Before I left England, a colleague at the bank queried me about my decision. “You could have gone anywhere, right? So why not Dubai, or the Maldives?”
My answer was: “because I love India”.
This morning in my rickshaw, I struggled to remember this. Holding on for dear life (and in great need of a sports bra), all I could smell was petrol, and all I could hear were horns. Dust was in my eyes, I was sweating in just a shirt and my curls had taken on a distinct Planet of the Apes look.
Arriving more than slightly dishevelled, I was still welcomed warmly. Within minutes of meeting me, one colleague gave me his number and made me promise to call him if I needed anything. Since then, a friend of a friend has helped me to get a mobile connection, and has even bore the (great) pain of shopping for work shoes with me.
I remembered: this is why I love India.
Going Home to India 