some nights, i really miss india.

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i have this thing for bollywood. and actor, shahrukh kahn.
there is something about immersing in another culture. and,

swinging yourself round and round inside another’s world.
i wish the world could meet the world(s) i met in india. like,
ayur the tour guide. i met him the day i kissed an orangutan.

this was the day after i put henna in my hair. an impulsive-ly bad
decision for my personal appearance. my hair turned carrot colored.

so, yes. ayur. cousin emily and i met him at the zoo.

his niece was an orissa dancer. which is an indian dancer.

it’s a distinct respect and tradition thing there. and ayur was sad that i had never seen one.

so, he called his niece and told her we were coming over for dinner. so that night,

his entire extended family was there. and they told funny stories. and it was the best local time.

they fed us curry and chai and other such sweetness. and juanamoneit the neice performed in full costume.

after dinner and dancing, ayur said he was getting married the next day. to a woman he had never met. the bride’s father had died the week before, and so ayur’s mother said that he didn’t have to marry her now. that the arranged marriage could be called off. but ayur said,

no, i want to marry her even more. because i want to be with her to help mend her sad heart. i want to love her.

oh wow. is that what love is supposed to look like. his commitment to love. a stranger. there was no emotion involved. he hadn’t even seen her face, yet.

there i was. sitting with ayur’s family, just listening to him. about his commitment to love and serve a hurting stranger – for the rest of his life.

and i couldn’t commit to serve and love, or even say,

hey hi how are you reeeeaaaallly doing today

to the person that sat next to me in spanish class. even loving friends and family isn’t always so convenient for me.

and then there was devika.

i met devika at the hotel when i first landed in india.

i had just returned from the henna hair salon. feeling really anne-of-green-gables like.

and she said, your hair. it’s beautiful.

and i said, really. you really think the orange compliments my freckles?

devika said yes. and then i needed to call marms. and so i asked if devika wanted to talk to marms.

and then devika talked to marms. and then she sat with me when i wrote letters back to home. and then during her lunch break, she took me to the marketplace. and taught me how to barter. and shared other inside-ins to keep me up with india. and we talked about our families. and hopes and dreams and fears and desires for love. and devika wants to be a hotel manager someday. and she was in love with a man, but he wasn’t in her caste. but her fingers were crossed that her parents would honor the love, anyway.

and then she told me that i needed to thread my eyebrows. and i told her that i didn’t want my eyebrows to be as thin as a thread.

and she said, ay yi yi no. threading is better than tweezers.

and i said, do what.

and then she snuck into my hotel room when the front desk wasn’t looking. and threaded my eyebrows.

devika called me best friend that week.

i tell all of my friends about devika. because i knew her for one week, and she taught me this:

i kept saying i’m sorry and thank you. for stupid stuff. like accidentally touching her arm when walking.

[i can't walk straight. i walk in the direction i talk.]

or saying thank you for helping me find something.
she got offended. she said that friends don’t say thank you or sorry. she said,

anjali, i ask for your friendship. and you accept. no more sorry or thank you allowed.

she said deep and true friendships don’t need either.

i still wrestle with devika’s words in my friendships. but i would

bet my bottom dollar that devika has abundantly genuine friendships.

now, i spent most of my time in india at this orphanage, vatsalya.
an approximate two mile walk from the nearest village, atrul.

i met the sweetest women there. everyone please meet, fraya and beth.
they were from britain. and that’s when i decided that my accent
was gravely boring. i like great britain’s sound much better.

like cheeky for tacky. and knickers for underwear.
and torch for flashlight. [because i really like fire.]

and then, there was jodi from chicago. oh man, i miss this girl.
we named her captain. because she knew everything. and,
well. if you ever doubted that superwoman existed…
…meet jodi. she is your real live superwoman action figure.

seriously, i saw her pack the cape inside her backpack every morning.

i lived at vatsalya with these beautiful faces

.

they called me anjali didi. and didi means big sister. it was the best sound. i wish you could hear it.

and this is also when i became obsessed with elephants.

because you could step inside their footstep. and, fit five of your heads inside one step.

you would become obsessed with an elephant’s footstep, too. after you stepped inside. besides, did you know that an elephant can pick up a penny with their trunk. that is clearly obsession worthy.

and, then. i would sleep under the night sky. and i really believe that you are closer to the night sky

when you sleep outdoors in india. every night, i could count more than twenty shooting and chasing and falling stars.

and then every morning, i would wake up to a desert stillness. just the noise of calming air. until the kids were awake, anyway.

and, i don’t know. after i came home, i didn’t really talk much about my time in india. i didn’t know what to say. i told the funny stories over and over. like when i got my nose pierced.

and how it was for the kids. because the girls wanted me to have my nose pierced with them. and i wanted to fit in with the girls. and not be the madonna-white-american. they thought every white western girl was madonna. and i’m not really like madonna at all. i can’t sing on pitch in front of a crowd. and i didn’t want to be the white western girl.

and true story. they told me that i would be a real live indian. once i had my nose pierced and all.
….you mean. a real indian! and then shahrukh kahn would notice me….

and, anjali didi. we throw a dance party with cakes and sweets when a girl becomes a woman with a nose ring.

….alright. chotyma. where are you. i’m going to need a lift into town. straight to the jeweler man…..

chotyma the orphanage mother said she knew i’d give in. i knew it, too. because i have this thing for living like a local.

you would’ve, too. it was for the kids. and the jeweler man did one stellar job. he pierced the hole with just his hand and the back of the earring. his aim was just right.

but yes. i didn’t know what else to say about india. you know, other than the entertaining stories.

but then i have these nights, when i really miss india. i miss the way i learned about love there. that when love is acted upon, and brings glory to our creator, it cannot be unnoticed.

i don’t know. i think it’s easier to live the story of love on eggshells. just tip toe-ing around with nothing else but my stiff and billow words. not giving weight to any fruit i claim to want to bear. just like the plastic fruit that sits on grandma francine’s dining room table.

and i never understood the use of plastic fruit, anyway. i can’t even taste it. but

ayur and devika and these children at vatsalya. these children that survived the streets. that were sex slaves from the age of four. or lived in the jungle for two years after their father killed their mother. or saw their parents die from tuberculosis. dear god, these children.

they could love like i had never seen love. they served one another. they served me.

and i didn’t know how to talk about it. what do you say when you come home. when they are there. and you are here. how could i tell people about that. and express my memories. while

i’m sipping my latte. and sleeping in my featherbed. and getting medicines for my sickness. i was numb to any explanation. and it took time for me to pinch myself back to feel touch.

because there is something about these layers of love. the different ones you find in life. and i think we will find them at different points in different seasons. and some will stay, and some will mold themselves over into other places. but once you experience it’s depths,

you can’t ever settle yourself backwards.

you can’t. or else you will always know you’re settling. and in india,
i learned about how love is action. about serving, inspite of your story.

whatever blackness you carry with you. you must choose to love it away.

you must accept and give love. and then give and accept love, even more. this is where freedom is found.

it’s a complex simple, really. to have freedom love by choosing to give love. this is the grand-perspective cure.

i taught a dance class while i was at vatsalya.

i didn’t know much hindi. and the girls didn’t know much english.
our common comprehension was the numbers one through eight.

we didn’t have language. but we had movement. we had laughter. and we had eyes.
and we practiced after they were done with school and chores and other classes.
chotyma would turn on the generators for about one hour each night. and

we would practice then.

we learned without words. and i learned about how you don’t really need words to talk at all.

it is beautiful what two can teach one another without using words.

you see. some nights, i miss this. i felt free. free to love without expectations of results. of appreciation. of understanding. freedom from boundaries.

there, it was easier. i felt the chains of routines loosen their grip. i think because of the ease and familiarity of routines, i can forget that life should churn adventure.

where i am meant to feel. meant to love. and meant to live for something greater than myself.

but this is such a wrestle. it’s so easy to leave my home in the morning, with many plans and appointments and ideas, acting and believing that i will cross each one off this checklist. or post-it note, rather. without any unforseen outliers. but the truth? is that i can predict nothing.

and everyday i learn more about myself. and how i can predict nothing. and i consistently have to remind myself that this is good.

you know, living in the unknown and all. while working hard and learning and giving these layers of love.

this has such grand potential to be good.

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