~*~
One of the very first days in India, I went up to the roof of our apartment to play my guitar and be outside for a bit. After playing for a long while, the sun began to set and I heard jingles echoing up the stairs, becoming louder with every bouncing footstep. The girls from the apartment downstairs had finished with school and came to say hello and meet the strange Americans who moved in above them. I played a song for them and they danced and we played hand games until the mosquitos started to bite and they had to go home.
Throughout the month I would hear jingles bouncing in rhythm with light, energetic footsteps coming up the stairs and I would know that my friends were looking for me. They would peek their heads through the windows and wave at us whenever they caught our attention and sometimes they would be embarrassed that we caught them looking and run quickly down the stairs laughing.
They let me take pictures as they flew their paper kites around the roof, skipping over the laundry lines and trying not to get their strings caught on the metal poles.
They came over the first Sunday night we lived in the apartment and we played songs and sung along to every camp song any of us could remember.
They showed me their family photo albums and I showed them pictures of home. They showed me Indian Rupees and I showed them the money I’ve been collecting on the trip. We counted coins and learned new hand shakes and I told them I liked it when people played with my hair and scratched my head and they were concerned I had “the bugs” – so then we looked for lice.
When it was coming close to the end of the my time in India, we all played on the street, making structures in the sand and dancing like crazy.
(Meenas, Krishnaveni, Jenani)
As it got darker we went inside the gate and they taught me how to play carrom board, which I was not very good at, and every time I tried to flick the little checker piece across the board Meenas, my partner, would shake her head and say “sissstterrr” with frustration.
(Renuka and Meenas)
~*~
Every time we hung out, without fail, Meenas, Krishnaveni, and Jenani would ask what time it was in America. It was about a 12 hour time difference and they were fascinated that when they were about ready to go to bed, my family would be waking up getting ready for work and school. Or when they woke up in the morning, my parents were going to bed. Whenever they were awake, America was asleep. I could show them all of my pictures from America, all the coins and videos I had from home, but it would still be an idea hard to wrap their mind around. It was crazy to them that two worlds could be existing at the same exact time, never quite lining up, but never failing to continue. They were two worlds that seemed on the surface opposite in every way.
The only thing I really had to connect them to America and my family was myself. They saw my actions, my behavior, and for them it was a taste of America, maybe the only taste they will ever have.
I can relate to them, because when I heard and talked about India at home, I really had no idea what it was like. What the people were like. I had other people’s opinions and I’d heard statistics, but not until I actually came to the country did I understand what I’d been told. And I still have only seen the tiniest portion of the country. I had no idea that I would fall in love with the beauty of the place, the colors, the people, the land. And I wonder if the girls knew I was just as much fascinated with their world as they were with mine.
~*~
My last day, Renuka, two of the girls’ mother, took the anklets off her feet and clasped them around my ankles. So now whenever I walk, there is a light jingle that accompanies me. The sound of India ringing around my ankles, is now a part of me and has a genuine place in my heart. I have a tangible reminder of a world that used to be so far away. I have a reminder of people that I am connected to and love.
When I look at my watch in America, about to fall asleep, I will think of India and the life that’s happening there. It is no longer distant and cloudy in my mind, it is not formed by stereotypes and stories I’ve heard, because I have now created my own stories and friendships. I will think of my sister Hepsibha, who never failed to make me laugh when she stuffed biscuits into her mom’s purse and put coconut oil in my hair before bed. I will think about our car rides back from ministry when we would take turns scratching each other’s backs. And I will begin to brainstorm ways to buy a plane ticket to go to her wedding in 5 years.
(Hepsi and I picking henna leaves)
I will think of Renuka and Krishnaveni. Jenani and Meenas. And I hope they will think of me.
I’ve been given the opportunity to be a part of someone’s world and teach them about mine and in our time together, we began to walk in unison.
With new insight into each other’s lives, every picture shared, every handshake and dance, we took another step forward with one another. We began to walk with a distinct rhythm. The sounds of both our worlds becoming more like one another as we realized we’re not so different after all. With every kiss Meenas planted on my hand and every time Renuka braided my hair, our bond grew tighter. Our tempo increased.
With every game we played and conversation we had, we went somewhere new. Our feet yearned to take another step in order to learn about a life so far away that had suddenly become within reach. Until time and space were only differences and distances, and the lives of four school girls in India were not separate from my reality, but a representation of it. A distinct picture of India to hold close to my heart. And I, an image of America, of a Christian, of their friend who likes back scratches and sucks at carrom board. I was given the honor to jingle when I walk and a chance to represent a life full of Christ when I talk.
It’s funny how effective it is when you put a face to an idea. Maybe that’s what God thought too, when He sent Jesus. He knew that without something tangible, His glory would be clouded by our inability to see Him. So He gave us Jesus. A carpenter, a teacher, a friend, a leader, a sacrifice. A representation of himself, bridging the gap between heaven and earth. So now our two worlds have come a little bit closer. We’ve found a rhythm and way to walk in unison.
And as the anklets dangle on top of each of my feet I’ll remember the privilege I’ve been given to bridge the gap between two worlds that seem so far apart.
My footsteps abounding with purpose and a clear distinction. Beautifully and perfectly placed in the in-between.
I will explore the world where my feet are planted and my footprints will be light with the hope of a world to come.
I will jingle when I walk.
