Spiders, Monsters, and the Charminar

         Fear is a funny thing. As humans, we tend to laugh at our peers' fright for things as silly as a clown or a snake, regardless the fact that we are probably scared of even more ridiculous things. But it's still fun though, right? In light of this spirit, I have decided to write about my adventures as a young fourth grader on vacation in India. Fear sometimes is associated with a lesson, and I feel this narrative takes on this idea.On a reflective note, I find it humorous that I was scared of a historic building, of all things. Especially because now I am scared of bigger and scarier things like spiders, monsters, and even your standard grasshopper.
 
    

“Is this really it?’’ I tiredly asked, peering through the car window at the bustling crowd. It was excruciatingly hot, and I longed more than anything to escape the vehicle's attempt to strangle me.

            “Yes,” my cousin wearily answered, wiping the dripping perspiration from her forehead. “The Charminar is always like this.” I decided to believe her since I knew basically nothing about India and its historic monuments. We continued our ride.

            While crushed between my cousin and my sister, I was faintly aware of what my relatives were talking about. It was something about a king who built four colossal pillars, but I didn’t care. In just a few minutes we would be at our destination, and I was eager to rush out of our despairingly smelly vehicle.

            After some more time meandering through what looked like a thick sea of multi-colored turbans and shawls, we gradually came to stop. My nine-year-old mind, already trained to the particularity of the American lifestyle, at first expected to see an organized parking lot to which we would drive; instead, we arrived at a halt in the middle of a hustled street of sun-stained tourists. Hastily, I tried to open the car door. The obstinate door however, refused to budge. Frustrated, I glanced out of the window to find the obstruction. My anger turned to surprise as I found out that a group of people, intensely involved in whatever they were doing, was shielding the door. Was this really how the entire trip was going to be like? Unwillingly, I thought of the ice-cold water and air conditioning back at home.

            Finally, my parents, two cousins, uncle, aunt, sister, and I managed to navigate ourselves out of the crowd. We then started dragging ourselves towards the monument. The sun beat down on us, forcing our eyes downcast towards the dirt ground. Why hadn't I stayed home?

            After a little pushing and shoving and a lot of sweating, we found ourselves standing in front of the magnificent Charminar. It looked ancient. The entire structure was a giant beige fort. With its four huge pillars looming in the air, the attraction looked as if it were a majestic king ruling over a group of willing to serve peasants.  It was a pinnacle of Islamic architecture. Suddenly, however, we were pushed inside.

            The first thing I noticed was that it was pitch-black. I could see nothing, and I, a fourth grader, was absolutely afraid of the dark. Suddenly, I began shivering as I thought about how much time it would take before we left.  Dismissing my thoughts, I peered into the shabby, black aisle to the stairs. Would I get lost? Would there be spiders? The last question sent chills down my spine. For one thing, it definitely does not help when you suffer from arachnophobia in such situations.

“Sweta, start climbing.” My mother gently scolded. “You’re holding up the line.”

I glanced behind me to see the silhouette of a pretty impatient cue. At last, I gathered up my courage, sucked in as much air as I could, and hesitantly trudged up the stairs. The stairs, as I soon found out, were even scarier than all my trouble through the entrance. I carefully dodged my way one steep step to the next. It was dark and I had no idea where I was going. The size-varying steps spiraled upwards, and I started freaking out, continuously worrying about the giant spiders waiting to gobble me up. When I nearly tripped over a stair, I couldn’t take it anymore. I immediately screamed and started to cry. I just wanted to go home! My yelp wasn’t very loud for others to hear, but my mother demanded me to keep quiet, threatening that the Charminar management would send us home. I tried to retain my spasms within myself, but it was no use.

When at last we reached the last step onto the giant terrace, I was stunned. The cool air disguised the streaks of sweat on our faces and the view was spectacular. I could see the entire hectic city of Hyderabad and people as small as ants. It all looked like a ramshackle doll house. I tried looking for our car, but I gave up after about fifteen seconds. After some more gawking and even more pictures, my uncle decided it was time to leave. This time, I took on the stairs with full concentration and a new perspective. I pushed any thought of man-eating spiders out of my head and continued down the never-ending spiral. I was scolded to go faster, but I stayed at my pace anyways and kept thinking about how this trip had taught me how to face my fears and withstand such heat which I was so unaccustomed to. At least something came out of this.

 At last, we made it down to the base of the monument, and the sweat once again started pouring down my face. After some confusion and wandering, we located our vehicle, hopped in, drank a few bottles of water, and headed home towards the luxuries of air conditioning, not even bothering to look back.