It’s been some time since I’ve written. I feel like a lot has happened: a lot of tears, a lot of confusion. I still don’t know the truth about India, or whether I can love her again after being confronted, of late, with so much poverty.
But today, I have a little faith.
I took a rickshaw back from the shopping mall. The driver asked if we could stop at an emporium first; they get paid for introducing Western customers. I was tired, but I agreed, knowing that his income would be small.
When we arrived, he told me that I could leave my shopping in the vehicle. Uncomfortable with this, but not wanting to carry my bags, I hesitated. “Madam, I will go nowhere! I will wait for you”, he smiled. I decided to trust him.
After ten minutes of playing fancy dress with beautiful cashmere shawls, I stepped outside, peeking around the door nervously. … He was there. And so were my bags, in the precise position I had left them.
On the way back, he tried to teach me “how are you” in Tamil – it was a mighty tongue twister, and we were in heaps of giggles at my shaky attempts. The passenger in the neighbouring auto was grinning at us too.
My sweet driver told me about his home, and he told me about his children. He didn’t push for more shops. When we reached my flat, I paid him double. He gracefully accepted with a wonderful smile and a “thank you, Mam”.
Yes: today, I have a little faith.
Going Home to India 