Indian Morning

I'm sitting on the front porch in that gigantic wooden rocker that Great Grandpa once sat in. The ends of the arms have been chewed on by Caesar, who is barking at me from behind the iron bars of his cement cage. He has been barking at anything and everything since at least 4 a.m. when the roosters started crowing. Don't they know it's not daylight at 4 a.m.? I can only assume that he's been barking at the four or five small neon yellow, blue, and green birds in the cage by the porch. What kind of birds are they? Not sure.

I look around the neighborhood at the painted cement buildings. They look old, but I'm thinking maybe it's just the wear and tear that makes relatively new buildings seem old. There's lots of color. A boy across the street is on top of the roof unstringing some lights that were up for the festival season. I've noticed several displays around the mall and airport with Christmas trees---an ode, I assume, to the fact that the Indian festival season coincides with the Western festival season. Strange.

I hear the hum of traffic in the distance. Traffic isn't even an adequate word for what happens on the roads. Even in China I didn't see quite the dance of cars and bicycles and dogs and people and cows (You can't possibly imagine how many cows there are. Everywhere. And goats, too.) and rickshaws and giant trucks and chickens and taxis. The horns beep constantly...not like the polite American way to curse someone, but more like "Hey, I'm about to pass you, please don't run me over." It's amazing to watch the moving in and out of "lanes" with such ease (side note: they drive on the left side of the road here), passing cars with only inches to spare, and rarely an accident. My favorite driver during our visit is the most aggressive one. He drives the fastest---maybe because it's his own car---and passes the most. It's both terrifying and thrilling---which is why I only sat in the front seat once.

I come back to the present. I notice that on this small side street people are walking by the front gate---part of the wall that encloses the whole house and courtyard. There goes a bicycle with its bell "horn". Ooo, then a rickshaw. A scooter. More people. I look up at a house two rows over. Several girls have been going up and down on the roof, hanging out clothes to dry, and they have some sort of fire going---maybe they're cooking something? The smoke is going up...people seem to be burning something everywhere. I guess that's part of the distinct smell that people talk about. In our house I smell the gas for the stove, and breakfast cooking. An egg dish of some sort.

I hear a bird chirping...or is it more like squawking? It's that funny-looking black bird with the long bright orange beak that was on our windowsill this morning. He's sitting on top of the wall, about level with the top of the trees---are those palm trees? They have some sort of fruit growing at the top. Maybe my strange bird friend is mimicking the music I hear in the distance. Or maybe he's responding to the people talking in the kitchen. I wish I could understand their language. Its sounds don't even make sense to my brain...I haven't heard anything like them before. I keep asking people, "Can you write that down for me?" Maybe if I can see it, I can make sense of it.

Fortunately, most people we are around speak English. But still, I long to know some word---to make some connection with the people. I ask the young lady who helps around the house how to say "thank you"---she's actually Nepalese, so I'm not sure if I'll learn Hindi or Nepali. But, when I ask, she doesn't know what in the world I'm saying, so Mom comes out to see what I need, and tells me, "It's okay, she understands 'thank you.'" Rats.

So, a day in another world begins. I forgot how interesting, and yet, exhausting, exploring another culture can be. Which I think accounts for why by 8 p.m. every night we CANNOT keep our eyes open. That, and the fact that we are ten and a half hours ahead of eastern standard time and our bodies are confused. Breakfast time. I close my journal and ask God for the strength to eat (it's been a struggle for this trip). Ask Him to lead me today---how can I serve? How can I love? Here goes...