Monsoon season rain and too many mosquitos. An Uber packed to the brim of 50 pound backpacks and 5 confused American girls. Tuk Tuk’s, motos, trucks and cars zip past leaving less than an inch between each vehicle. There is no such thing as staying “in your lane” in India, and the word stop sign or crosswalk is non-existent. Here you are allowed to drive “as soon as you know how to honk your horn”, whether that makes you 10 years old or 90, who really cares anyways. Crossing a four-lane street this week gave me more of an adrenaline rush than that time I went cliff jumping.
Our Uber is taking us to the bus stop where we will be catching a 10-hour sleeper bus deep into south India. We have already started trying to dehydrate ourselves because of course there are no bathrooms and who knows if the bus will be stopping.
The Uber stops in the middle of a highway next to an overpass and barks out in broken English – “Here you are, … pillar 71 there….. pillar 73 here…. You are pillar 72, okay good bye.” We all look around anxiously, thinking surely the bus stop is not just a concrete block in the midst of oncoming traffic from all directions, but without further explanation, and a huge leap of faith, we are discarded into the road with all of our belongings.
Turns out the bus stop was indeed this mysterious pillar 72 and miraculously we were in the right place. Between the rain, the mosquitos, and all the confusion, we sat waiting in the dark by the highway chai stand on top of our bags with weary spirits.
I am quickly learning that there will be frequent “Pillar 72’s” in our path this year. These concrete blocks in the middle of oncoming traffic cannot be prevented but the attitude that we bring will most certainly determine how they are maneuvered.
So far India has been a mixture of what I imagined, and what Slum Dog Millionaire failed to mention.
I am not exaggerating when I say we have eaten a combination of rice or curry or both for every meal. We have been here for 9 days now so that equals 27 plates of rice or curry or both.
We eat this soupy mess with our hand** the right one of course. I’m the unlucky left-handed one who ends up dropping rice all over myself. We actually coined a new phrase called “curry nails”. This is when the nails on your right hand are literally stained a rusty yellow from eating.
Herds of cows march around the streets next to the compound we live in and the children playing outside have the most hauntingly beautiful big dark black eyes.
There is this hilarious yet confusing way of communicating here called the “Indian head bobble”. Instead of speaking you just shake your head from side to side. This subtle head shake can mean “yes”, “no”, “you can have it”, “I appreciate what you are saying”, “you are very smart”, “you are very dumb”, “I don’t want to answer you”, all of the above, or none of the above.
This month I am learning to accept whatever is thrown at me with the biggest joyous “Yes” I am able to muster up.
Sometimes when I wake up preferring to go to ministry work it is my day to stay at home with the woman hosts cooking and cleaning. (If you know me than you know this is quite the opposite of my dream day)
Last Monday, I worked my 8-hour cooking shift mincing onions until I was blinded by the smell, with tears pouring from my eyes, but the smiling young Indian girl working by my side taught me that I could handle it and find joy in the mundane.
At the rescue home for victims of sex trafficking I drew pictures with a young woman holding a beautiful baby that did not even have a name.
At the elderly home we showed our new 87 year-old friend Betty, her blue eyes for the first time.
At the after school center where we work in the evenings I pray for patience as I am handed the group of adorable little children who have yet to learn how to read properly and need extra help.
I am certainly falling in the love with the people here and their big black eyes. With all the smells, colors, and noises. I know that “Pillar 72” moments are just beginning but so are the moments of prayers for more strength, more grace, and more humility.
Until the next rare moment that I come across Wifi…
XOXO
— here is the roof of our compound where I sit writing this. (You can see our lovely laundry room in the background.)
