Part of the application included writing an autobiographical statement. The story of my life. Could it fit into four pages of font-12 lettering? With great difficulty I managed to condense it down to the last line of the fourth page. Someday, when I'm not constrained by a form I'll fill a book with my story...or someone else's story. It intrigues me that no two stories are identical, and I enjoy hearing/reading people's narrations of their life experiences.
Living in SKK proivides me with an opportunity to know the stories of its residents. My comprehension of the Mewari dialect is slowly increasing. Yet there are still times when the blank expression on my face during their conversation reveals my inadequate understanding. I am working on overcoming this barrier, one conversation at a time.
Despite the communication gap people express their love through small gestures: Asha pouring a little extra milk into the half-kilo we buy from her daily; Young girls simultaneously henna-ing the palms of Nikhil, Ma, and my own; a cackly old woman stuffing sweet jaggery into my mouth; Manguji gifting Ma a heapful of ladyfinger, insisting that he won't take money.
Has it really been two and a half months? I'm in disbelief. Even though our stay is far from over I do feel disheartened just thinking about leaving this calm, dry, very hot village called Shreeji ka Kheda.