2. Once more to the Lake by E.B White
b) Write about a place that you would like to share with others, and describe how it became significant to you.
Human beings have the innate ability to remember that few living creatures can match. Our ability to remember makes our life richer regardless of whether the memories are happy ones or not. We remember events and people; especially sights, sounds, smells and tastes, many of which have a great impact on us, leaving indelible marks in our minds. Some memories are kept in the hope that we might relive them some day while others are blocked out, buried deep within our souls, to ensure that they would be avoided at all cost.
My trip to India– the land of mystery, enticement, and enchantment was one that I will never forget. I toured one of the major cities of India—New Delhi. I was expecting belly dancers, snake charmers, and other exotic sights filled with color and intricate decoration. While I did enjoy many of the tourist attractions, the majority of what I saw was totally unexpected and will haunt me forever.
As we boarded the bus, I looked around and this was when I had my first “real” glimpse of India. There was trash strewn all over; every crevice alongside old, cracked pavement roads were filled with rubbish.
Natives, seemingly oblivious to the filth, attended to their business but stopped for a moment to stare at the tour bus that held so many foreigners. Of course, they could scarcely see us because of the slightly tinted tour bus windows, but their dark eyes seemed to pierce straight through me.
Our guide told us that the people would flock around us, harassing and trying to take advantage of us. I never knew that the people in India were actually so poor that they had to resort to stealing from tourists. While I pride myself as being somewhat well travelled, I had never experienced anything like this before.
When we finally reached Delhi about an hour later, I looked excitedly out of my window, hoping to see a city in better condition than that of the area we had just left. But what I saw shocked me. Huge crowds of people stopped whatever they were doing and stared at us. Most of them wore dirty, tattered clothing and were startlingly thin. I couldn’t help but stare back at them, despite our tour guide’s warnings. My mother gave me a gentle nudge. I hugged my camera closer to my body and alighted from the bus.
The alleyways had a distinctive odor, a sweet but sickly smell that hinted a sense of decay. Someone suggested that it was marijuana. Perhaps people here felt that drugs were their only way of escaping their terrible lives.
A week later, as I boarded the plane, I felt relieved to be leaving India behind me. I looked back at all the people, many of them children, and thought how difficult it must be to have to go through hardships every single day, hardships worse than anything we, as modern Singaporeans, had ever endured. My heart was a mixture of helplessness, despair and guilt. I had left India, but these people had no way out.
Till today, the sights and sounds of these cities still haunt me. I suppose those memories always will.
