Shit Happens

"Um, do you think we should find another spot to stand?" We're outside of Agra, tired- it's late and we'd been up early to see the sunrise over the Taj Mahal. We were going to take an overnight train to Varanasi. Standing on the platform waiting for a train that was already one hour late and possibly not coming at all, the roosting flock of miners above were taking their aim, and with military precision and timing, managed to shit on the three members of the group who were the least likely to choose discretion over exasperation. Those miners knew what they were doing and, like hitmen on commission, targetted the Aussie girls.

Well, as usual when a bird shits on you, there is the obligatory high-pitched scream designed to let everyone know your shock, the uncontrollable gagging reaction designed to let everyone know your disgust, and the inevitable arms flapping, red-cheeked crying designed to let everyone know your distress. Arms flapping faster still, finally the "Get it off, get it off, GET IT OFF!!!!" order is repeated until someone "gets it off." This reaction from three sweet girls would usually work. People would understand that something terrible had happened and, well, then they would help. Some kind soul would say "Oh, it's good luck" after taking their last tissue to wipe the worst of it off. In two minutes, you have calmed down and perhaps even managed to fool yourself something "lucky" had happened. That's how it would go in Australia. But we were not in Australia.

In India, this reaction was fundamentally, undeniably wrong. It demonstrated much more than a lack of understanding of the way woman should carry themsleves in this culture, but also a patronising display of how spoilt we were in our own culture. Dozens of the surrounding passengers looked on like they were watching a black comedy, unsure whether to laugh or cry. In the end, some laughed. Others made clucking noises, mimicking the sounds and strange hip and arm girations we had produced, like chickens. The older onlookers just shook their heads in disbelief.

We were mortified. After helping each other remove the shit from hair, clothing and luggage we looked guiltily at Vivek, our tour leader. We knew better, it was insensitive, immature and would only serve to paint a poor picture of foreigners. He mentioned that an Indian three-year-old child would have responded better in the situation, just flicking the shit off. He was right. He was right to be disappointed.

It made me think. Was the bird shit a metaphor for the differences in our cultures? When shit happens, what do we do? We, as Westeners, reacted in a way that illustrated exactly how good we have it in our over-steralised, protected world. A world where death and injury are so often hidden or denied. We dont see hardship, yet we take life so seriously. We are an individualistic society, but have so little self-reliance. Could a less impulsive reaction have demonstrated more than self control, but a better appreciation for what is and isn't important in life?

It is not just sights and sounds that surprise the traveller. The way we see ourselves, when we are outside our safe and predictable environments, can be very surprising.