By sreyavaidya
I landed in Surat, a buzzling and expanding city in the state of Gujarat in early July. I arrived with a suitcase full of Purell and a head full of preconceived notions that had me glancing back nervously for pickpockets and stalkers at every turn. The person I see six weeks later is much different, the kind of difference the protagonist in a cheesy coming-of-age movie undergoes.
Before I begin to chronicle my adventures through the streets of Rabat and map the changes it brings in me, it is important to understand my starting point. My starting point for Morocco begins at the end of my time India. My first day in my new home in Surat, I was given a bucket to shower and launder from and a thin mattress lumped in 1 room with 7 other girls speaking at least 4 different languages. The bucket was enough to make me want to quit, but I decided to test myself. Usually my India trips with family consist of seeing India for a car window, comfortably going from relative to relatives house and upholding alien traditions without any personal meaning or context. India, my supposed home away from home, was as much of a caricature to me as any American who identified with Apu.
Since I could not hide behind the charade of traditionalism as I did with family. I was forced to adapt to new people, a new way of thinking, and a new lifestyle on my own and as myself without pretenses. What started off as a distressed determination to survive preconceived notions turned into a month of rewarding work, unmatchable cups of chai, and lifelong friends.
I am no longer ashamed of my Indian roots as I once was, because my understanding of the culture is finally my own. I can proudly and confidently call myself an Indian-American. I have a set of preconceived notions for Morocco too. But my goal is to be myself and enter with an open mind, and see how many of the notions I can prove wrong. I leave tomorrow night for Rabat. As I pack my clothes, books, and camera, I’m very consciously leaving behind my pretenses.