“Let’s take you home,” Hannah said, and I swear to you, I could’ve cried. And after an hour of unpacking and setting out knick-knacks, I did cry, just a little, and they were all tears of big, huge, inexpressible joy.
It’s in the covered portion of the market that it hits me, what exactly I find so intoxicating about this place. Yes, the fragrance of jasmine and rose blossoms no doubt has something to do with it, but it’s this, too: These are the colors of India.
The first thing I do when we get to Galgibaga Beach is kick my flip-flops off – and I don’t put them back on for the rest of the day. With my shoes off and the sun on my skin, I revel in our day of simple pleasures, in our day of getting grounded.
Pigeons aren’t supposed to be beautiful, I tell myself. And yet I see it everywhere I look – in the outline of their wings, in their iridescent neck feathers, in the wind brushing my face which isn’t wind at all but the result of a hundred birds moving the air at the same time.
I fell in love with this city last year; back on the streets of Bombay for a second time, I’m just as in awe of the possibilities they hold. Mumbai, as it always seems to, has worked its magic yet again.
It was an unlikely connection on Christmas night in Bangkok, a connection that bridged four countries, and as I showed Boo’s picture to the men in Delhi, telling them about the pin he was wearing, I felt grateful I could say: “All of the world is with her.”
At the end of our visit, my mind still swimming with the smiles of Vijay and Amir, Manisha and Madhu, I am left in awe of this full-circle moment – helping deliver boxes from Operation Christmas Child which I myself once packed.
Even as I mourn the pumpkin pie I won’t be having here today in Delhi, I’m still incredibly grateful for the experiences this year has brought me – grateful for the way each has been a portal into some pretty brilliant new connections and friendships.