Even in India I can hear those crickets sing...

There are times when I sit by myself at night, on the wall of our rooftop where the breeze brings a cool that only evening in Varanasi has to offer. The power goes out for about 10 hours each day and so there is only the moon to light up the picturesque image of the neighborhood I live in. I close my eyes in those moments…the moments of the day where it is somewhat quiet. It is so surreal that I could almost forget the busy chaos of the day I just finished. The sound of the crickets’ song fills the air and my mind travels quickly to the last words of my dad before I left:

“Write to me Nebin…Tell me what springtime sounds like in India.”

As I listen to that familiar sound, my mind again travels…only this time to the Pennsylvania nights where it was just 8-year-old-me and my dad sitting on the steps of the deck he built, beneath a star splattered sky, and he would say:

“Listen. Do you hear that? You can only hear that at this time of year. Shhh…Just listen.”

For thirty seconds I live in that memory, the dirt and sweat of the day meaning nothing…and then the train whistle sounds. Just like waking from a dream, I open my eyes and am reminded of where I sit. The events of my day come flooding in and again my mind begins to churn in futile attempts to understand and relate to my surroundings.

It is at times like those that I wish I was a poet…someone good with words. My mind swarms with thoughts and questions and I swim in a sea of frustration as I search for the best way to communicate them.

The days here go by quickly, as overall time seems to drag on into infinity.

New and exciting experiences are a dime a dozen, and yet I am at a loss for words.

Jess and I meet more people and with each new face, I realize how miniscule a being I am.

Every day I grasp one thing extra about Indian culture, and every day I find two new things to be confused about.


Please do not misunderstand…it has not been a discouraging week. In fact it has been quite the opposite as those who were mere acquaintances become friends and life continues to flow smoothly.

This week was our last week of teaching school until July. My class was excited to finish their schoolwork early in the day, have an “end of term snack”, and be on their way home to begin break two hours early.

The summer holiday has officially started and so begins our summer schedule. Jess and I will be just as busy as before, taking breaks only to beat the heat. I will be teaching individual piano and general music lessons and so far, have seven children signed up. Jess will be the main teacher in a summer swimming camp that will run for two weeks. I and another friend will assist in that exciting endeavor. English class will fill our Monday afternoons and a mixture of other widow’s home projects will plug into the empty time slots.

Truly it is an exciting time for us as we realize we have been helping out for almost two months and begin to look forward to the things ahead. There are still days where I feel overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted as the process of adapting continues. I still have moments where I can hardly portray what I see going on around and inside of me. Those are the times when I lack all words, yet I know that if I let one word slip, they would flow unending. In the midst of so much to sort through, I am continuing to learn not to compare my home to India, but to appreciate what each one has to offer. This past week was probably the first where I was able to look at Jess and say honestly that India is becoming “home”.

And so tonight, as I type this blog post and listen to the singing of the crickets, I am not weighed down by my experiences and neither do I flee to thoughts of a distant place. Tonight the sounds around me do not make me miss home. Rather that familiar buzz of the song of a cricket brings a smile to my face. I find I am so thankful for the fact that no matter how far I am from the home I am accustomed to, from friends, from family…I am still under the same night sky, looking at the same moon and stars, and hearing the same springtime sound... the sound of singing crickets.

With Love,
Nebin