The Single Ladies Package

When I come to Ranchi for work, I usually stay in a church guest house. Ok, until now, I have always stayed in that church guest house. And I don’t mind. It’s rustic, but I know the people and they’re sweet and we speak Hindi together somehow.  I do admit that this last time I was less excited about being there. It was Diwali and the air was filled with fireworks and loud talking, and my windows wouldn’t close, so it was noisy and cold and filled with mosquitos. Fortunately, I am great at rigging up the mosquito netting and I had mosquito repellent sprayed all over my hands and feet (the most likely part of me to get stuck out of the mosquito net at night while I’m sleeping), so that wasn’t the worst. Actually, the worst was that there was no hot water, and it is now cold in Ranchi. So I was thinking about how bad it would look for me not to shower for a week…and then I broke an app on my iPad so I knew that I needed wireless internet to fix it because the point of my having this iPad is to use this app to document stuff in the field, and I’d already made my coworker in the States make me a special form to document this week’s trip. So I asked the head of the guest house and church, a jolly Indian man whom I love, where I can get wireless in Ranchi. I was informed that the Capital Residency Hotel was the only place and I would have to spend the night there. So he packed me up and sent me over.

And here I am and it is a FANCY hotel. I was greeted by 10 people at the door with “Namastes” and “Hello Madams.” They all wore festive uniforms. I was served a special green drink which I hoped was mint lemonade like I used to drink in Yemen. But it was some horrible salty mango juice drink which I could not choke down.

After I checked in, I went to my room, and I had a call on the phone. Here is a transcript of our call.

Reception: You checked in as a single lady. We must give you the single lady package.

Me (having lived too long in the Middle East, thinking that I was going to have to register specially as some kind of unmarried woman without an escort): Um...what?

Reception: The single lady package! We must give to you.

Me (still uncertain and slightly concerned): What is the single lady package?

Reception: We have a bag to give you and we must change your sheets.

Me (thinking that the room looked immaculate and the sheets were very clean and tucked in extra-tight, hotel-style so that it takes all your strength remaining from a hard day of work to rip them back enough to crawl in): What's wrong with my sheets?

Reception: You are a single lady. You must have pink sheets.

Me: Uh...no...I don't need pink sheets. These white sheets are fine.

Reception: No, we will change.

Me: No. I do not need it. I like white.

Reception: What about Single Lady package? Can we bring you the bag?

Me: Sure, whatever. I really need a toothbrush. Can you bring me a toothbrush? (I forgot mine and I'd been using my finger since all the stores were closed because of Diwali).

Reception: Oh Madam, dental kit costs 30 rupees. 

Me: Fine. I need it.

Reception: Can we come and bring Single Lady Package?

Me: OK. Thik hai.

Ten minutes later there is a knock at the door and a lady arrives carrying the dental kit, a receipt for me to sign, and a fancy travel bag full of must-haves for Single Ladies: pads (of course), nail polish, nail polish remover, a thing like a knife which I assume is a fancy nail file, fingernail clippers in the shape of a foot with sparkles on it (I love it), Nivea strawberry lip gloss (I may love this more than the sparkly foot), tweezers, hair ties, hair pins, and a brown eye pencil with the brand "Eastern Girl." Apparently, I am not an Eastern Girl because I tried it and it looked horrible on me. Turns out it's more orangey than brown. Doesn't go well with blue, although I'm thinking there may be some college football team that has that unfortunately color mix (maybe Emily Seymour can fill me in on that). Anyway, being my father's daughter, I love free stuff, and I'll TAKE it.

And besides the cook gift bag and overpriced “Dental Kit,” the wireless internet is working and as I mentioned, I needed it to make this important app on my new fancy ipad work...I needed to make it work because somehow I'd already made it stop working…and I still don’t know how. I’m really not the best candidate for fancy electronic equipment, and I’m kind of amused that Neverthirst has made me “that girl.” You know, the one with a MacBook Pro, iPad, kindle, Zune (yes, I have a Zune because I have middle child syndrome which pushes me to be unique at all times, and I admit that it was a bad decision because I needed a new charger cord and I had to buy it on Amazon because Zune is not being made anymore and so you can’t buy the accessories in stores), and two cameras. And currently, I’m also traveling with a projector. And I have all the cords and a multi-plug extension cord to go with all of them.  So it is a good thing that I am traveling by train this time and not airplane (see my last blog post if you are confused about that).

I have one more day here, and then back to my new home where I’m still trying to settle in and avoid hitting cows with my bicycle. And today when I got back from a successful trip with my fully-functioning iPad, I noticed that my room has been pinked. Yes, it has. The sheets are pink, the towels in my bathroom are pink. There are two new washcloths in my bathroom that weren’t there before and they are both pink. And greatest of all, the towel that I’d left hanging over the back of the chair was turned pink and rolled into the shape of any elephant.

The Single Ladies Package

Single Ladies -- Do not listen to Beyonce’s nonsense about “putting a ring on it.” Come to the Capital Residency Hotel in Ranchi, and enjoy the Single Lady Package.

It's so easy a baby can use it--actually the baby is teaching me how to use it in this photo.

Thoughts on Indian Air Travel

As I sit here in the church guest house in Ranchi, being chewed on by mosquitos, it occurred to me that I haven’t updated the blog in a while. No, this is not surprising, and as usual, I have a million excuses, some of which are actually good. For example: I’m about to move again for the third time in a year, I am doing 2 jobs in addition to the one I signed up for when I came to India, I had to go on a visa-extending trip to Sri Lanka, my internet is not excellent. Some bad excuses may include the following: I don’t feel like being productive when I don’t have to be, my job is really stressful right now and occasionally depressing and no one wants to hear about that, I have too many interesting things popping into my mind and I can’t choose which one to write about, Marian’s blog/s are really good and entertaining and uplifting, so that niche is filled. Also she has cute photos of her kids and, basically, that’s all she needs for a successful blog. Joanna: you should take that into account too. Just pop some more photos of your babies up and voila—you have a blog.

But recently I have had some recurring insights into life in India quirks.  I thought I would share because they amuse me as a foreigner, but no one else here shares that amusement, since I don’t really hang out with foreigners here. Since I have spent the vast majority of my life these past few months traveling, most of my insights are travel-related.  I’m beginning to think that my nephew’s assumption that I live in the airport is not far wrong…

Today as I strode confidently into the airport in Kolkata, I swerved around wide-eyed tourists and chubby old ladies in saris and staked my claim on my space in line to make sure that none of those aforementioned ladies could butt in front of me. It is always the chubby sari-clad ladies who act all innocent like they just want to get close to the sign to see where they are supposed to go and then they will go back to the end of the line. Do not be fooled! Once they’ve wedged themselves in front of you, they won’t go back and then they will take an extra-long time doing whatever you were waiting in line to do because this is the first time in an airport and they have no idea what they are doing. And then when I realize this, it somehow endears them to me again and I forget how annoyed I was before as I kindly show them how to put their bags on the conveyor belt to be scanned…I am an angel…so full of patience…

And speaking of these scanners, Kolkata airport security is very concerned about electric items that might be in your carry-on. Everything that can be connected to an electrical outlet must be removed from the bag. Today, after removing my laptop as I always do, I was stopped and instructed to remove every other electronic item from my bag so that they could re-scan the bag. As a true member of the 21^st century, I had to remove my phone, my kindle, my Zune (OK, I’m not that far in the 21^st century because I got a Zune instead of an ipod, but I mostly did that because I am the middle-child and I have spent my life searching for uniqueness), and an external hard drive. I was then questioned again to make sure that I had NOTHING else with an electric current in it. I showed them the cord to my laptop and they said, “It is electric.” I said, “Not unless it’s plugged into an outlet.” But they ignored me. They proceeded to scan the bag again without the dangerous items. But they didn’t rescan the items themselves. It reminded me of a childhood moment in the Jakarta airport when an over-zealous security guard insisted on looking in my checked suitcase again. He was very concerned about my hairdryer. He looked it over, questioned its use (I also question it—I only use them in the winter to make sure that my hair doesn’t turn into icicles and break off or if I want to make myself feel like I am putting effort into my appearance), and then informed me that I was not allowed to use it on the flight.  Often I have issues with authority and/or people telling me what to do, but in this case I was perfectly willing to acquiesce to his command—since it was in my checked luggage anyway and I have yet to find a way to wash my hair on board an airplane.

Though India and Indonesia may be overly concerned about electronics in bags, India, at least, is very unconcerned about liquids. I could walk through the metal detector with a Big Gulp soda in one hand, and no big deal (that is a thing, right? I was raised in Asia but I feel like I have heard about Big Gulp drinks and I feel like they should be a some kind of testimony to American obesity which we hear about all the time, though let me tell you, I have seen plenty of Indians who have eaten enough chapatis to fill out their saris and sarwals in creative ways)…It is also nice not to have to worry about travel-sized shampoo and toothpaste or nitroglycerin or whatever.

But don’t let India’s lack of concern for the prevention of liquid explosives on airplanes make you think that they aren’t focused on safety and security and being aware of all that is going on around them. Airports are one of the few places where I watch Indian news on tv (since I don’t have a working one in my current house) and I’ve noticed that Indian news is ALWAYS breaking news. I mean, I have yet to see a program that doesn’t have “BREAKING NEWS” scrolling across the top or bottom of the screen (top or bottom of the screen is left to the creativity of the news team, but breaking news is not an option-everything is breaking news). Maybe I’m just not watching tv enough, but I did mention that I spend a lot of time in airports. What is the likelihood that every time I look at the screen it is breaking news and every time I’m not looking at it, it is not? I’m not so great with probabilities, but I’m thinking it’s kind of low.   It does kind of freak me out. I’ve been conditioned to believe that “BREAKING NEWS” signifies some dire event—a huge storm coming my way, an act of terrorism that could/will lead to war in some country that I have probably lived in, an escaped convict on the loose in my neighborhood, the latest contestant to be kicked off American Idol—you know, the BIG things. So I glance up to see “BREAKING NEWS” and I’m thinking, “Crap, I hope my flight doesn’t get canceled.” And then I notice that it’s just some political rally in some random state about some random politician that said something about a food shortage or Hinduism or whatever. No one besides said random politician and enthusiastic nearby onlookers with nothing else to do will be immediately affected. But, I’ve got to hand it to the Indian news media: they make you want to watch the rally for about 10 seconds (9 seconds more than I would have watched if it hadn’t been “BREAKING NEWS”).

My final thought on Indian air travel (I know you’re so excited that I’ve almost finished this lengthy treatise on my life in Indian airports) is regarding an issue that used to bug the crap out of me before I learned to prepare myself for it. It is the showing of the boarding pass to a random otherwise-unemployed person as I get OFF the plane. Yes, I said get OFF. “Why?” you ask. I don’t know. I have been asking myself this same question. Here are several theories:

1.     They want to make sure that I am getting off at the right stop. But if not, will they put me back on the plane until I get to my intended destination?

2.     They want to make sure I wasn’t stowing away in the bathroom the whole time or clinging to the wing, hitching an illegal ride.

3.     They want to make sure that I didn’t switch tickets with someone on the plane during the flight which could result in…some kind of shenanigans?

4.     They want to employ that otherwise unemployed person who is checking my ticket.

Seriously, if anyone on Earth has any idea why they do this, let me know. If they have a good reason, it would greatly help my peace of mind when I get off the plane and have to dig around in my bag, trying to remember where the hell I stuffed that ticket in the mad rush to find my seat and sit in it before I get smacked in the face by someone rushing to get his bag into the overhead compartment. Now that I am prepared for this ridiculous and (in my view) completely unnecessary inspection, I keep the ticket tucked in my kindle or passport for easy access and I swing by the uninformed foreigners digging through their bags with a smug knowing smile.  I wish I could keep it in my pocket, but as I mentioned previously, Indian clothes for women do not have pockets, and the ticket is too big to fit in my bra. Or my bra is too small for the ticket…either way, not an option.

So here I am in Ranchi for a day. I’m back to Kolkata tomorrow, on to Patna on Wednesday, back to Ranchi next week, then back to Patna, then on to Bagdogra, then back to Patna, then to Meghalaya, the back to Patna, and then a ridiculously long flight to the US of A, whereupon landing I do not have to re-show my ticket.

Yes, that is a lot of traveling, but the good news is that JetAirways has a new November magazine out which I can now memorize, since I already finished memorizing the October one…There is never a dull moment in my life…

Cheap Entertainment

Part of traveling in more exotic regions is being able to take whatever comes at you. For me, I just try to find the humor in whatever crazy situation I find myself in. And I am pretty much amused by everything.  I think having to take an umbrella and flashlight to go to the bathroom is fun. Taking a cold bucket bath while looking out over the beautiful green mountains is highly entertaining. Eating a chicken that I watched quietly die at the point of a kukuri does not bother me. Careening around cliffs in an over packed car with 1000ft drops inches away from our tires is hilariously terrifying. I also find it funny that I lean over to the other side slightly to try to balance out the car—it’s the way I play video games, urging little Mario to run faster and faster (Mario is the only video game I care about). Changing into swimming attire behind a tiny bush—fantastic good fun. Going for a run straight up a mountain and deciding that Captain Roy was right—you should never run a good horse uphill.  Then, running intervals up the mountain through thick fog—joyous! Sliding into the top bunk on a train—good times!  Driving through a river, sticking my hand across the border into Bhutan, not managing to kill the ginormous spider in our bedroom, swimming in a river, visiting a temple, eating crazy delicious food—uproarious.

And all of that was just from one trip to Sikkim! Here are some more things in my life that bring me great amusement:

*Being the tallest person in the office (besides Andrew) but still not being able to reach the shelves in our kitchen cabinets.

*I’ve taken to stuffing my bra with tissues and not for the immediately obvious reason. The problem: Indian clothes for women do not have pockets. Not the leggings that I wear under the kurtas (long shirts) and not the saris either. And you never know when you are going to need a tissue. And I get tired of carrying bags with me everywhere I go.  It’s nice to have a good place to carry extra things…

See a place for pockets in this outfit?

*Things my boss says. For example, we were discussing the subject of broadening our national partner base and he was vetoing one suggestion: “Oh, those people won’t work with us. They have AC.”

*Things national partners have said to me: “Amanda, I like you. Your thinking is very authentic.”

*Getting a twisted back from riding hours sidesaddle on a motorcycle to get to a project site. It’s always more fun on a motorcycle, especially if you don’t have to wear a helmet.

*Riding a little wooden boat across the Ganges to get to a project site. Everyone on our boat was standing up and balancing precariously. On the way back it was dark and a thunder storm was coming. Super-fun!

           

*I recently noticed that when I’m driving around in new places, trying to take everything in, I open my eyes extra wide—like I can suck the beauty into my soul through my eyeballs.

*I also really love farm animals. Especially the piggies. Probably because I've spent so much time in countries where they are mythical creatures that don't exist in modern civilized places...

This photo is does not need to be rotated, Marian--Younna took it like this.

Of course, those with me are not always amused by my amusement, and there are things that drive me crazy too—being honked at loudly by passing cars when I am innocently walking down the street and there is plenty of room for them to go around me. Since one particularly loud dance party at a camp for Palestinian orphan children, I have had extra-sensitive eardrums. Being honked at for me is like being smacked in the back of the head—it is actually physically painful. And nearly incessant. I have a special hatred for the extra-high-pitched ones.  But I’m ok with that too—if I go deaf in India, I’m already in with some of the deaf community here and my Bengali sign language is getting better. Imagine how great my sign language communication would be if I actually were deaf? Bus drivers everywhere are wanting to help me find out, it seems…

I could still do this if I were deaf, right?

When Constants Aren't Anymore

There have been few constants in my life, and a lot of that is by my own choice. Wandering the world, moving every year or so, doesn’t create much stability. As my address and phone number changed, sometimes multiple times in a year, I stopped trying to memorize them myself. My family spread around the world, added a couple of boys and then several babies. They all kept giving me more addresses and phone numbers to try to keep up with. I’ve never worried about this too much, though. I know that in life there is really only one true Constant. Still, the few things in my life that I have been able to count on are important to me—small landmarks I can come back to for familiar scenery and comfortable routine. I have been so blessed to have my maternal grandparents provide this for me.  Their big white house on Castle Heights (it is bigger than anywhere I’ve ever lived) was my permanent address for more than a decade.  There I had a room to keep stuff in while I travelled or tried not to clutter up my college dorm room. (I think I still have a few old books there—don’t worry, they’re mostly elementary level language books for languages I already speak.) Sometimes I drove their old Cadillac, whatever model it happened to be at the time, over to the grocery store with a list of items scrawled in old-fashioned cursive to pick up for dinner. I have a running route from that house to the park that is still one of my favorites in the whole world.  I liked getting back from my morning run, sitting on the floor in the living room and eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch (Mama Jewell always knew to buy that for me) while watching the end of the Today Show with the grandparents as they finished their coffee. The volume was always too loud for people without hearing aids, but I toughed it out.  I knew my way around the over-packed freezer to find the ice cream that was not squished in the bottom and covered with sticky crystals.  I can still program in the security code for the alarm system, even in the dark.

As I think of all these constants that are about to be over forever, I can’t get their phone number out of my head.  It is one of the only phone numbers in the world that I have memorized. Six-one-five-four-four-four-five-four-nine-seven…it’s been the same since before I was born, so I have been told. While my grandparents have moved a few times, they have always managed to keep that same number.  One time, before I had a cell phone (I am so OLD!), I was visiting the other grandparents. I was in the airport trying to find my genius but sometimes absent-minded grandfather in the parking lot.  After wandering around a bit, I found a pay phone, dropped in some money and called Mama Jewell, as hers was the only number I knew. Yes, in hindsight, I should have had Grandmom and Grandpop’s phone number written down somewhere. I don’t always prepare for the future, since I know it’s not going to turn out like I expect, so why worry about it?  I didn’t worry in this situation because I knew Mama Jewell would answer the phone and find the number I needed in her little phone number box she keeps on the table by the couch. She did. 

That phone number is still the one connected with my name at the local pharmacy.  I think I’ve used some of the digits as passcodes for padlock combinations and suitcase locks.  It’s still listed as my “home” phone number on various informational forms scattered around the world.   I’m pretty sure the CIA has it listed in their records.  I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget the number and free up that brain space. Some things go deep and lodge in.  There may be a few more months for me to use that specially stored information, but if all goes according to the Family Plan, I may never see the inside of that house again.  Even if I were to go back now, it wouldn’t be the same.  Buster Daddy’s Alzheimer’s has progressed to a stage where it is no longer safe or feasible for him to stay at home.  The grief that I feel knowing that is deeper than the grief I feel at losing one of my Constants. I knew this day would come eventually, but of course, I try not to plan too much for the future. 

Buster Daddy loves to pose crazy for pictures but Mama Jewell stays classy.

Even saying goodbye before coming to India, I didn’t think about it too much. I was more worried about a certain little boy running to Auntie’s room and wondering why she left him.  Now I’m worried about that same little boy who knows every possible route through town to get to “Mam Ju and Bud Daddy’s house” and will not pass Castle Heights Avenue without insisting on visiting them.  My mom reminded me t hat he has shown remarkable resilience in getting over my absence, an amazing feat of course (it’s very hard to get over me). While it will be hard for him to understand why he can’t go to their house anymore, it’s harder for me understanding what I’m missing and knowing that it’s over forever. 

Even if I could go back, I can never get back to the place I remember—that’s something every TCK learns from a young age. So I’m going to hold on to those special memories, those memories that you go back to because they make you painfully happy. Those are the memories you share with others, knowing that they’ll listen, sometimes with genuine interest, but never really comprehend.  Still, it’s fun to remember out loud sometimes.  I’ve already showed photographs to friends here in India.  Now I’m writing this and crying and smiling and jumping every time an extra-loud firework from a nearby wedding goes off under my window (I have been in too many warzones), and grieving, but with grieving with hope: I know the one big Constant is going to come through in the end because He never changes.

“Comfort, comfort, my people, says your God….The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God stands forever.” Is. 40: 1a, 8.

Thanks for these photos, Nora!

Special thanks to my wonderful family for their unity and unselfish love for Buster Daddy and Mama Jewell, especially Aunt Chrissa who is an amazing daughter, sister, mother, wife, grandmother, aunt, great-aunt. I have been constantly impressed by her untiring devotion to her parents, her ability to see the humor in tough situations, and the fact that she did not let the hurtful things said or done to her by “Big Al,” as she calls Alzheimer’s, to shake her love for her father.  And she has done all of this without putting the guilt trip on her siblings who live far away to come help. Aunt Chrissa, your sacrifices and hard work have not gone unnoticed by anyone in our family (But if you think there is someone who hasn’t noticed, just mention his or her name to me and I will set them straight…). Thank you so much for your wonderful example to all of us.

Namaste India

I haven’t updated the blog in a while, and it’s not because my life is boring in the US, but because when I’m there, I can usually share my funny life stories immediately with the people around me. That urge being satisfied, keeps me from needing a release of pent-up amusement here.  Blame the sisters, that’s what I do.

So India…unlike China or the Middle East, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t find India fascinating. Initially I thought China was boring because the pictures in history books for the “China Unit” were always of boring things like pottery or water color paintings. When I got there and saw the swords and amazing architecture, I was won over. Also, their language is pretty cool. The Middle East seemed too oppressive to me as a child, and, frankly, it is, but they also have a cool language, fascinating architecture, and an impressive selection of weaponry…so you really can’t lose (unless you get your head cut off by a terrorist on youtube, but some of us try to defy stereotypes). But back to India…

Favorite tree!

India was the land of the Indus Valley civilization, a multitude of languages with a wide variety of beautiful scripts, the Ramayana, curry, Riki Tiki Tavi and the Jungle Book, mouthwatering bread, beautiful colorful clothing. But the thought of visiting India as a tourist was really overwhelming. As a tourist, you have to see everything…or at least the “main things.” And I didn’t see how it would be possible to see everything AND learn the language.  Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t care if I learn every language in the world. OK, to be honest, I’d want to learn the language of whatever country I happen to be living in, but there are only a few countries that I would want to visit because I really want to learn the (or, in the case of India, one of the) language spoken there.  I remember sitting in a restaurant in Indonesia when Uncle Don told me that if I learned Hindi, Chinese, and Arabic along with Bahasa, which I already spoke, that I could speak to the majority of people in Asia. And at the time, Asia was really the only place that existed for me. Since then, I’ve broadened my horizons a bit and ventured to Africa, Europe and elsewhere, but Asia was the first place I chose to be my home. And it always holds a special feeling for me.

Driving around this last week, I’ve felt very much at home—the red mimosa trees and the black and white stripes painted unnecessarily on the sidewalks, Walls Ice Cream advertisements in the shops, blue strapped flipflops, crazy traffic driving on the left side of the road, pollution, smoke, incessant car horns, hot green chili peppers…I kind of love it all.  I know that eventually the car horns will become unbearable because, while I can handle noxious fumes and near death taxi rides, ever since I sat next to a speaker at that Palestinian orphans’ camp which gave me a constant ringing in my ear for the next month and a half, my ears have been especially sensitive to loud piercing noises. But really, something about life here feels comfortable in its familiarity.

With Shomili

This week has been very full. I spent a day and a half in the office, convinced the Boss somehow to let me go on a field visit by myself for two days, came back for one day in the office, spent Saturday exploring with Diane, Sunday to church and then to meetings which lasted until a couple of hours ago. Our meetings were mostly very long with lots of important information but too much sitting, too much AC, and not enough black tea. I think my favorite moment was this morning when we were ordering breakfast. The meetings were held in a really fancy meeting room which one of our board members hooked us up with. Impressed with the gourmet food we’d been eating, Diane thought she’d ask if  they had French toast. “No,” said the waiter, “We have Indian toast.” She ended up going with my choice: a masala omelet with extra green chilis. It was mumtaztik.

Elderly ladies offering wisdom at community meeting

I am loving the green chilis here. I learned how to say ‘green chili’ in Bengali, Hindi, and Nepali. I wasn’t planning to learn Nepali when I came here, but I think it’s going to be inevitable since that is the lingua franca of our office. Fortunately, it is very similar to Hindi, so if I learn Hindi first, then maybe I can understand what the boys are saying about us. Bengali is definitely going to be useful, not only in Calcutta, but also in the field. When I was on our field visit, the English level of our partners is at a level where occasionally I got the answers to the questions I asked, but sometimes we had conversations like this:

Me: So how long were the visitors with you?

Arindam: We will arrive in 2 hour.

Using a Neverthirst pump

Or me: How much time in a day did the woman spend fetching water before Neverthirst installed the hand pump?

Dmaity: She is very happy because now the water is near her home. She say it taste like fridge water.

I can even have mutually unintelligible conversations at home in the office:

Me: So the Kolkata Knight Riders won the cricket match? What was the score?

Ashish: 190 balls out of 100 balls over 3 wickets…(Or something like that. In this case, I don’t think the language was the communication issue. I don’t know that I’ll go back to the states fluent in cricket lingo. If Lagaan couldn’t do it with singing and dancing, I don’t know that Ashish will be able to teach me no matter how passionate about it he is.)

So I’m happy to be here, looking forward to learning more and having more adventures, and excited to learn as many languages as possible. 

Woman washing clothes and dishes in dirty water

I feel like I have so many more stories, but I don’t have time to write the book yet.