Sunitha

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.

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.

To Honor and Cherish

I saw the most beautiful love today.

It came as somewhat an answer to prayer, and the why of that is difficult to explain; even to myself.  But I know that it wasn’t an accident that it happened.

I tumbled off the bus at Byrathi Cross and dodged a few bikes on my way across the street.  My main goal was to walk as quickly as possible so that I could refill my water bottle when I got to my final destination; it was a scorcher today and I was already running low.  As I walked towards the archway, I heard my name.

This isn’t necessarily surprising, since I used to live in this neighborhood, but I rarely see anyone I know this time of day in Kothanur and it’s rare for people to call my name.  I looked around, and there at the shop where I once bought bananas were Chitra and Mahadevia.

Chitra and Mahadevia work for the director of my old NGO; she’s their housekeeper and he does groundswork as well as pt security at the NGO.  I’m not sure how old they are, but their oldest daughter is just finishing the equivalent of 12^th grade; I suppose this means Chitra could be as young as 36.  Mahadevia is older, though, and graying throughout the temples.  Chitra and I are best friends.  I’m not sure why, because I rarely see her (except, recently, when I’ve been tumbling off of buses), but each time I see her she grips me in the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced; it’s as if she’s clinging for her life and she won’t let go.  And I never want to let her go, because she makes me feel extremely safe and extremely loved.  Today I just about ran into those arms I was so thankful to see them.

Come to think of it, the last time they saw me was tumbling off a bus about a month ago, lost and confused only to have them help me get my bearings.  Today, I admit I shed a few tears on the bus and needed to be taken care of just a little bit…Chitra and Mahadevia did just that.  Hmmm…maybe they’re my angels.

On to the love story.

Mahindra bought me a milkshake (although I insisted that I didn’t need anything) and the three of us stood and chatted.  Luckily for you, I don’t remember the conversation verbatim or this post would go on forever.  Luckily for me, the fact that I don’t remember our conversation verbatim means that a lot of it took place in Kannada.  Nanage kannada sulpa baruttidenne (Kannada is coming to me, little by little).  We just chatted – about family, about work, about India, about food.  He invited me to cook chicken so that he could eat it, and I laughed and told him that I don’t know how; in India I cook only vegetarian.  He told me that Chitra would teach me, to which she readily agreed. 

Then he professed: She is my mother, my sister, my grandmother, my wife, and my friend.  In India, I need only one person.  And it is Chitra.

The way he looked at her was incredibly endearing.  And the way she reacted – the blush, downcast eyes, beaming smile, showed that she knows he loved her deeply.  I paid more attention to them for the rest of our time together – the second milkshake that Chitra downed because I honestly couldn’t eat anymore, the walk down the road, the auto drive.  They finish each other’s sentences – him hers when she lacks the English, her his to offer correct information or joking reprimands.  When she speaks, he listens as if she’s the queen herself.  When he speaks, she smiles, and her eyes reveal that she believes there is truth and security in every word he speaks.  And when he makes a joke, she looks at him with eyes that say, “You really aren’t funny but I love you so much I can’t help but smile, because you think you’re funny and you’re trying really hard”. 

Their romance wasn’t overt or sappy; it was solid and full of respect and admiration.  They honor and cherish each other.  When I got out of that auto, all I could think was “Wow, those two are really in love.”  And, strangely, being with two so deeply in love made me feel deeply loved, too.

A Little 'bout Love

Every time I'm with the girls, I find myself thinking about love.  What it means, how it's manifested, and - ultimately - overwhelmed with the selfless love I receive from them.  Filled with thankfulness that I am in a place where I can love them back.  Inspired by their dreams, humbled by their honesties.  Many of them are facing changes - please keep them in your prayers. There are a lot more thoughts where these came from, but they are still simmering.  For now, the blog will be brief.  In the meantime, let this image bring a smile to your face: every time I visit, at least 2 of them RUN to meet me the minute they spot me walking through the ragi field.  They run as if they haven't seen me for years...but I just visited last week.