Under a full moon and a dark blue sky I hug Gypsy, Pete, Isa and Auguste (their 2 year old) goodbye. He’s gotten to know me by now, says my name when I come home, happily jumps on me, and shakes his hands wildly while laughing fit to burst in a dinner dance we created together. We also started doing a cheers with our forks before every meal, a tradition he seems keen on and I hope continues once I’m gone. I don’t know if he understands that I’m leaving for a long time, but he gives me two hugs just in case, so I’d like to believe he does.
Wearing my two backpacks, winter-inappropriate footwear and my best guess at an India-related survival kit I head out into one month of the unknown. I wonder constantly how it will be and more importantly, how my moral integrity and openness of spirit will fare. On the bus to the airport a woman eats pungent sushi next to me, at the metro a man tries to sell me something I don’t need. Three hands stick out into my path for change as I get on the escalator. Get ready, I hear India call. It’s coming.
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