knew what a busy road looked like from experiencing I-95 at rush hour, but turns out I knew nothing. The amount of cars is one of the more astounding and overwhelming things I’ve ever seen. I’m used to the occasional honk, but in India, it is the preferred form of communication. Not one vehicle on the road travels more than ten feet without sounding the horn at least five times. To add to the chaos, pedestrians cross the streets whenever they want- and cars do not stop.

Over the course of the trip, I reveled in a few moments that showed me just how much of a foreigner I was. While on a visit to the Taj Mahal, one woman came up and stood about three inches in front of me. She snapped multiple solo shots of me simply standing there, my expression almost certainly the picture of confusion. Not too long after, a family approached me and began touching my blonde hair with awe before asking if I could pose in a picture with them. Taking advantage of this celebrity moment, I smiled broadly and threw my arms around these unknown people.

The chaos of India is not like the hustle and bustle of New York City, but somehow a more thoughtful, intricate experience. While I can walk twelve blocks in NYC, moving with relative anonymity and going unnoticed, everyone interacts with everyone on the streets of India. No one’s life is too busy or too fast-paced to stop and have a conversation, which is particularly remarkable considering the main task of the day is finding the means to survive. I walk the campus of Holy Cross and pass several people I could say hi to, but don’t simply because I’m “not in the mood”- these people are suffering and constantly seeking out money, but it does not impact their absolute elation when receiving a smile or a wave.

I have learned a lot about the tensions between beauty and monstrosity in books from English classes, and it was something clearly demonstrated in India. There is rampant poverty, where desperate mothers and children constantly knock on car windows begging and a typical greeting is “hello, money?”

It is an area of material nothingness from which it is impossible to turn a blind eye. Yet, at the same time, there is immense beauty. The handcraftsmanship is intricate and exquisite and there is new life blooming all around, from multitudes of babies to dozens of puppies swarming anyone and everyone.

I didn’t leave India feeling pity and sorrow for all the poor people I interacted with, but rather hope for their futures. They have no money, but the will to live and the motivation to fight. Though recently I was encouraged to write about how the tension between beauty and monstrosity is resolved, how there is a solution, there may not necessarily be one in a lot of cases. It is these two extremes that make up the differences that construct the world and give us something to fight for.