becoming a motorcycle expert and the annoying voice that says "please enjoy the music while you wait for a sales associate.".....

Stefan contacted me and asked if I would do a voiceover for a company called Tata for $60....it was pretty fun, but kinda tough because I had to pronounce everything a little differently. I can now say that Im that annoying voice that says "Please enjoy the music as you wait for the next availble sales assciate" and "Thank you for calling Telesky shopping, all lines are currently unavailble, please call back." and "Thank you for Calling Telesky shopping, our hours are monday through thursday 9am to 4pm, please visit us on the web at www.teleskyshopping.com, Thank you." yep, Im now that annoying voice! The above pic is of me in the studio recording.

Yep, thats right! I learned how to drive a motorcycle! Honestly it was extremly easy learning all the gears and such. I promise I was safe! I got up to 3rd gear, and even rode with a passanger! I have yet to make a sharp turn though because it freaks me out a little bit....but practice makes perfect, so hopefully by the time I come home I can get one of my own! (PUHHHLLEEZZZ MOM!!!)

Learning lessons from the least of these: constructions workers' children

playing with Legos

This boy is the primary care-taker for this baby

So beautiful

This is the home of one of the construction workers' family--as many as 7 people live in this one space!

So Augusta Paul, our religions/culture teacher has started a small NGO at her house for construction workers’ children. She takes in about 30 children every day (except Sundays) for 3 hours and teaches them to draw and color, and just generally gives them a safe environment to play with Lego’s and balls and skipping ropes. None of the children speak English (English is not the first language here in India, children only learn English if they have an education.) and Augusta doesn’t speak Tamil (which is the language of Tamil-Nadu a neighboring state of Karnataka-where Bangalore is.) Most of these construction workers have migrated to Bangalore to find work and find themselves without a familiar language and an extremely low paying job; but a job nonetheless. Of the 30 children, only 3 are receiving an education (a lot of them are still too young though.) Most of the children didn’t even know how to properly hold a writing utensil and so Augusta’s NGO has been working on that among other things such as polite behavior and sharing.
Andrew and I have been going over to Augusta’s to work with these children a few times a week and this experience has definitely got me thinking about how much I truly take my education for granted! There are many signs around Bangalore that are written in Kanada (Karnataka’s language), and it all just looks like squiggles to me. It can be frustrating because I have no idea where I am at times because I cannot read, and even worse because I cannot communicate properly with my auto driver. This is just a small glimpse of how these uneducated children will live the rest of their lives! To not be able to understand any written form of language and only speak a language of another state….if all written things looked like foreign squiggles to me….well the thought alone scares me. Education is a right of being an American citizen; as children we consider it a mandatory and necessary evil and complain about going to school. As children we fake sickness to get out of school, but if I could go back and do it all over again I would never complain about school again. I would wake up every morning and thank God that I got to learn to read and write, and learn history, and math (ugh still not fond of math, but I understand it’s importance). I would never again take for granted what God has allowed me to blessed with as being an American citizen.
Now let me explain a little bit about construction workers in India. They are one of the lowest of the low on the totem pole. When the caste system was the predominate way of running things in India the Dalits (the lowest caste) were the manual labor. They were the ones to do all the construction, all the farming, and the ones who moved the carcasses of deceased humans and animals. They were the brute of the population; the ones who worked the hardest physically, and the ones who were the least respected. Today the caste system is ‘abolished’ (I still have observed some undertones of discrimination) but manual labor still remains a low profession—a job for the uneducated, and poor class. It’s so amazing to watch construction workers—men and women alike hauling large baskets of bricks on their heads from point A to point B. It seems completely inefficient because modern technology has created machines to complete these simple tasks much quicker, but I’ve been told that the cost of labor is so cheap that many contractors choose to hire several people to haul bricks, than to employ the use of a bulldozer. The women on construction sites simply amaze me; watching them I realize just how strong God has made woman….these women are wearing Saris (which has got to be the hottest and most suppressing attire ever!) in the middle of the noon Indian sun, with a baby slung on their back, hauling what has got to be at least 50-100lbs of bricks on her head; then repeating this cycle over and over, day after day. Their children are then left unattended for hours at a time to roam, beg, or play in unsafe areas. The older children are given the task of watching and caring for the younger, and at Augusta’s house there were about 5 children that were 7 and 8 years of age all responsible for about 5 or 6 very young other children. It made me sad to see how fast the older children were forced to grow up. A 7 year old boy carrying a baby instead of playing ‘power rangers’ or making mud-pies, or the 8 year old little girl cradling a newborn instead of playing with a baby doll. It’s a sad day when you see children that have had their childhood stolen from them just because of the circumstances of their own birth. One of the many injustices that I have witnessed here in India.
Anyways some of the children took us to their house which was a one-roomed shack situated on the construction site and allowed me to take some video footage (which I cannot wait to incorporate in my documentary!) It was just as bad as the slums had been except for the fact of the over-crowdedness, but honestly after thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that it would be worse to live as a construction worker because they have no community…no sense of stability. We were told that in one of the houses as many as 7 people lived there. It blew me away! There was no furniture, and only a collection of pots and pans to cook in. A small fire burned outside the shack for warm bath water and another for cooking some simple rice. On the other side of the house a curtain hid away what I'm assuming was a hole dug in the ground for bathroom waste. One of the houses only had a curtain as a door, while the others had a wood plank. I will say one thing; I will never again take for granted my house in America. What amazed me was that these children fought over who got to show their houses to us…they were proud of their homes and happy to show them off. The innocence of children will never cease to bring a smile to my face and warm my heart. Like a breath of fresh air in a corrupt and evil and broken world, children will forever remain my hearts’ reminder that there is good in this world.

Luke 18:16-17 “…Jesus called the children to Him and said “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth; anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

I always understood why Jesus loved the children, but I’ve been reminded of this time and again here in India in my experiences with the children here. My loves at the orphanage who called me ‘Rebecakka’, the babies at church that climb into my lap because they are fascinated by my blue eyes and fair skin, and the construction workers’ children who proudly take me by the hand to show me their home.
If only we could forget all our adult concerns; the recession, marital problems, being popular, our youthful appearances, that new car, losing weight, being ‘successful’*, etc. etc. and resort back to our childlike state where everything we see is with rose-tinted glasses. Where we don’t see status, or wealth, or beauty, but we see people for who they are: playmates, friends, and those to be loved, and to love us. If only we could revert to seeing the world as a playground, an adventure, something wonderful to be explored and appreciated. If only we could return to that state of childhood innocence once again. This childlike innocence would allow us to fully love others, and fully love God without inhibitions. Without concern for what others might think of us, or for our financial status, it would give us contentment. I understand why Jesus said that we had to be like children to enter the kingdom of heaven. We have to be innocent, but also full of joy and love, and content in every situation. We have to rid ourselves of our financial concerns, our materialism, and wanting to be accepted by this world to fully devote ourselves to Jesus.
So my challenge to both myself and you (if you are willing) is to try and live as a child today. To rid your mind of all adult concerns and worries and just take the day to explore LIFE! To see the sunrise and wonder where the sun goes while we sleep, to be filled with awe as the wind blows some dead leaves across the landscape, and not to be afraid to get wet in the rain but rejoice at how the cool wetness feels against your skin. Not to wear makeup, or care how you’re dressed, or feel guilty about eating that chocolate bar, or even worry about what’s for dinner(go out and have a Happy Meal if you so desire!) But most importantly explore the world, and love others innocently, and love God without inhibitions today. Tap into that childlike innocence for the day and just play, explore, and learn!
With all my love,
Rebecca Ann

A night with Florence's family

Two weeks ago Florence contacted me (she’s a girl that I worked with at the school—she was not from the orphanage, but actually a student of the school.) Therefore her family was a general middle class Christian family. And she invited me to dinner with her family. I accepted the offer, and every day since she called me to make sure that I was still coming. Every phone call lasted at least 20 minutes as each member of the family passed the phone to talk to me and relay their excitement of my visit.
The day finally came when I went; she came to Frazertown to pick me up (a little 13 year old girl traveling around Bangalore by herself!) I had my first experience on an Indian public bus! Let’s just say that was quite interesting! The bus was so full of people that there were about 6 people hanging off the bus! (3 people at each door of the bus holding onto the side of the bus!) It was one of those times that I'm extremely glad that I'm a girl and therefore given the right to actually be squeezed on the inside. Florence paid my bus fare against my protests and we boarded 3 different busses until we finally reached our destination. We walked about a mile to her house in which I was warmly welcomed by her mom. I was told by Florence during our journey that her entire family had spent days preparing for my visit and cleaned the house, shopped for food, and that I had been the topic of conversation for days.
Her mom hugged and kissed me on the cheek when I stepped in, as did her grandmother. Her elder brothers cracked jokes and asked me all about America. I was surprised to find that a small picture I had given Florence a month ago was lovingly placed in their family photo album! Her mom made me an AMAZING mutton curry, rice, omelet, and naan. The funny thing was that her family didn’t eat until 9:30p and they wanted to send me back before too late, so the entire meal had been prepared just for me. I sat slightly awkward as I ate while the entire family watched my every bite. It was a HUGE meal and I knew if I didn’t finish it her mom would question whether it was good enough, so I stuffed myself to the gills, much to her mothers’ approval. I gave Florence a small bracelet as a show of my appreciation and when she showed her mom, her mom scrambled into her room and found a pair of earrings of her own to give me. She apologized that they weren’t brand new and said that the next time I visited she would surely have an appropriate gift for me. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but as usual I was rebuked for even protesting. After dinner, Florence and I walked around so she could introduce me to all of her neighbors and friends. Around 8:30 her dad arrived home and also warmly accepted me. He was much more reserved than her mom, but very kind nonetheless. Her mom then gave me money to get an Auto back and again I protested but with no use. Before I left the entire family gathered to pray over me, asking for blessings in my life, and thanking God for bringing me into their home-I certainly felt like a revered guest! After, they sent her older brother to accompany me home for safety reasons, and I discovered that her mom had given me 3 times the amount needed for the Auto….I tried to give this to the brother but he refused to accept it.
And once again I'm left to say that Indian hospitality is incomparable!

India has changed how I read the bible...

Acts 3:1-10.
This passage reminds me so much of India. I have now witnessed what a beggar on the steps of a temple (or church) looks like. It’s simply amazing that Peter and John gave him more than money. In a sense they gave him life. He could now find work, provide for a wife, support a family, and WALK! I'm not a man, but I’ve heard as a man just how good it feels to be able to provide for a family. To have that piece of satisfaction given must have felt amazing. Not to mention being given the chance at giving a receiving love in a martial union! “Silver or gold I do not have but what I do have I give you.” I am not rich, but I have can give my time, energy, love, passion and joy to others. God doesn’t call all of us to just give monetarily. No He calls us to give what He has blessed us with; for some that is money, for others (like me) that is love and energy.
This story has taken on an entirely new meaning for me after being her in India and seeing what a crippled beggar looks like. After seeing the despair in their eyes, and their shriveled feet I have now found a new appreciation for what Peter and John did for this man. A lifetime of sitting day in and day out watching everyone else walk, feeling all sorts of resentment towards them for taking their ability to walk for granted….then being blessed with the opportunity to walk. You know how it feels to sit for a long time in a car and how good it feels to get out and stretch your legs? Multiply that by a lifetime of sitting, and imagine how amazing the feeling of stretching your legs would be! The passage continues to say that the man accompanied Peter and John into the temple; something he had probably never done! I imagine he jumped, danced, skipped, ran, walked, and just used the entire next week to discover all that his legs could do. This passage has taken on an entire new meaning for me now that I can picture vividly the beggar.
Being here in India has opened up my eyes just a little bit to how it must have been in biblical times. A lot of times America is too ‘modern’ to allow our imaginations to fully comprehend all these stories. But being in a less modernized country nudges the imagination thus opening up all new possibilities to all the bible stories. To finally understand just how dirty the disciples’ feet must have been after walking along the dusty roads and know how self-conscious they must’ve felt having their master and Lord wash their feet, or picture the disciples as fishermen in a small wooden boat (like those in Goa), or to even understand how much it must have truly meant for a crippled beggar to be healed. Frankly it’s been amazing to read the bible in a whole new light; with brand new eyes!
Reading the bible as a story-book and not some mandatory 10-minute devo has changed my perspectives on the significance of a lot of the stories, and given me the opportunity to derive new implications with excitement from these stories. Soaking them up as I would a Harry Potter book or a good chick-flick is regrettably something I have never done before. But thank God for my imagination, and for spurring my imagination to new heights. I’ve found that you can obtain substantially different outlooks just from placing yourself in these stories as the different characters—for example in this Acts 3 story I’ve imagined myself as the beggar, stretching my legs for the VERY first time, jumping for the very first time feeling how it feels to be momentarily suspended in air, and feeling uncontrollable excitement that causes my entire body to tremble. How it must’ve felt to come to the realization that I would never again be forced to sit and beg, but instead work for what I earn; to feel the satisfying feeling of a full days’ work.
I then placed myself in the shoes of his wife. She may or may not have existed, the bible doesn’t say, but if she did exist she wasn’t present at the healing. No she was at home cleaning up the small house, tears in her eyes as she lamented at the frustration of having a crippled husband that she both loved and resented. Her knees calloused from all the time spent in bended-knee prayer. Hearing a distant shout and recognizing the voice as her husbands’ but automatically chastising herself for thinking such thoughts, for she’d never really allowed herself to hope before. Gritting her teeth in anger at the thought that God never listened to any of her prayers and blocking out the sound that reminded her so much of her husbands’ voice. Then how startled she must have been as the door flew open and her husband was standing there praising Jesus. How she must have been scared for her life because this couldn’t possibly be her husband! The string of questions that must’ve flown into her head but how the lines connecting her mind to her tongue must have been prohibited. Standing there stammering, a million emotions flooding her, and almost fainting. Her husband running to her to catch her, and for the first time having her husband hold her instead of her holding her husband. How good his strength must have felt to her and how bold her praises to God would have been that night.
I then imagine how it would have been to be in the crowd….the bible mentions the crowd “when all the people saw him walking and praising God, they recognized him as the same man who used to sit begging at the temple gate….and they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.” Here in India you come to recognize beggars because they usually station themselves at the same spots daily. So to be one of ‘the people’ that Acts mentions would alone be such an amazing encounter! How much joy I would have to see any of these crippled beggars get up and walk and praise Jesus. I think just witnessing it would forever change my life. When you witness such joy, it’s hard to not be filled with so much joy yourself. So I can only imagine the joy this beggar had, and how contagious it must have been to all the onlookers.
These are only 3 perspectives into this story, and this is only one of several stories of the bible. It’s simply amazing how the worth of these stories alter based on the outlook that you take! You can derive so much more value from these stories if you employ your imagination just a little bit more! Infact I would encourage you to do so!

Beautiful Heartbreak

all my loves: from 1st to 10th grade

goofy girls

the image I will forever have of these girls; smiling and lovin life

So the school ended Sat. and I had to say goodbye to the girls that have captured my heart here in India. Not going to lie, it was extremely hard. After coming back from Delhi I spent the rest of my spring break at the orphanage soaking up every last minute with the girls. I conducted a few interviews of the Sisters, and tried to capture the girls on video so that when my memory fails me of the small details, I can forever have them with me. I tried to concentrate every time they said ‘Rebeccakka’ trying desperately to store the ring of their voices deep within my memory. Knowing that within a few days I would probably never again see these girls. Most going back to the slums for 3 months, or shipped off to another orphanage. Only by God’s grace will I ever again see any of these girls again. Isn’t it sad when you say goodbye knowing that it’s not just a ‘see ya later’, but an actual ‘goodbye’? Thankfully I have the hope that one day in Heaven I will see them again--the only thing that kept me from falling to pieces right then and there. They truly have stolen my heart; like the children in Jamaica did, like the babies and Gran Moun in Haiti did, they took it right away.
It made me think…what happens when you lose the pieces of your heart? I’ve lost a piece to Jamaica, a piece to Haiti, and now a piece to India….do those separate pieces continue growing, making you more full of love, or do you lose them and become less of a person? I have to believe that they continue growing, just where you left them, to make you a better person; otherwise I’d be less of a person today because I loved.
Isn’t love the greatest of Gods creations? The ability to love and be loved is the single greatest joy a human can feel here on earth. Better than a feast, or a beautiful sight…I truly love this country, but more than that I loved hearing ‘Rebeccakka’ and receiving kisses and hugs from girls that I loved; to love little children, and to be loved back was deeply satisfying. My trip is not over, but I can confidently say that it has been the single greatest experience of my trip to India thus far…worth every penny of the plane ride, worth every heart-wrenching emotion I felt as I left the ones I loved in the airport, worth all the diarrhea/throw up I’ve experienced here, worth all of it…and more. So it was hard saying bye…more than hard…but once again I'm at a loss for words for how it felt to try and soak up all their love knowing that I would never see them again.
I'm tearing up just writing this becausewhile it’s only been 3 days, I already miss them. But I know God has ended this small chapter in my life so that He can open a new one…so that He can love more people through me…God is making sure that my love in India is not monopolized by just these girls. God has opened up an opportunity for me to go and work at Sishu Bhavan. This is an orphanage for the mentally/physically handicapped children as well as terminally-ill children. I know this will also be a very enriching experience and looking forward to it has helped soothe the sting of saying goodbye to my girls.
Before I said goodbye (they left Sat) I threw them a pizza party Fri! Pizza is my favorite food, and the majority of them had never had pizza! This amazed me and I had to let them in on what they were missing out on. Most of them are too poor to afford such ‘delicacies’ so it was my honor to introduce them to pizza. And let me say it was a hit! I ordered from Pizza Hut and surprisingly I got a realllly good deal on the pizzas. (I don’t believe that this was coincidence at all!) I was expecting to spend a couple hundred bucks on the pizza, and ended up spending less than $100!! How cool!?
I also brought all my clothes that I brought with me from the states (except for 2 skirts, my jeans, 2 tshirts, 2 pjs and all the ‘indian clothes’ that I’ve bought here ) and gave them away to the 10th grade girls. Watching them divide up my clothes and become excited about new clothes (even though they were mostly tshirts and goodwill skirts) def. put a smile on my face. As for the 2 skirts and tshirts that I have kept, I plan on giving those to Punama (the hostel’s cleaning girl) right before I leave…I saved her favorite skirt for her. Now if only I could tap into a ‘deeper self’ and get rid of all my clothes (and materialism)….but I guess one step at a time.
I won’t start work at Sishu Bhavan until next week but in the meantime I will in fact be quite productive…but in a different sense. But that’s reserved for my next blog!
All in all it was a great Spring Break, but extremely bittersweet. Traveling north was great, but saying goodbye to my loves and ultimately a piece of my heart was difficult beyond description. It’s hard to sit here and try to communicate feelings, to fit emotions into the English language when it just doesn’t seem possible. So please excuse me for incommunicable state…perhaps someday you might be blessed enough to feel the same way-maybe by Gods grace you too can feel beautiful heartbreak. That’s what I’ve termed this feeling; the feeling of saying goodbye to a piece of your heart for Gods glory. Knowing that God has broken your heart but in the place of that missing piece He will grow an even bigger piece giving you greater capacity to love. It hurts to have it separated from the whole, but the knowledge that it will grow back even bigger than before is why I continue to place myself in pain.
Beautiful Heartbreak; I hope all of you can feel it someday; just as the term is an oxymoron, so the feeling is contradictory-amazing pain. That is my prayer for all you today, it’s a divine feeling that you’ll never forget and more importantly you’ll never be able to get enough of. It’s the best kind of addiction.

"And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." 1Corinthians 13:13
With love, Rebecca Ann

g life

Toilet Horrors; Beware Before Reading

This is a blog dedicated to the random Bathroom atrocities that I probably shouldn’t share with the world, but are necessary to tell my complete story…
So Indians don’t use toilet paper…and I know what your thinking—“….what do they use then?” They use their left hand. I’ve been told by Rekha that this is because of the Hindu god Sariswati (sp?) who is the goddess of knowledge (and inevitably paper.) And well, frankly to wipe your buttocks with a god is, well, kind of disrespectful—the equivalent of using a page right out of the book of Dueteronomy or Psalms or Corinthians (or insert any book of the bible.) This presents an interesting predicament for a Western-raised college girl travelling to India. Thank the Lord that I have a healthy sense of humor in which I can often laugh at myself. (And I hereby give you the permission to laugh at all my quandaries that I am about to present to you in this blog.)

*If you have a weak stomach, or feel uncomfortable with the topic of bathroom issues or want to keep a pristine image of me, please discontinue reading*
__________________________________________________________
So there have been many-a-time where I’ve found myself in a public bathroom with a toilet paper predicament. You see some public places have modernized and do have toilet paper, but many have not. This presents an even greater dilemma when I forget my ‘Emergency Safety Travel Pack’ –what I have termed my package containing: tissues, wet-wipes, anti-disinfectant, feminine products, and stomach medicine. But one learns easily to adapt and adjust to circumstances. The toilets themselves are ‘easternized’ toilets. For those of you who have not the slightest clue what I'm referring to you, I will paint you a picture. An ‘easternized’ toilet basically a hole in the ground in which one relieving themselves squats over. There are ‘foot grips’ on either side of the hole, and well…if the picture is not clear enough I'm sure you can google-image it. Anyways next to the hole in the ground there is a small faucet and pail. The trick is to cup your hand underneath the faucet fill it with water, splash the water on yourself (hope I'm not being too graphic here), and then…well….wipe. In some cases there is a sprayer (which is more convient) but in all cases you use water first then hand second (making sure its ALWAYS the left!)You then use the excess water from the pail to ‘flush’. I’ve found cleaning oneself with the hand is oddly natural. Perhaps much more unsanitary, but in some unexplainable way it feels more in-tune with the body. I say unsanitary because soap is somewhat uncommon in public restrooms (esp. low-grade restaurants/malls.) Which often makes me think when eating food prepared outside; food is prepared with two hands, soap is rare….and well you can think of the rest by yourself. Needless to say my immune system has done an immaculate job of keeping me healthy against the war of germs raging against it daily. Praise God!
Anyways on to the atrocities:
Crisis #1: So the very first time I used the ‘easternized’ toilet I was untrained in the art of squatting and urinating and ended up urinating all over my foot….and I was on a day-outing and unable to properly wash my foot/sandal for the entire day.
Crisis #2: I fell a bit sick after some bad street food and ended up clogging my toilet…and well had no plunger….equipping myself with several (and I mean like 7!) ziplock baggies over my hand I learned how to self-unclog…plumbing business here I come!
These are two of the MANY bathroom quandaries that I have had, and if you got a kick out of these two please feel free to ask me about my several others. I didn’t want to get too graphic of too personal here.
Sorry if this blog was a little much, but I thought it was essential to tell this part of my story as well….a perfect example of how I have had to adjust and adapt to a culture so different from my own.
Another example of this would be cutlery. Indians don’t use silverware and eat with their right hand only (remember what the left is reserved for…) and it has become second nature to me. I am a pro at eating rice and ‘soupy’ items with my hand, and have actually come to prefer it to the use of silverware.
Just two of the many adjustments that I’ve made while being here. I have to say, it’s good to be culturally open to new ways of doing things; some you reject (no toilet paper), but some you accept as even better than what you’ve grown up knowing (eating with hands.)
Again, hope this wasn’t too graphic, and I hope I made my point that adjustment is necessary, but not a ‘necessary evil’.
With love,
Rebecca Bouvin

A Short on Indian Hospitality

from left to right: andrew, uncle, Arthis brother, me, Arthi, Ashu, Arun, Aunti

me holding Arun

So we went and stayed with Lalit’s family-Ashu (his brother), Arthi (Ashu’s wife), Arun (their 1 yr old son), and Ashu/Lalit’s parents Auntie and Uncle. We stayed with these, well basically strangers, for an entire week. First of all let me just say that Indians have amazing family values. Children usually live with their parents even after they’re married, and there is no social security system in India, because there is no need for one. Parents raise children, and in return those children take in their parents after retirement. So staying with a closely-bonded family was very interesting and kinda awesome to see. Staying with an Indian family was an invaluable experience; and def. completed my experience here in India. Since I didn’t get the chance to stay with a family (like I had originally thought) I was super excited about staying with one finally.
Firstly it amazed me that this family that had never met us before was gracious enough to host us for an entire week. More than that, they were more than willing to pay for all our meals, and even treat us to anything else that we could’ve asked or wanted.
My blanket statement here is that Indian hospitality is incomparable! If Andrew and I didn’t eat at least 3 helpings of any meal it was automatically assumed that we didn’t care for the food—needless to say there were many nights I went to bed with a stomach so full it could’ve burst. And then when they thought that we didn’t like the food they would automatically ask if they could order us a second dinner of pizza! It truly amazed me that Andrew and I were not only warmly accepted by this family, but revered! They went out of their way to provide us with a comfortable stay—providing toilet paper, American food, etc. etc. At one point we went to the mall and they offered to buy me clothes!
While the experience was amazing, and I LOVED the family I have to say I'm glad that I am staying in a hostel. But I only say this because I am so independent and would hate to have people fret over me all the time. I also felt like we were a burden (not because the family made us feel this way) but because of how much trouble they went to, to make sure that we were comfortable. They treated us as family and I'm sure that if I lived with a family in Bangalore it would be much of a similar experience; one where it would feel like living with my parents (love you guys, but can’t stand a curfew!)
I am extremely grateful for everything they did for us, and they for sure were my favorite part of Spring Break in Delhi. Def. made me ache for my family back home (it’s funny that the only few times that I've been homesick it’s because I'm around a family.)
Anyways just wanted to let you know mom and dad, that I love and miss you very much! Can’t wait to see you at the airport in a few months, give you great big hugs (probably crying) and be fussed over by people who I won’t feel like I'm being a burden on!
Mom-love you to the moon and back!
Dad-love you more than puppies and sunshine!
Love, Rebecca Ann

ps. since I havn't mentioned before: remember how my hair turned pink from Holi? I was forced to dye it dark brown--just an unrelated update