peace

In the morning sometimes I wake up early enough to catch breakfast at my hostel landlord's house.
It's a couple minutes walk from my building and the house is a small and modest one.  Well, it could be larger, but I haven't ventured much further than the dining area.  When I reach the entrance, I take my shoes off on a rust-red colored stoop and take a seat on a large plastic chair inside.

Well actually, I try to remember to greet Suerna, the cook, first.  I've met a lot of ladies/girls in the hostel, but (and I realize how child-like this must sound) Suerna is definitely my favorite of them all.  She is extremely soft-spoken, calm and mature feeling.  I think I like her the best because she reminds me of my mother.  I don't know why....she certainly isn't old enough to be my mother, nor do I really know quite enough about her to make such a comparison, but I guess it's just a feeling.  Around her, I just want to smile a lot, be very nice and do something to make her return the smile (maybe it's because she always looks a little bit sad?).  Some kind of lingering childhood need for approval and a pat on the head. The world is suddenly such a simple place.

Anyway.  So I sit down and then Suerna brings me a plate of food.  I never have any idea of what breakfast is going to be but it's usually some kind of bread item (dosa) and chutney.  Or this roasted rice thing with peanuts.  Or (and only when I'm extremely lucky) aloo parata, a thick tortilla of sorts stuffed with potato.  It's kind of amazing.

And I eat in silence.  Occasionally making some small talk perhaps with another girl from the hostile or with Auntie, but our conversations never last long because her English is limited and my Kannada is composed of exactly three phrases.  But it is good.  And I gaze out the door and maybe see a stray dog or cow or motorcyclist pass by.  The silence is decorated with the ring of my metal spoon on my metal plate, or Suerna's cooking, or the hum of a nearby TV. So I sit, usually underneath an arch of laundry hanging to dry and I notice a Shrek figurine on the table and I let out a sigh.

Then Suerna brings me my chai and I mime an expression of gratitude and she asks me if the food was good to which I always reply that it was (one of my three phrases) and I give her a broad smile.  And that is the extent of our communication but I feel warm inside (is it the chai? Or the homeyness?).

These moments have been when I feel the most peaceful and while the effect isn't always long lasting, it sets me on a rhythm, a cadence of calmness.  Of few words, but meaningful expressions.   It is a reminder that the human experience need not be a loud one of many brash happenings.

Then I take my malaria medication and am off.