It rained all night... persistent, heavy, hollow... taptaptap... the kind of rain that wakes you, surrounds you, makes you feel its' rhythm... For a while, it forced the heat to release its grip, sending it off to rise above the whirring of my fan, above the snoozing cows and scrap metal roofs, up and up to linger restlessly in the clouds. It was 6am and I lay awake, mesmerized. The rain continued, welcoming the dawn and the day, swishing the mud and casting a cool mist over my pale green silvar kamees. I rode my moped through the streets, splashing, evading, loving the breezy droplets rushing over my shoulders. My hair drenched, fresh mud caking my sandals, I stepped off the bike and went inside to begin a new day...

The rain washes away many things, leaving behind enough to remember while clearing the path for new memories. Robert Frost said it best, reflecting "one thing I've learned about life: it goes on". And, so it does. I celebrated Krishna's birth at midnight... even for a small, rural temple, the jubilation pounded in my ears with the strength of an orchestra. My surroundings are a constant reminder that the remarkable beauty of this country, even in the shadow of poverty and illiteracy, is a representation of unprecedented hope, of constant rebirth. I feel it all around me, and am grateful to experience such humanity.

India, for all its' difficulties and inconsistencies, is wonderful. Some days i feel like I'm living in an episode of National Geographic, but other days I just feel like I'm living, and that's the best feeling in the world.