June 28, 2010

Weep for my Babies

Remembering is so beautiful yet still so painful...my heart breaks and tears overflow for the babies, God's babies. So much beauty, so much darkness. I want to be back there so bad I don't know what to do with myself.
I need to be there. My heart is there. I want to walk the dirty streets and bow to old women declaring "Namaste- I see the light in you, God sees the light in you." I want to shake the tiny hands of each one of the children that run up to me and say "hi, hi, hi, hi, hi," or "my name is?" I want to hear Hindi. I want to haggle and once the deal is made to see the smile of surprised pleasure that a white girl can strike a good deal. I want to walk through the gates at Asha House and hear "good morning Auntie" from many tiny voices. I want to take a nap on the floor in the girls room, squished between the metal bunk bed and a little warm body, uncomfortable but loving every minute. I want to hear Ragina whisper songs in my ear, and Jyoti yell around the corner "Auntie" hoping to get chased. I want to look at Metulish and see myself reflected back in the deep brown of his eyes. I want to sip chai out of tiny metal cups and spin Perchant on the swing made out of an old sarree suspended from the ceiling. I want to smell cooking, incense, and burning garbage all mingled together in the dusty air of dusk. I want to hear peacocks and bicycle bells, and the little girl across the street scream as her mother bathes her on the roof top.

I want to be home.