Everyone's a VIP to Someone

I've been packing all day, and am somehow leaving india with way more stuff than I arrived with. Em and I are going traveling in a few days, and we are going to be hauling huge rolling suitcases through little allies and lifting them onto the tops of buses; the square shape of those suitcases is an inconvenience for once. Em and I just spent the weekend together in Mumbai (Nadeem was busy wrapping up his Imam report, at last count over a hundred pages), and we're at the brother and sister stage- we both bug each other for fun.

We haven't known how to thank Assef, Doussef, Neelu, and Yakub for all their hospitality. Night after night they have fed and entertained us, housed us, and cared about us. We couldn't have asked for a better home away from home, and I will miss them (especially Yakub, who has been a grandfather or uncle figure to me) all dearly. Eating with forks and knives instead of fingers and chappati will be a poor replacement; like wise I no longer know how to eat over a table, but rather on the floor. And Ishal; what an amazing 15 month old. She had changed so much over the course of the three weeks I was traveling, becoming more energetic, balanced, and playful. I will miss having a toddler around; it reminded me of how far we have all come and how to laugh at the little things. In an attempt to thank them, we are making a fish shaped pinata for ishal to break; there is nothing to truly give nadeem's family, so hopefully this memory will do.

Mumbai was....hectic. Its a huge city on a peninsula, but with little sites and few sit-down resturants. Emily and I spent it walking around and sitting on the rocks by the crashing arabian sea. We visited the tomb of a muslim-afgani mystic, which was in a mosuleum set out on the rocks of the sea, only reachable at low tide. The walk there and back was full of beggars - children, women, and the horribly crippled. Its heart wrenching to have poor children following you the whole walk, begging for change; the low school fees in india are still too much for many lower class families.

The white-washed tomb with multiple piercing spires and domes was less impressive up close, but the fresh sea breeze and view of cargo ships and the coast made it a relaxing place to spend some time away from the rotterdam-esque bazzars and backstreets of Mumbai. There was a blind man standing perched near the mosuleum, wailing some beautiful arabic or hindi tune. His whole body shook and trembled as he held his arms across his chest, his eyelids fluttering over their hollow sockets. This devout blind man was given a gift, even when another was taken from him. His singing image pierced my soul, and the meloncholy, never-ending vocalizations made me think of the sad and beautiful realities of being blind, much less being blind in India.

Cherish every gift you get; not everyone gets a seeing-eye dog.