Oh My Ghugni-ness!
Two weeks in and already so much has happened! I didn’t know what to expect upon my arrival in India, yet I was quick to feel at home. From the drive out of the airport, I began drawing similarities between Kolkata and Trabia, my home away from home in Sicily. There was the hectic traffic made up of small cars maneuvering crowded roadways, the packed street markets with enthusiastic vendors, repellent resistant mosquitoes, and regular sightings of the cavallino rampante on every personal effect imaginable. Still, the familiarity went as far as the sound of pigeons from my bathroom window to the traditionally accented pronunciation of my name starting in Dubai. Of course, however, India is not Sicily. One kind difference was the forgiveness of the cold, heavy rains from the grueling humidity, unlike the added burn of the Sciroccu winds from North Africa. That being said, it was likely this drastic weather change that contributed to my fever that first week. While it left me working from home that Friday, I consider myself blessed that was all that befell me after hitting the trifecta the day before: rinsing my toothbrush under the faucet, finding lettuce in my half eaten sandwich, and noticing ice in the paired drink. One difference I was less keen to was the food. Not that it wasn’t good, I enjoyed it, but I wasn’t accustomed to Indian food and have never really cared for rice, especially not every night. I missed all my regular eats so much, I started dreaming about making and eating foods as simple as sandwiches with fresh produce and woke up to add to my growing list of foods I’d eat when I got back home. I did discover, though, that I am particularly fond of one dish, ghugni, a stew of potatoes and chickpeas.
After my recovery, the travels began with a visit to The Motherhouse of the Missionaries of Charity. I always knew how incredible St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta was, but I never realized how relatable until I entered her museum. Among all the letters of advocacy she sent out to various governments and awards she earned as a result of the works she personally put towards making those changes she wanted to see in policy come true, was a Formula 1 pen. The description stipulated that St. Mother Teresa only ever kept one pen, pencil, and eraser in her pencil box, none of which would be replaced until they were completely used up. This indicates that the F1 pen was likely the last one she ever used, and could have held on to for a while, and though it is possible she picked it up by chance or it was given to her for free, I like to think that St. Mother Teresa was a spirited tifosa rooting for Ferrari, too. Back at work, we were taken to the shelter home for the first time, where Tess and I gave brief introductions of ourselves and families to the young girls we’d be working with throughout our fellowship. We were only given about five minutes, but we were prepared with picture presentations which seemed to peak the girls’ interests. It was a rushed start with them, but it was enough to know that we couldn’t wait to be together again.
