One day left. We have only one day left here in India, this land of beauty and contradiction. I try to focus on the last paper I have to write, but I am overwhelmed with complex feelings of happiness and sadness, anticipation and reluctance.
We have been in India for three and a half months. During that time, we have visited the slums and talked with the people therein. We have traveled all across India, from the deserts of Rajasthan to the backwaters of Kerala, from the filthy Ganges to the intricate silk industries in Kancheepuram. I have come to find beauty in the least expected places: in the marching lines of giant ants that cross my path, in the sound of a multitude of barking dogs that wake me long before my watch-alarm, in the waving coconut trees, in the tanned and wrinkled faces of the women. I have discovered the beauty of greeting one another as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’; I have experienced the Indian Hospitality first-hand. This country and its people have given so much to me. But what do I do with all of this when I return to the US? It is only one short chapter in my life, yet it has changed the dynamics of everything that I am. I have been pushed, challenged, refuted, and encouraged. Each day I have learned something new and come to appreciate the process of learning and unlearning. But when I return, who will want to know? Who will be interested in my rants and raves about my experience here? That’s one of the crazy things that this program does to a person. It has confounded many of the truths I once knew and crystallized the mere whims and thoughts that I had never articulated before. How do I teach people back home about the injustices suffered by people across the world, and how do I make them care? I look forward to returning home to see my family and my friends, to get involved in activities at Gustavus that now mean much more to me. I know that I can return here whenever I want, whenever I have the finances to afford a plane ticket. And I know that I will be welcomed here as a long-lost sister and friend. But what breaks my heart is that some of the people here I may never see again. We have overcome the barrier of different languages and ways of expression to reach an understanding of each other. It’s incredible how one learns to communicate when the tool of a common language is taken away. So I may not be able to write to the people like Annamma, the young woman who works here in the paper-making unit. Once I leave this place, I may never again see her gentle face and generous smile, and I may never even know what happens in her life. That’s what makes me so sad to leave. My life is stable; even when I return home, I know that my family will be waiting for me and that I will have work to do and a place to stay, people to check up on me to make sure I am doing alright. But not everyone here has that. And so I do what I can. Through broken English and gestures, I gathered that Annama wants me to come to her house. So I will go, if I am able, and if we can coordinate my going with her. I will meet her mother and father and her three children. And then I will leave. Maybe that’s all I can give, all I need to give–my time and understanding. She would never ask for anything more, and I would never give her anything less. I am only one person. I can’t change the whole world, but I can start with myself. I’ve come to understand the power of a smile, the power of one hand to reach out and help another. We have learned so many things in this amazing country, but I think the little realizations have been much more profound than any lecture could be. One thing I will carry with me wherever I go: the kindness and generosity that has been shown to me. I can only hope that someday I will have as much impact on another as the people here have had on me.
Lindsey, I’m reading this 6 years after you returned, but it kind of seems like yesterday that we were in college studying abroad and experiencing the world. We were so lucky! Thanks for blogging and letting me travel vicariously through you, I wish I would have read this when we were in school together. I’ll read it now instead and be grateful it exists. 🙂