Yesterday, I sauntered down to the shop on the corner looking to satisfy my sweet tooth.

I bought a pack of chocolate chip cookies for $0.22 as well as a pack of strawberry crème filled biscuits; a wild card for $0.10. After arriving back at the hotel, I cracked into the strawberry ones…the filling was neon pink and had almost a fizzy taste, like touching your tongue to a seltzer tablet. Not a fan. The chocolate chip cookies came through in the clutch and they disappeared quickly over my book about death and meditation.
Cut to: tonight. I’m cleaning my room and I come across the neon cookies. They weren’t to my liking but I couldn’t just throw them out which actually was my first thought. Residual thought processes from living in the U.S. I guess.
I remembered seeing a little girl running around the front desk a few days earlier so I grabbed the cookies and headed down the hall to the lobby on a cookie giving mission. The first person I saw was Rana, the owner of the hotel. I asked him about the little children situation and where I could find them. I meant if he had any children who would like the cookies but before I could clarify, he was up off the couch and heading down the stairs, motioning for me to follow. At the bottom of the stairs we went through a doorway and there were 15 beautiful little Indian children, notebooks open, learning basic English words. I was standing in the middle of a classroom with 15 kids and a half opened package of cookies. Initially, there was a moment of stalemate, them just as shocked to be looking at me as I was to be looking at them. Then they went wild.

Smiling and trying to say every English word they knew, they were absolutely adorable. The two teachers were also extremely kind, encouraging me to stay and insisting I hadn’t interrupted anything. I obviously had.

I love India.


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