The First Chapter of an Extraordinary Journey: Namaste, India!
From the very beginning of the long road that was and still is to come ahead, largely in regard to my partnership with the esteemed World Food Prize Foundation, the Borlaug-Ruan Internship, which I’ve heard so many fascinating stories about from my high school alumni, has been a dream come true for a young, aspiring hunger-fighter like myself; I’ve always been quite zealous when it comes to ensuring international food security and eradicating global poverty, but ever since the 2017 Global Youth Institute, where I officially became a part of the WFP family as the only Californian student there, my interest in those areas has only expanded by a hundredfold.
So on that momentous Sunday evening (which remains distinctly etched in my mind) when, swathed in a bathrobe early in the evening, I received an email from Crystal congratulating me on my qualification as one of the 24 Borlaug-Ruan Interns to represent the entire U.S., I was absolutely thrilled and honored — to say the least.
The days following that particular Sunday simply seemed to sluggishly stretch by, yet I diligently continued to cross off the days on my calendar until my long-anticipated D-day, June 17, finally decided to roll around.
Now, for the sake of time (and your attention), let’s fast forward to about two months later when I found myself, frantic and messy-haired, scrambling to pack my suitcase the very day before departing from my tranquil home in sunny San Diego to the bustling SM Sehgal Foundation in balmy Guragaon, India.
At that time, I genuinely thought I would be not only physically well-prepared (as in packing-wise) for my eight-week-long trip to India, but also figuratively, emotionally. Little did I know how foolishly naiive, or just how myopically-blinded I was to assume so.
I imagine that, for the typical traveler, the idea of a 19-hour plane ride from San Diego to Toronto, then from Toronto to New Delhi (not including the three hours’ worth of an exhausting layover from Toronto to Delhi), is most likely daunting in itself. Now try taking that exact same idea and see what it’s like for yourself — I promise you: it truly is one hell of a nervewracking yet exhilarating ride.
An ugly, white, plastic watch — its silver short hand resting on 11:00 and the other on seven. Bright smiles across my parents’ faces. A wave (more like a lazy, single flap of the hand) from my sister. These were the last sights my eyes captured before I turned around to head toward the Airport Security Check, not to see my family again for eight weeks.
To be frank with you, the events that ocurred from Security Check to my arrival at Toronto were really nothing special. But things got trickier beyond that point in time.
Over the monotonous course of the 14-hour flight to India, I constantly flitted in and out between perusing Donna Tart’s The Goldfinch and watching Jujmanji: Welcome to the Jungle (which I sadly have yet to finish). I had my first exposure to authentic Indian cuisine in a long while when I tasted a couple of savory, scrumptious, and crisply-breaded triangular Masala Dosas, a popular South Indian food made of rice, lentils, and potatoes, on the plane. The Dosas were really quite delectable and left me craving for more; luckily for me, I would be able to indulge in generous amounts of roti, naan, and Masala Dosas almost every lunch and dinner at my new and peaceful internship site.
My plastic watch ticked and tocked, lights dimmed in and out, carts wheeled to and fro, and the little, crude-looking plane icon on the digital map before me inched closer and closer to a white star labeled “New Delhi,” until finally, finally plane and star intersected.
It felt glorious to be back on land again.
… And so begins the first chapter of my colorful summer in India — home of the spices, home to one of the seven wonders of the world, and the new home of a curious Borlaug-Ruan Intern named Kahyun.
