Slowly, slowly, but very surely, I am becoming comfortable and familiar with the world around me again.
Actually, maybe not comfortable. Poor word choice. Maybe.... not-insanely-overwhelmed?
A better description. A mouthful, but better.
We have officially (we being Malachi, Molly, Kyra and myself) moved out of Tagore (the international dorm on campus) and into our homestay.
I kid you not, if I were to describe my dream house, this might as well be it.
Bright colors, roof terrace, interconnected rooms, a swinging chair in the living room, and all of this on our own flat above Amma and The Professor.
Oh.
And.
A mango tree growing through the entire house?
YEAH.
And to top it off I have three absolutely amazing human beings to call housemates/family.
On Friday we took a group trip to Desire Society.
It's an organization that gives housing, medicine, education, and support to children with HIV.
We played with them, shared toys, watched them dance hard-core Bollywood style, and learned about a lot about what the organization does, its hardships, its triumphs.
Upon asking how long the kids usually stay at the orphanage, the director answered, "until the end of their life."
Turns out, the life expectancy for a child diagnosed with HIV is roughly 25 years.
These beautiful, wide-eyed children in their princess dresses and braids,
in their cords and army pants,
with incredible dance moves and incredible respect and love for one another.
25 years?
I don't think I've ever been so humbled in my life.
I can't even describe the feeling of interacting with these kids. They all have such radiant smiles, such emanating compassion, and yet such deep awareness in their eyes that could only come from early hardship and growing up too fast.
And yet they laughed and giggled and smiled and played and just absolutely tore my heartsrings in two.
That whole phrase "First World Problems" is sickeningly accurate. First world freeking problems.
We have the opportunity to go back weekly to volunteer and play with the kids. (And I STILL stand by my claim that Indian kids are seriously the cutest in the world....)
I'll see if it pans out. I'll either be there every week or at another all-boy orphanage a little closer to home.
To top off the week (which was also full of shopping trips and roommate bonding on our roof terrace and a few other things) I had yet another indescribable experience.
Amma, our host mother, is the patron of the local temple here.
It's a small building erected behind the neighborhood, consisting of one solid wall and three wire-meshed sides, with a blue roof and beautiful white marble floors.
Kyra and I went with her while she did puja on Saturday.
I kid you not, the absolute second we stepped through the archway, monsoon rain unleashed its beautiful self down around us.
It thundered in a watery, pounding symphony on the roof, while Kyra and I sat crosslegged in silence within the temple.
Three other elder women and Amma placed offerings for the shrines.
Soft prayers in the intricate and rippling language of Telugu floated through the room with the wooden scents of incense and flower garlands.
Rain slanted sideways in hard lines through the wire walls and forced us to huddle near the center of the tiny room.
It was one of the most spiritual moments of my life.
I felt centered in the world, in the universe, in the prayer-filled spell-bound walls of this temple of flowers, this temple of devotion and community and faith and wonder.
And all the while the thunder and power of the rain and of life cascaded down around us, in blurry sheets of mist and noise.
I was soaked to the bone and smiling.
Upon leaving the temple, the rain suddenly ceased.
"It's auspicious, in India," said The Professor. "Rain blessed your time in the temple."
I think that may have had some truth to it.
Actually, maybe not comfortable. Poor word choice. Maybe.... not-insanely-overwhelmed?
A better description. A mouthful, but better.
We have officially (we being Malachi, Molly, Kyra and myself) moved out of Tagore (the international dorm on campus) and into our homestay.
I kid you not, if I were to describe my dream house, this might as well be it.
Bright colors, roof terrace, interconnected rooms, a swinging chair in the living room, and all of this on our own flat above Amma and The Professor.
Oh.
And.
A mango tree growing through the entire house?
YEAH.
And to top it off I have three absolutely amazing human beings to call housemates/family.
On Friday we took a group trip to Desire Society.
It's an organization that gives housing, medicine, education, and support to children with HIV.
We played with them, shared toys, watched them dance hard-core Bollywood style, and learned about a lot about what the organization does, its hardships, its triumphs.
Upon asking how long the kids usually stay at the orphanage, the director answered, "until the end of their life."
Turns out, the life expectancy for a child diagnosed with HIV is roughly 25 years.
These beautiful, wide-eyed children in their princess dresses and braids,
in their cords and army pants,
with incredible dance moves and incredible respect and love for one another.
25 years?
I don't think I've ever been so humbled in my life.
I can't even describe the feeling of interacting with these kids. They all have such radiant smiles, such emanating compassion, and yet such deep awareness in their eyes that could only come from early hardship and growing up too fast.
And yet they laughed and giggled and smiled and played and just absolutely tore my heartsrings in two.
That whole phrase "First World Problems" is sickeningly accurate. First world freeking problems.
We have the opportunity to go back weekly to volunteer and play with the kids. (And I STILL stand by my claim that Indian kids are seriously the cutest in the world....)
I'll see if it pans out. I'll either be there every week or at another all-boy orphanage a little closer to home.
To top off the week (which was also full of shopping trips and roommate bonding on our roof terrace and a few other things) I had yet another indescribable experience.
Amma, our host mother, is the patron of the local temple here.
It's a small building erected behind the neighborhood, consisting of one solid wall and three wire-meshed sides, with a blue roof and beautiful white marble floors.
Kyra and I went with her while she did puja on Saturday.
I kid you not, the absolute second we stepped through the archway, monsoon rain unleashed its beautiful self down around us.
It thundered in a watery, pounding symphony on the roof, while Kyra and I sat crosslegged in silence within the temple.
Three other elder women and Amma placed offerings for the shrines.
Soft prayers in the intricate and rippling language of Telugu floated through the room with the wooden scents of incense and flower garlands.
Rain slanted sideways in hard lines through the wire walls and forced us to huddle near the center of the tiny room.
It was one of the most spiritual moments of my life.
I felt centered in the world, in the universe, in the prayer-filled spell-bound walls of this temple of flowers, this temple of devotion and community and faith and wonder.
And all the while the thunder and power of the rain and of life cascaded down around us, in blurry sheets of mist and noise.
I was soaked to the bone and smiling.
Upon leaving the temple, the rain suddenly ceased.
"It's auspicious, in India," said The Professor. "Rain blessed your time in the temple."
I think that may have had some truth to it.
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