A Memorable Morning

I woke up at 5:52 AM with the strangest of feelings: I knew I would not be going back to sleep. While this is only about half an hour earlier than my usual wake-up time, I had turned off all my alarms until 7:00 this morning, in a feeble attempt to convince my body to rest more. Sure, my eyes were closed until 7:00 anyway, but my mind was alive and racing:

"I have a field visit today."

After lying for just over an hour in the half-asleep, half-awake wonderland that somehow allows time to zip right by while you still hear the birds outside your window and the world all around you, I finally crawled out of bed. The curly puffball that I claim as my mop of dirty-blond hair was begging to be tamed, and I needed to brush my teeth and wash my face before I really got a start to my morning. I picked out an outfit for the day: a teal kurta (at least I think it is, I'm colorblind) and white linen pants, packed up my stuff, put on my sandals, and by 7:45, I was headed downstairs for breakfast.

Despite taking my morning meal earlier than usual, Ram, the Sehgal Foundation cook and flat-let manager, had already prepared something for me and even packed a lunch. I ate quickly, washed my dishes, grabbed my lunch, thanked Ram, and headed for the office. I'd been messaging my supervisor, Aparna, throughout the morning, and so by the time I was done with breakfast, we knew what materials we needed for the day, fetched them, and took off in the cab we'd booked. We had aimed to take off at 8:00 and only missed the mark by a few minutes. So far, so good.

Before heading directly for the villages we'd be working with today, we stopped to pick up Shashank, another Sehgal Foundation employee who had a meeting at the field office near the schools where Aparna and I would be spending the morning. While navigating the backroads of Gurgaon to reach Shashank's place was no walk in the park, it was certainly much easier than what was to come. It had downpoured the day before, and the puddles we saw while on those alleys were large enough to support a school of minnows, but not a largemouth bass, if that gives you any sense of scale.

Puddles aside, the cab was soon locked, loaded, and ready to take off. Turns out, so too was every other living soul in possession of a motor vehicle in Gurgaon that morning. As I soon came to discover, flooded roads are just as busy when wet as when dry, and when three entire lanes have been swallowed by a new freshwater body that gives the mighty Mississippi a run for its money, things get tight. Buses, trucks, motor bikes, cars, tuk-tuks, cattle, bicycles, people---I've seen a lot of traffic while in India, but this morning's run-in takes the cake.

I enjoyed the poignantly urban soundscape that surrounded me, mostly the horns of cars, tuk-tuks, and motos, broken only intermittently by the splash of this vehicle or that squeezing around one another---all put to the tune of countless people talking in Hindi on the raised sidewalk, safe from the swells of muddy backlog. It's certainly an experience, and one I highly recommend, simply for its ability to stimulate every part of your brain at once.

Needless to say, by the time we had made it to the Mumbai Expressway heading south, we were well past the time frame we had initially laid out. Oh well, that would be accounted for later.

At this point, I've been on so many field visits to this part of rural Haryana that the landmarks are familiar to me. I can recognize this village or that, the toll station, a particular section of the Aravali mountains in the distance, etc., etc. Nonetheless, I still found myself staring out my window---these visits never cease to amaze me in presenting the sheer beauty of rural India, even if I've seen it before. There are always new things to notice, and I had subtly chosen a seat on the opposite side of what I had last time for this exact reason. When I finally pried my eyes away from the great beyond, it was to study and run through the vitamin A sessions I had prepared. Soon enough, I felt the car slow down and turn, and when I brought my eyes back up, I was in an alley completely unfamiliar to me.

We were in Salaheri, and though I'd been to this particular village two times prior, I recognized precisely zero of my surroundings. We had taken a turn off the main road and gone down a side street, just like usual, when attempting to reach the school. Apparently, though, we had taken the wrong turn, and the car was now sitting in foot-deep standing water with buffalo staring at us from a number of huts and wooden shelters attached to people's homes. As we proceeded down this path, looking for somewhere to turn around, we saw wild dogs and children playing about, with the odd cow or two roaming through. We got so thoroughly lost down this back alley that we eventually reached what must have been the edge of the village, because while a look to the left provided the same old scenery of brick houses in various stages of development, a look to the right offerred an expanse of green, set to the backdrop of the Aravali mountains, faded slightly by the distance. It was a surreal moment, and though we were well over half an hour late at this point, I soaked it all in.

Each time we came across someone, Shashank, who was sitting up front, would roll down his window and politely ask directions to the school. After two or three encounters like this, we had a general bearing to follow; we simply needed to find our way out. As we came across what I believe to be the fourth person we asked directions from, we inquired what the easiest way to get back on the main road was. The woman pointed down another alley, currently blocked off by a group of kids, from toddlers to five-year-olds, playing soccer with a well-worn ball. The children briefly paused their game to allow us through, and after carefully skirting by a buffalo taking a whole lane to himself---this was an alley, mind you, with hardly enough width for a Honda Civic, let alone a car and cow stacked side-by-side---we were finally on our way out of the labyrinth.

I watched as the children who were playing earlier pointed at me and waved. They seemed to be surprised by the fact that there was a random white guy in the middle of their village, and had stared at me as we drove by. As we left, I gave them a big smile, a little Indian head nod, and a wave goodbye in return, whereupon a passing building soon severed our connection as our cab made its way back to the main road.

I'm glad that Google Maps is unreliable in these rural areas, if for no other reason than the smiles I saw on those kids' faces as we drove off.

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There's an entire day's worth of stories to tell, which I will happily share after this. I simply wanted to show a snippet of my morning with you all, so I hope you enjoyed seeing one small aspect of my life here. You can watch my "22nd July Check-In" under the Vlogs section to hear about the rest of my day. Thanks!

P.S.

The photos below show some of my favorite and most memorable parts from the day!

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