From an email sent long ago...

March 16th, 2003, to be exact.

As I watch the worn, string-tied bracelet float away in the ship's wake, I think back through the past twenty-one days. Twenty-one days have gone by since the sensory whirlwind of Calcutta tore through my being and, even now, I can barely trace the imprint it has left.

It's March 16th and we're about half way through a supposed monumental, life changing "voyage of discovery." That's what everyone keeps calling this trip.

"Such an opportunity!"
"You'll never be the same."
"Find yourself."
"Take it for all it's worth."

And that's what I want to do: take this experience, this trip, for all that it is and for all it can offer me. I left home in search of something, although I wasn't really sure what that meant or if this program was the answer. Maybe in some sick way I was initially hoping for a picture perfect, cliche-ridden, Real World-esque experience to bring home with me so that I could say, "Look, I did that! I was there!"

At this point in the journey, though, I know for certain this is not what I'm after. That type of thing is not "me," whoever that is. I certainly want something real, however, an Americanized, MTV junk program definitely would not fit that criteria. But what exactly is it that I'm looking for? And will I actually ever find it?

Wanting to separate from the Semester at Sea infestation of Chennai and experience an uncensored, undiluted India, my friend and I ventured to Calcutta with little more than an enticing travel guide description and 24 hours to explore. Before arrival, we were warned that India assaults; during those 24 Calcuttan hours, we'd begin to truly understand the paradoxical truth to that statement.

The day remains a blur of images, but this blurred vision is the most clear I've ever seen.

Muggy. Heat. Sticky. Jasmine. Bindhis. Saris. Beggars. Children. Cripples. Incense. Religion. Faith. Devotion. Hands. Beggars. "Aunty, aunty!" "Rupees!" Cows. Bulls. Dogs. Horses. Baboons. Strays. Dirt. Dust. Garbage. filth. Tears. Laughter. Glares. Bangles. Jingles. Flowers. Colors. Turbans. "Good price!" Playing. Crying. Pleading. Praying. Howling. Growling. Lightness. Darkness. Rich. Poor. Selflessness. Greed. Survival. Limitations. Car horns. Bike bells. Motorcycles. Abandonment. Loneliness. community. Castes. Discrimination.

Beauty mixed with ugliness.
Love mixed with hatred.
Constant contradictions...

Begging. Grabbing. Pulling. Pushing.

Silence.

Hand.

Slap.

Blood. Tears. Confusion. Frustration.

Detachment.

Within the blend of negativity and hope there stands a kind, gentle Brahmin priest. One of our first stops of the day, the Kalighat Temple remains a spark of light shining through the thick conglomeration of stimuli. The temple is alive and bustling. Devotees are urgently trying to pay respect to their gods on this day of celebration.

Guiding us through the crowds of people, our priest shows us each place of worship and blesses us at all of them. He offers us information and explanation of his tradition and faith. He makes us feel welcome, comfortable in a place alien to anything we've ever known.

Before leaving, he guides us out of the temple to an adjacent cleansing area. With two marigolds in our right hands, we are brought one at a time to a statue of Vishnu. When my turn comes, I am told to think of loved ones whom I wish this blessing will reach and then throw the blossoms onto the god's figure. The priest then wraps a bright orange and yellow string around my left wrist. I am to leave it there for either seven or twenty-one days. On the final day, I am to take off the bracelet and dispose of it in a clean, pure place like a stream, river, or ocean. If this is done correctly , the blessings will come true.

In the long, hot hours that followed our visit to the Kali Temple, the yellow dye bled on my wrist, the sweat bled from my skin, the helplessness bled from my heart, the tears bled from my eyes...and the blood bled from my nose.

At the end of the day, though, I was able to get on a plane and fly back to the safety bubble that Semester at Sea provides. It is a form of escapism. Escape from the intensity and the reality I finally found.

Calcutta wouldn't let me forget, though. She sent this string, tied by the hands of a welcoming spirit to stay with me. This bracelet, that bled along with me, has served as a constant reminder of those images, those paradoxes, and it has literally tied me to a day that is and will be with me everyday.

Now that this connection is afloat somewhere between Japan and Korea, I am left only with an emotional, intellectual bruise that may never fully heal. In fact, I hope it doesn't.