A New Adventure Begins . . .

Walking down the main street of this busy south Indian town, I am faced with one perpetual question. This question, presenting itself as an amazingly diverse assault on all five senses, asks: will I see this glass as half empty, or half full.

A monstrous truck flies by, sounding its deafening high-pitched scream of a horn, forcing me to jump into a pile of rotting refuse, and rewarding me with a black cloud of diesel fumes so foul I can taste them. Wiping my face on the sleeve of my nicest button-down, I find that the exhaust has left its mark on the thin layer of glistening sweat that constantly replenishes itself in the monsoon humidity. Just as I let out a sigh of exasperation, I'm greeted with a wave and smile by a young man stirring the day's sambar in a huge iron bowl. "Helew howeryou?" he asks, as I peak into the mix and am enveloped in the savory scent of spices and vegetables blended with sweet wood smoke from the fire below.

I am struck with guilty wonder as I stare at the feeble efforts of a frail old man, crippled in both legs, while he attempts to wheel his bicycle-wheelchair contraption up a slight incline. His hair and long beard are visibly dirty, and his once white dhoti is stained with years of poverty. It is clearly his only item of clothing. Before I can even think to act (and I'm ashamed to think about what I probably would not have done), a youngish looking teenager steps in behind the rickety apparatus and pushes it up and over the offending slope.

Nearing my destination, I have to smile as a skinny brown dog limps into view, pausing with a full body myoclonic seizure every few seconds. I smile because I've seen this same dog, in the same area, suffering with the same seizures, every day of my two weeks here in Vellore. He is a survivor. I also smile because I've seen multiple people, from beggars to physicians, accidentally (and with a compassionate glint in their eyes) drop a bit of rice or samosa near him as they pass by on the street.

This is life. As I stumble along the way, seeing through a glass darkly and knowing others and truth only in part, I look forward to those moments now and an eternity in the future when I will see clearly, know fully, and be fully known. Here's to half full glasses, in India, Mozambique, Angola, and beyond!

A lively evening on the streets . . .

A quieter scene (yes, that is cotton candy, and yes, it was that pink)

An hour's hike from my house (it's not all crowds and busyness)