A Myriad of Minutiae: My First Month
- isaactvosburg
- Jul 10, 2025
- 10 min read
As I write this presently, I have now been in India for one whole month. The halfway point of my time here has come, and lingered, graciously allowing me the moment I need to pause and reflect upon the experiences I've thus far garnered.
This first month has been defined by big moments: My first field visit, a weekend trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, the successful implementation of a vitamin A program for children that I'd worked weeks to create and refine, the list goes on.
These experiences have been fantastic, unforgettable, fulfilling---that is a simple fact. I would be remiss not to state, however, that I've found the smaller moments to have played just as pertinent a part in making my first month in India as incredible as it has been. It is these that I wish to write about today: The moments of genuineness, humanity, understanding, intrigue, marvelousness, and more.
These simple scenes of wonder have transformed my time here, stretching hours to days and weeks to mere minutes. My time has flown, yet simultaneously stood still. The big moments seem to me to finish as soon as they begin, whereas for the smaller ones, time stretches like taffy.
Below, alongside a photo, I attempt to magnify the many minute stories of my first month here in India. I hope you will find it interesting to see the bits and pieces of my life here that make me feel so at home. Without further ado, I present: My one-month minutiae.
I remember my first auto ride rather vividly. Not only was the concept of a three-wheeled, green and yellow, compressed natural gas-powered, doorless, souped-up motorbike with a roof still incredibly foreign to me---I was also blown away by the fact that you could book one through Uber.
While I can't remember the particular route or reason my friends and I had for taking one, I can recall with ease the calm it put me in to feel the breeze upon my sweaty skin. The confidence with which the driver passed vehicles and migrated through the maze of traffic perpetually present at any intersection assured me that I was in safe hands.
It's nothing crazy, and it's nothing much, but to ride in an auto is to experience a certain sense of urban euphoria known only to those who have lived it.
Flowers along my walk to breakfast at the S M Sehgal Foundation campus
Loving my job goes beyond the work that I do. While I certainly find my project here at the S M Sehgal Foundation incredibly impactful, creating informative and interactive vitamin A sessions for children in rural areas, I've also found that a part of the joy I feel coming into the office each morning or heading out into the field stems from the campus itself.
The flora (and fauna) I walk by on my way to work remind me to stop, be cognizant, and breathe. It's simply the smallest of nudges in the direction of serenity, and I'm always willing to stand on the receiving end of that. If I've had a stressful day in any way, these flowers are my reminder to, as The Eagles so eloquently put it, "Take It Easy."
Going for a walk in one of the most densely populated areas of the world is an interesting hobby of mine that, I would like to think, has kept me in decent shape. Not only is there the simple exercise of actually moving my limbs, there's also the rush of attempting not to get run over by a car or auto or moto whenever the sidewalk tapers off, which is certainly an exercise for the heart.
I like to go out in the evenings, whether that be accompanying my fellow interns to the gym about a kilometer or two away and finding a spot to sit and read nearby, or simply visiting the stalls that are just beside the Foundation on a road that runs parallel to the one pictured above. Especially after a long day of work in the office, I feel the need to get up and take a lap or two, burn off some calories, and earn those calories back in earnest by purchasing myself an ice cream confection of some sort from the man who sells them from his cart just beside the front gate.
This revelry is explored further in the paragraph below.
Different goodies I've purchased from the stalls and stands near the Foundation
Whether it be fresh fruit, scalding spiced chai, or the best (and only) butterscotch ice cream I've ever eaten in my life, the stalls that lie adjacent to the Foundation have provided me with more than just sugar and nutrients: They've left me with lasting memories.
At the beginning of my time here, I was honestly afraid to go out and try anything from these kinds of stores. I'd been warned about eating street food, was wary of the fact that I spoke very little Hindi, and so generally confined myself to a closed worldview in which these stalls didn't have much to offer.
Boy, was I wrong.
A few weeks in, one of my coworkers, a fellow intern who was from this area, asked if anyone wanted to come with him while he ordered a chai. I was more than willing. I'd seen him come back to our shared office space with all kinds of goodies, from coffee to candy, and I, truth be told, wanted in on that. I thought about all the foods I felt like I was missing out on. My meals at the Foundation had been (and still are) to die for, but in true American fashion, I felt I needed a bit of Indian junk food to really top it off. What my friend had been bringing back, I knew, would hit the spot.
And so I went. We ordered chai, which was served in a clay cup, and sipped away to my heart's (and taste buds') content. My world has not been the same since.
With other friends and coworkers and staff from the office, I've gone out now on many an occasion for ice cream, fruit juice, and more. Whenever I have a hankering for something sweet, I know just where to go. My Hindi has gotten better as an unintended, but extremely welcome, consequence of this interaction, as I can now roughly navigate myself through any one of these transactions without using too much of my English crutch.
Whenever I have the chance to take a field visit, which, luckily enough for me, has been rather often as of late, I'm always astounded by the things I see just outside my window. I think about this often enough that I feel the topic will eventually coalesce into its own blog post, but for now, this is the credit it gets.
Living in a city this big is a novel experience for me, and one that has taken a lot of adjustment to get used to. It's the urban artwork that always gets to me, though, and that even in the moments when I'm missing my rural roots, reminds me that things aren't better or worse here, they're just different. That difference is beautiful in my eyes, and I find no better way to exemplify it than the paintings, murals, and depictions I see all over the city. Whether it's figures from Hindu stories scrawled out in white on brick walls near Red Fort or flowers with a similar square footage to a small apartment plastered on an on-ramp to a highway leaving Delhi, the awe and comfort remain the same regardless of subject or medium.
Put simply, I love the artistic scenery in and around my home here.
Scenes from the Puja
A few weeks back, an intern who lives around this area invited all of us from the U.S., a total of five at that time, to attend a Hindu ceremony, known as a Puja, which was being put on by their aunt. We dressed up in our best Indian wear and enjoyed that Friday morning together with all those celebrating Ratha Yatra from the surrounding community. It had been well over a year since I had experienced a Puja like this, and I felt refreshed to be reliving old memories, all while creating new ones.
The small moments from this story I wish to convey come in the form of a mango, a rope, and an Indian lemonade.
The rope came first, as, for this particular ceremony, a small chariot in which the deities sat was pulled along by those who had gathered to celebrate. I had initially begun by walking alongside this group, keeping a respectful distance, but I was soon called to come closer. There was dancing, singing, laughing, drums, the whole shebang, and there I was, right in the midst of it. My friend's aunt came over, joyful as could be, and wearing a smile that spread from here to Kolkata. She told me to grab on to the rope and quite literally danced away. I was more than happy to oblige, and the simple bliss of fully taking part in this Puja spread like wildfire through me. A little bit of that flame still lingers even as I write this.
Next came the mango, which is a rather simple story. One of the children who had been busy directing the chariot and leading the singing of mantras, seeing that I was holding the rope, came over to me, reached into his satchel, handed me a mango, and went right on back to leading the whole community in worship. I had hardly gotten a "हरे कृष्ण" (Hare Krishna) out before he had gone on his way, and so I stood there, slowly walking forward in a state of awe at the events that had just transpired. I know it's just a mango, but it was a blessed mango, and so, to me at least, it meant more. I spent the rest of the day with a mango in my pocket, thinking fondly back to the two-second exchange that had led to its being there.
As for the Indian lemonade, there was really nothing special there---just the fact that one of the other organizers of the Puja had seen our small troop of Sehgal interns, and offered one to each of us. It was hot that day, and my shirt was sticking to my chest before the sun had even peeked out from behind the clouds. I graciously accepted, and I honestly write about the incident now for no other reason than to say that that lemonade tasted terrific.
A cow next to the road in Gurugram (L) Some buffalo in a rural village in the Nuh district where I've been working (R)
Another small joy of my time here in India has been the never-far presence of bovine companions. Whether I'm in a market in Agra, the median of a road in Delhi, or a villager's backyard in the Nuh district of Haryana, these animals are everywhere. As with a few of the other tidbits I've written about in this blog, somehow, I derive a sense of serenity from this. Maybe it reminds me of home somehow, especially given the fact that this is the first time in my life that I've ever lived without animals to take care of or pets of some sort.
All I can say for certain is that, whenever I see a cow or a buffalo here, it somehow makes me feel more at home. With the cows in particular, seeing them wander and roam freely is a spectacle of sorts for this Iowa farmboy, though a rather welcome one.
A market in Delhi (L) A market in Agra (R)
Going to the markets here is an experience worth far more than these few paragraphs will ever do justice. It's noisy, often crowded, and at times can be a little overstimulating for the faint of heart. I love it. Looking at all the shops selling jewelry, toys, spices, clothing, just about anything your heart desires, you can find somewhere in the maze of lanes. If you can't find what you're looking for, it may well find you, as a man with an armload of watches or a pocket full of airpods asks repeatedly if you'd like to buy anything.
Being the only white person in the crowd certainly doesn't help my case when it comes to haggling with prices or politely turning down the watch and airpod hawkers from before, though I think it does add a certain something to the experience. The last time I visited a market, I was busy buying spices while my friends had moved on to another stall. I bought everything I needed to make spiced chai for the next year while I'd be in Iowa, and got to chatting with the store owner. Soon enough, we were sitting down drinking tea together, and laughing over shared stories. My friends made their way back, saw me lost in conversation, and I think the comment went something along the lines of, "We leave you alone for five minutes Isaac..."
Those types of genuine interactions are what bind my experience here together. Whether it's with my fellow interns, project supervisors, or the new friends I make at the spice shop of a market in Delhi, the people-to-people connections I've forged will last a lifetime, in memory if nothing else.
There's really not that much to say here. It's a monkey. I love monkeys.
Little thing I love --> Therefore, makes the blog. :)
A tree in Delhi (L) Reliefs on the Taj Mahal (C) A stone slab next to one of my reading spots (R)
I hope that this blog has been able to open a window into my life by poking at the shutters one by one. These tiny details, like the floral reliefs on the Taj Mahal, may not be appreciated to their full extent from afar, but when viewed up close, can be inspected with the admiration they rightly deserve. I've fallen in love with so many aspects of my life here in India, so much so that I find myself snapping photos of random trees when I'm out and about in Delhi because I think they look cool. I am in awe of this place, and I can't believe it's already been my home for a whole month. In much the same manner as, even when cloudy, the stones here hold on to and slowly radiate the heat they've picked up from whatever time they've spent under the sun, I too feel the sun overhead. I know that my time here will be an experience I hold close for years to come, and as I tell the small stories like these that I've picked up, I know I'll feel that warmth radiating again.
So, with all that said, here's to the most marvelous first month I could ever imagine, and an even more incredible month two ahead.
Thanks for reading,
-Isaac Vosburg :)
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