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.
