Sunitha was my very first friend in India.
(In fact, I think there is a blog post about her from fall 2010... yup, you can read it here.)
When I first met her, she had crooked teeth, uneven bangs, and short short short hair that was often forced into two small ponytails. She was taken care of by the older girls. Today, her teeth have grown in, her bangs have grown out, and, instead of being taken care of, I watch her caring for the new little ones on campus.
As I said, she was my very first friend. For some reason, she saw something in me that led her to interact with me differently than she did the other interns, and this very quickly led to trust. She trusted me...and I also trusted her. Sunitha has a rough and tough exterior - she didn't need help from anyone, didn't show her emotions, and often her social interactions were harsh rather than friendly. But with me, she was gentle. She was genuine. For some reason, she chose to shed her shell with me. And this encouraged me to do the same.
Sunitha was my first friend. I've watched her grow, I've watched her transform. And, although she may not know it, she has transformed me.
Today, the girls left to go to their villages for school holiday. But when holiday is over, they aren't coming back to Bangalore. Instead, they're going to a different campus in rural Northern Karnataka.
She held my hand the entire way to the railway station.
As we drove through Bangalore, she said things like, "Goodbye, school. Goodbye, Kothanur". It is sad for me to say goodbye to these girls - for a second time - but an even deeper empathy settled in my heart as I watched her watch her world go by. I remember how it was to drive through town, realizing that I was most likely seeing it for the last time. At age 23, that was heartbreaking. I can't imagine how it feels at age 10.
When the train rolled in, the girls loaded up. I walked from car to car, holding hands through the windows, blowing kisses, wiping tears, giving last-minute encouraging words. Sunitha was in the first car, and it took a lot for me to let go of her hand and move on to the next car, because I really didn't want to say goodbye. As I walked alongside the train, I realized that I know each and every one of these girls. I know more than their name - I know who they are. I know how they've grown. I know their dreams. (Sidenote: I just realized, if knowing that makes me love them, I can't imagine the greatness of God's love for them. I can barely speak their language...but God knit them together in their mothers' wombs. (Sigh) They're going to be ok.)
I made it to the last car and was talking to Subbhi when the train started to roll away. AH! I wanted to see each of them again. I didn't want them to go. I just wanted to be with them a little longer. Did I tell each of them that I loved them? We waved through windows as the train picked up speed. Waves. Hand holds. Blown kisses. The last car with small hands waving out passed, and a piece of my heart broke off when I realized they were gone. One last look, and I saw through the window. Sunitha was sitting in a seat facing away from me, but she looked back at the exact same instant. I smiled. She leaped to her feet. Turned around. Gave me a big smile, a big wave, and blew me a huge kiss. My heart took a picture.
And then she was gone.
Sunitha, my first friend, is the last image that I have as the train sped out of the station late Tuesday night.
Judging by the tears rolling down my cheeks as I write, I think it's time to cry now.
(In fact, I think there is a blog post about her from fall 2010... yup, you can read it here.)
When I first met her, she had crooked teeth, uneven bangs, and short short short hair that was often forced into two small ponytails. She was taken care of by the older girls. Today, her teeth have grown in, her bangs have grown out, and, instead of being taken care of, I watch her caring for the new little ones on campus.
Sunitha was my first friend. I've watched her grow, I've watched her transform. And, although she may not know it, she has transformed me.
Today, the girls left to go to their villages for school holiday. But when holiday is over, they aren't coming back to Bangalore. Instead, they're going to a different campus in rural Northern Karnataka.
 |
| All of us. One last time. Following sad goodbyes and final words, the group of girls walked up the road to the bus stop, carrying all of their belongings in one or two bags. We crowded onto the bus, and I stood in the aisle next to Kengemma and Sunitha. Sunitha instinctively reached up to catch my hand, and after a while scooted in so that the 3 of us could share the bench. |
She held my hand the entire way to the railway station.
As we drove through Bangalore, she said things like, "Goodbye, school. Goodbye, Kothanur". It is sad for me to say goodbye to these girls - for a second time - but an even deeper empathy settled in my heart as I watched her watch her world go by. I remember how it was to drive through town, realizing that I was most likely seeing it for the last time. At age 23, that was heartbreaking. I can't imagine how it feels at age 10.
When the train rolled in, the girls loaded up. I walked from car to car, holding hands through the windows, blowing kisses, wiping tears, giving last-minute encouraging words. Sunitha was in the first car, and it took a lot for me to let go of her hand and move on to the next car, because I really didn't want to say goodbye. As I walked alongside the train, I realized that I know each and every one of these girls. I know more than their name - I know who they are. I know how they've grown. I know their dreams. (Sidenote: I just realized, if knowing that makes me love them, I can't imagine the greatness of God's love for them. I can barely speak their language...but God knit them together in their mothers' wombs. (Sigh) They're going to be ok.)
I made it to the last car and was talking to Subbhi when the train started to roll away. AH! I wanted to see each of them again. I didn't want them to go. I just wanted to be with them a little longer. Did I tell each of them that I loved them? We waved through windows as the train picked up speed. Waves. Hand holds. Blown kisses. The last car with small hands waving out passed, and a piece of my heart broke off when I realized they were gone. One last look, and I saw through the window. Sunitha was sitting in a seat facing away from me, but she looked back at the exact same instant. I smiled. She leaped to her feet. Turned around. Gave me a big smile, a big wave, and blew me a huge kiss. My heart took a picture.
And then she was gone.
Sunitha, my first friend, is the last image that I have as the train sped out of the station late Tuesday night.
Judging by the tears rolling down my cheeks as I write, I think it's time to cry now.
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