You don't get love, you give it

When I was traveling last year, I read a lot of books.

One of those books was "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts. It's a mammoth book, a colossal undertaking of 944 pages that I braved largely because it was based in my newly-adopted hometown of Mumbai (Bombay), India. Like the author, I too had relocated there, though admittedly on much tamer circumstances. I bought the book on the second day of a 9 day trek in Nepal (after realizing Twilight #2 was nowhere to be found). I still shoulder some guilt for having our 16-year old porter Norbu carry it all those miles.

There's a line in the book, where Roberts ends one of the chapters by writing "You don't get love, you give it." At the time, I wrote it off for a cliche statement. But it has stuck with me since that quiet day in May when I read it, and I find myself lately reflecting back on one of the most amazing years of my life, and realizing just how true it is.

I've been fortunate enough to meet people throughout this year, and have experiences, that I would never have had the courage to even attempt in the first place without the support of so many family and friends. I've found myself thinking a lot about giving versus getting love, as I have been lucky enough to be the recipient of so much love, often when I didn't even deserve it.

Selflessly and completely, people have seriously shown me the love this year. And I keep wondering if I've done the same in return.

Several people have asked me what the highlights were of my time abroad, and one of the first things that comes to mind is my experience teaching in Bombay. The children I taught there are amazing, and as much as I love them, I feel like they gave me so much more love, unconditionally and without question, even while having so little, that it wasn't nearly a fair trade (though I did teach them what "totally awesome" meant, so I tried to show my appreciation on some level).

My entire adventure would not have been possible without my friend Sunitha and her husband Ashwyn who welcomed me not as a guest in their home, but as part of their family. I'm yet to figure out a proper repayment for their kindness, generosity, and sharing of their wealth of knowledge about Bombay (specifically its fine foods, both at home and eating out!) To have that time to spend with Sunitha again was priceless; I hope someday I will have a home as awesome as theirs to host them in (and maybe even on a beach, too!) and try and live up to the high bar that is Indian hospitality.

I'm not sure I ever explained how much it meant to me that friends and family came to visit me--Jessie, Bryan, and Randy--and experience the craziness of India firsthand, but the random motorcycle rides in the dark, the beers for breakfast, and the photo collages of food in Nepal and India will not soon be forgotten. For those friends I traveled with outside of India--Libby, Abdullah, Patti, Sarah and Gareth--the nights out in Mykonos, the kufte in Istanbul, the brewery tours in Ireland/Holland, the MeatBowl in Melbourne all still bring a smile to my face.

The list goes on of all the people who have given me so much love: the D-town winos, who got me bacon when I was fresh off the plane back in Denver in August; Annie K, not only for keeping my car but always being there to listen to all my random boy stories; Carolyn for watching my plants and being a shoulder to lean on; my parents for supporting me even when they think I'm crazy (which, I think is a majority of the time); Maria for encouraging me not to get a real job and to travel more; Jeffy Peeps for being my favorite Peoples; Joe for sending me Newsweeks and Economists in the mail; Nanu for telling me that no one would judge me if I decided I hated India and decided to go home early; Phil for hooking us up with Pemba Sherpa in Nepal; and for everyone that sent me a message while I was gone, that I've seen since I've gotten back over coffee, whiskeys, lunches or beers; who read my blog and (hopefully) enjoyed it; it's been amazing for me to have you all along for the ride the last year with me, through the ups and downs, the rik-shaws and the cows, the dance parties and the sunrises.

I come back to the statement again; with all this love I'm getting, is it true that you don't really get it, but give it?

And then, January 8th marked one year since I departed Denver and flew to Mumbai, unsure of what life held for me but extremely excited, apprehensive, and happy. Now I find myself a few days into the new year, feeling similar, but for so many different reasons. My home is again in Denver, though I haven't had my own "home" yet, as I have been so lucky to have friends like Todd, Emily, Angelique, and Patti that have let me lean on them and literally put a roof over my head. For their graciousness, I am ever grateful. I've reconnected with old friends and met new ones, and set down temporary roots with a new job. My wanderlust hasn't waned, but for right now, I am trying to keep it in check (though trips to South Dakota, Minneapolis, Iowa, and soon Phoenix worked themselves into my itinerary quickly in the nearly five months since I've been back).

When I was in India, my friend Jim and I in Denver wrote snail mail letters back and forth (which were a guarantee to wipe out any inkling of homesickness each time I got one). In one of those letters in February, I remember writing him about how happy I was at that moment, being in India, floundering but exploring, pushing my boundaries, encompassed by novelty and sensory overload and cows and garbage and color. I'm pretty sure the next day I was probably cursing India and all its headaches and shortcomings and lack of infrastructure. But at that moment, as I wrote to my good buddy, my perspective wasn't tainted. It was filled with love of my situation, my experience, my adventure. I was letting the love in, and giving it back.

The journey I set out on last year may have come full circle, as a new one is just beginning. And for that I am extraordinarily grateful. Because of all the things I learned, one of the most important was to not be afraid to give love. I've learned that if you do give it, you may find yourself lucky enough to get it, too. And I hope, out of all the books I've read over the years, I carry that message I came across in Shantaram with me in all my adventures yet to come.

All good things must end

July 26 - August 18, 2009 Mumbai & Lonavla, India

My last three weeks in India were bittersweet.

I moved from my friend Sunitha's house to the apartment with the volunteer housing. Since I would be teaching full time at both the school in the city and one in Nallasopara, a northern suburb. To say I was moving to a polar opposite place could not have been more accurate, and as Terri, a fellow volunteer commented when he helped me haul my stuff to the new apartment: "You DO know what it looks like, right?"

I did, and I was excited for this change for the last bit of time I spent in Mumbai.

My last few weeks were tiring, but mostly happy. I would leave for a full day of teaching either at the Khar Danda school, which was a 10 minute rik ride away, or prepare to go to Nallasopara, which involved the following steps:


1. Rik to train station: 10 minutes
2. Buy train ticket: 1-5 minutes
3. Wait for train/eat salty snacks for breakfast: 10 minutes
4. Get on correct train in women's compartment for 50 minutes
5. Exit train, find Shankar (fellow teacher) to meet and walk to another rik: 5-10 minutes
6. Rik to slum: 10-15 minutes
7. Walk from edge of slum to school, 15 minutes
8. Teach all day
9. Repeat commute, but in reverse
Below are several photos from those last few weeks at Nallasopara and at Khar:

All smiles at Nallasopara, though I am pretty sure this wasn't my demeanor the whole day, but it certainly was his!

Sunil at Khar Danda school; soooooooo many computer flashcards we studied!

Milk store on the way to/from Khar School.

Good carrier truck, common scene in the slums and on the regular roads. This one is in Nallasopara.

This awesome kid and I learned "U" is for unicorn. I love this photo of him.

Thanks to my friend Joe in Denver for sending me news magazines; little Sapna especially liked this one.

Deepak, one of the oldest boys at Khar school. He does a MEAN rendition of "Lean on Me."

As i took this photo, one of the students reminded me, "Leah Didi, that's a cow." Yes, indeed.

On my last day at Nallasopara. Pencils and Bananas, naturally! I love the girl in the background.

Much time was spent the last few weeks dodging the huge rats in the alleyways between the buildings that lead to the Internet "store" from the apartment, catching up with friends I had missed while traveling in Europe, and going out and meeting new friends, and some new guys, too. I knew soon enough I would be another tallish, blondish girl in America, so I took advantage of the attention and met some interesting fellas. I never would have experienced Indian karaoke, or sang "Summer of '69" to a boisterous crowd, if I hadn't met Senthil, or had the chance to dance to Akon until 3:30 a.m. if not for Chirag, Harsh and Mehir (my running club buddies), or stay up til sunrise, walk to Juhu beach with 7 others and drink from a coconut; the same sand where just two months before I was running to train for the half marathon in England. I also met up with Afreen, a woman who was at the Vipassana meditation with me who's from California, and we had a most interesting dinner at BBQ Nation, a popular, albeit pricey, restaurant. Finally, I made sure to take advantage of the spa in Mumbai one last time; an eyebrow threading (rather than wax) comes out to less than $1 there (some things I do really miss about India).

Some more photos from school:

"Kushboo's best friend Leah" awwww

He smiled ALWAYS, except for this snap.

Seriously, so composed!

And then, 5 seconds later! Happiness!

Swine flu caused me to miss my last few days with my kids at Khar, which I was way bummed out, but teacher Mahendra and I poked some fun of it my last day at Nallasopara.

A group of the youngest kids at Nallasopara!

My last weekend in India I spent in Lonavla, a few hours out of Mumbai, with the Hash running club. Being monsoon season, we still ran, even in the pouring rain. We also had two nights of dance parties and a late night drive up the mountain side, listening to M.I.A. and the Black-Eyed Peas will not be soon forgotten. It was the last day of the weekend when I was christened with my Hash Name "Slum Bitch" in honor of my teaching stint, and riding back to the city with Harsh, Chirag and Mehir I wondered when I would see them again, but I never wondered IF I would. Harsh and Chirag especially were great friends to me when I was in Mumbai, sharing in several adventures, and without which my experience would have been very different. Thank goodness I love to learn from books, and read a book that mentioned the Hash House Harriers. And thank goodness for Facebook, that I know what they're doing all the time.

Mehir and Harsh on our first run of the weekend.

Sad faces cuz I'm going back to the states.

Mehir and road cow!

Me and the boys.

Lonavla beauty.

I took a rik from the volunteer apartments after the guys dropped me off (after a few last beers) and headed to Sunitha's, as she would be taking me to the airport the next day. I spent the last day having a samosa at my favorite sweet shop, Tewari Brothers, and checking my email at good old Reliance World, even with their crap customer service, they did allow me to Skype.

It was with mixed feelings I packed and prepared to leave. I was really calm though; I knew it was time to go, and I knew what would await me as all the adventures I had did not come cheap, and realized I would have to get a job when I returned.

I wasn't worried though; I was happy. Happy to have been in India, happy to be leaving for the next chapter of my life, and happy to know that even though I was leaving friends behind I would be returning to so many I missed.

Sunitha escorted me to the airport, and while it was sad to say goodbye to her, she joked we'd have a reunion at some point, likely at my wedding (which may very well be in 50 years). I couldn't help laugh though, as just three weeks earlier when I left Vipassana my rik driver had told me "You are not Married! NOOOO! How old are you? 30!?! Oh my. Next year, I know this. You return to India, with your husband. You will be married then. Then you will find me, and I will be SOOOOOOOOOO happy! Yes, this I know, because you have a good spirit! You will be happy with husband yes!"

As I got out of the rik, hugged Suni and took in my last gulp of humid, Bombay-polluted air I turned and smiled. I had survived India, and India had survived me. And who knows what next year will bring...but I couldn't wait to find out.

Some of my favorite kids, coloring break, Khar Danda school, Mumbai, India.

Parade of Noise

02.03.09 Tuesday

Hard to believe a week has passed already since I began this trek. It really has flown by. Today we jeeped it from Ranthambore to the city of Bundi, about a 3 ½ hour drive. We were greeted with a once a year parade they hold for some God--there were lots of camels and decorative horses and excited children.


We went to a deep stepwell as we walked through the town, which if I am getting this right, was built by a junior queen for a senior queen after she had her first son. In the past, the wells were used for water for the people in Bundi, but now are mostly dry and visited by tourists and are the home for many, many, many bats.


We also walked to the beautiful Taragarh Fort (which had more swing beds). Cows and monkeys were in abundance as per the norm (I still love it, though). I petted my first Indian cow today as well.

A stroll through the vegetable market earned me a free red chili pepper from a vendor, and I got to channel my inner-samurai by wielding a large sword.



We wrapped the day hanging out in the veranda/garden of our hotel which was beautiful, though I am a bit disappointed they would not show me how to turn on the fountain.

My cold seems to be dissipating some, and looking forward to camping tomorrow and taking a general class train for the first time. This could, indeed, be a day filled with adventure.

Senor gets a little love pat.

Lights Out, Five Minutes

01.31.09 Saturday

Internet in India is turning out to be an interesting thing to access. On Saturday we took vans from The Village Fort to the city of Jaipur (the Pink City), where we proceeded to do a walking tour of part of the city, and, with a bit of time to kill before a Bollywood flick, a few of us tried to check our email at a hole-in-the-wall Internet café. Right as I was to send out one of the few emails I have had time for, my computer went, as did my co-travelers John and Ally’s computer.

“Lights out. Five Minutes," bellowed the tall, mustached man who would soon taking my money.

He was right, five minutes later, the power came back on and I could finish checking my e-mail. This, my friends, is a perfect example of Internet in India.

That night I went to my second Bollywood flick. This was in a famous single screen theatre, whereas my first movie was in a Mumbai multiplex. Again, the movie was highly entertaining, though this was more of a Jekyll and Hyde love story that was called Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, or as I like to call it, "Never Fear, Raj is Here!" We were able to score some cheap popcorn and again, I was entertained by Indian movie crowd of cell phone talkers and crying babies.

Earlier that morning I saw my first elephant in this land, which I am sure made my fellow travelers relieved to draw my attention from the cows.


Seriously, there are SO many cows roaming free, or more commonly, sitting lazily. It is craziness, and I am fascinated. Having grown up in small town South Dakota where when someone’s cows got out the phones begin to ring in houses across the area to round them back up, free range cattle do, indeed, fascinate me.

We also had a tour of Amber Fort, where there was at one time a very large pleasure palace for some king’s concubines and wives (pleasure palace meaning a garden) and also a large hall of mirrors.
They were also setting up to shoot a new movie in the courtyard there.

We learned all of this info from our short, mobster-esque guide from Calcutta who wore fake Armani sunglasses and had seriously slicked hair. Naturally, a picture of the two of us together for you.

3 cow sightings

I've seen three cows in the street thus far.


They all looked different. The first one was my tannish with horns and sauntered across a busy road, as if he owned the place. He was my favorite, and this sighting was immediately preceded by seeing a KFC motorcycle delivery man (yes, they have delivery here). The second cow I saw on Tuesday from the bus on the way to where my friend Sunitha teaches at Sophia Polytechnic School. The third was on the way back the same day, on an extremely narrow street (Please reference blurry photo taken from the car).

I was very excited to see cows in the streets, not in pastures. I predict this novelty may soon wear off.

Speaking of streets, off of the main streets everyone walking/riding bikes shares them with cars, and street signs are not everywhere here. I have yet to venture out much on my own, and am curious to see how that pans out. While my sense of direction is generally OK, I do like to rely on street signs, but I think landmarks will work well. For example, after I ran on the beach this morning I looked for The Mango Stand with Lots of Dudes (or maybe it was a coconut stand) and The Big Brown Gate. Bingo,--as soon as I saw these things, I knew to turn off the beach.

The beach is awesome. Besides one ball from a cricket game coming strangely close to me this morning, there have been no major altercations (the lad chasing the cricket ball was yelling and running at me from behind, and thus I started fake-yelling, which made him laugh and run away).

I mentioned driving here the other day. Again, I could never do it, and not just because I am not a fan of driving, and not because they drive on the other side of the road, but because it is wild and crazy and swerving every which way. I admire those who maneuver the roads successfully. Everyone uses their horns regularly; and while I am a fan of the occasional honk-honk more than most back home, it's taking a little getting used to here.

On Monday Sunitha and Ashwyn took me on a bit of a driving tour of Bombay landmarks (technically their house is in Juhu, a suburb, but it all runs together very differently than 'burbs back home. It's non-stop people, buildings, etc., so the big-city feel does not fade). We stopped at the Taj Mahal Hotel on the tour. Here is an example of one of the many extremely dorky photos that will likely continue to appear during the duration of my stay.

Motorcycles are very popular here. Drivers have to wear helmets but passengers are not required to. Note how the woman with the sari sits sideways on it. Impressive. If I ever get a ride on one, I am taking the helmet!