The Best Exotic Slumdog Marigold Hotel for Millionaires to Eat, Pray, Love

“Is This, Like, An Eat, Pray, Love Thing or Something?”

This question came from an unlikely source a couple of weeks ago in class, a twenty-something male student who is clearly not the target audience for either the book or the Julia Roberts film. Much of the class, mostly also traditionally aged college students, nodded knowingly and laughed. After all, here was this 6 foot 4, male professor in his forties in front of them. It couldn’t possibly be that, could it? I imagined that they had conjured up an India full of softly lit ashrams with bearded guys in long flowing robes dispensing Yoda-like nuggets of wisdom and toothy Hollywood yoginis with flowing hair seeking solace and finding romance. They couldn’t figure out where I fit in the frame.

In fact, it’s been very interesting to see the range of reactions when people learn about my trip, reactions that reveal how so many of us see India.

Some sort of blankly stare into the middle distance and say, “Hmmmm….” or “Wow” or “How interesting” (as if it isn’t remotely or as if they are completely puzzled and aren’t sure how to politely say so.)

Others ask if I’ve seen “Slumdog Millionaire” or “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” or “Eat, Pray, Love,” as if those were not Hollywood depictions designed to further a narrative but detailed travel guides. (For the record, I’ve seen “Slumdog” and “The Best” and enjoyed them. “Eat, Pray, Love” still sits in my Netflix cue. I enjoyed the book and feel I should see the movie, but it looks pretty awful.)

Last week my dental check-up and physical provided yet two more examples of the kind of contrasting reactions I’ve gotten so far. After learning about the trip, my dentist shared that he had just returned from a 10-day trip there (he didn’t say where, and I couldn’t ask, as his fingers were in my mouth.) He had loved it.

“It is an incredible place,” he enthused. “You can’t begin to imagine the sights and sounds. It’s complete overstimulation, but I loved it.” Aside from a caution about being careful about using untreated water to brush my teeth, he had little negative to say.

His response was quite similar to my neighbor, who is Indian, and expressed immediate delight when he learned about my trip. For years now, his daughter has brought American friends to stay with her and family in India. “You are going to have a wonderful experience,” he said, before giving me some useful advice and a few frank warnings about travel and health.

In fact, many co-workers, friends, and co-workers are immediately enthusiastic: “That’s amazing!” “How cool!” “What a great opportunity!”

Two days later, however, my doctor reacted completely differently. As he quizzed me about my itinerary and I systematically revealed my appalling ignorance of world geography, he scrolled through information on his ancient computer (which appears to be running some colorful version of MS-DOS, but that’s another story.) He kept shaking his head and sighing. “I mean, I don’t know….” he’d begin before noting some other disease or condition I might want to consider. At one point he said, “I mean, I don’t know why you’d want to do this exactly.” After all, he said, “India is a cesspool of disease.” After a series of shots and recommendations for other vaccines I might want to consider getting from Passport Health, his last words were not “Bon Voyage” or “Enjoy your trip!” but “Good luck.” Gee, thanks.

Some variation on this response (although far less pointed) is one I hear quite often. “I have absolutely no interest in ever going there,” another one of my neighbors declared. Conversations then center on the abject poverty found there, the dirtiness or overcrowding, or a series of questions or statements about toilets. (“Don’t they….” or “Isn’t there…” or “Aren’t you worried about…”?)

As I continue preparing for the my trip and my sabbatical and learning more, I find myself reflecting on all of the studies that have convincingly established how ignorant we Americans are about the rest of the world. Yet so many of us seem to think we know what we need to about India, the East, and, in fact, the world. How, exactly, beyond these sorts of films, did we become so certain?