This place

I wish I could capture all the little wonderful moments of my days (because every day, no matter how difficult, has them), bundle them up and send them back to my friends and family at home. Life here is so beautiful.


Yesterday, on my walk to Hindi class early in the morning, I first began to feel the chill of winter. I've been laughing at my homestay sister, who bundles up with wool jackets and a scarf when it's 65 degrees outside, but it actually is starting to get pretty cold. The wind blew hard and I almost lost my dupatta. Cycling past, a rickshaw driver with no warm clothes, and holes in his pants torn from days of constant contact with his bikeseat, sang an upbeat song that made me smile.



Later in the day, a monkey ran into our apartment, ignoring Lizzie horrified shrieks of "Out, get OUT! THERE IS A MONKEY IN HERE AND - OUT!!!"

By the time Joe and I ran out of the kitchen, where we were making grilled cheese, it had grabbed an orange, and run back out the door to enjoy its lunch on the highest part of our roof.



Last night was the last night of Guria's concert series, Pearls of Love, part of our campaign to end human trafficking. Even one of the little girls in a tattered dress who sells postcards for five rupees each on the ghats tossed some coins into my donations cloth.



And on the way home, I asked my rickshaw driver to stop at the dobie, or washerman, by Assi Ghat to pick up my laundry. My clothes weren't ready, but his wife invited me into their house to meet her daughter's six-day-old baby. He was so tiny, and swaddled in a gray blanket. His mother had lined his eyes with smudged khol, a traditional Indian way to ward off the evil eye. She asked him to say "Namaste", but I understood when he only stared up at me. I hope I gave him a good first impression of a Westerner.