Lunch on the water, Reality at school

I have always said I need water. Something about it soothes, comforts, heals.

And I've long wondered what magic homeopathic powders they mix with the Pour Tous cookies.

So, combine a houseboat in Paris with Aurovilian hospitality, and naturally all of my burdens faded.

I had lunch with one of those incredible and natural healers. Without knowing it, she revitalizes the life and love within. When she knows it, you enjoy the perks of massage or watsu.

She too left the magic of Tamil Nadu for Paris within the past week. She too has the gold of Indian sun still lingering in her skin and in her curls. She too is suffering and cherishing the same transitional emotions. But she's doing it better.

Maybe it's her line of work, her greater years of experience, or the houseboat instead of my messy apartment. Doesn't matter. She shared her magic with me and by the end of the afternoon, it was time to face the music and dance. I was off to AUP.

What an adventure. I'm glad I quit. It's nice to know my official marks, it was funny to see familiar faces, it was comforting to receive advice from old mentors.

Slowly, surely, it's feeling like Paris again.

Foreign Home

It's funny how foreign home can look after you've been away.

I first noticed it when returning to the house in Mendon in which I lived for six years before spending some six months in the south of France. Entering the colonial, I was startled by the different colored curtains, the rearranged furniture, the missing rugs that changed the look of the whole place. Even the silverware and family dog looked strange, smaller.

Returning to Paris after losing myself in India has had the same effect. The furniture in my precious apartment has moved. The dog looks bigger (and she is actually a lot fatter). I'm discovering stories I'd left unfinished because, after all, it was only going to be a short trip.

I didn't know when I left that the neighbors glasses and rugs sprawled across the floor would collect dust and hair and be utterly useless. Before I knew four weeks would become four months, I left chips and other perishables in my cabinets to go to waste. I forgot while baking in the Tamil sun that a blue sock was trapped in the last load of whites I washed and the pastel-colored remnants were never folded or put away.

Standing in my kitchen felt like standing in a foreign land.

I craved something familiar. Before India, I spent several evenings a week dining and exploring Paris with a good friend, and it was time to see him. But I was in for a surprise.

I arrived at his house and searched awkwardly for words. It dawned on my how much had changed since my departure. 

Nothing in his place was different but me.

Skoll World Forum :)

I'll admit I was nervous. I was entering an intimate gathering of some of the most amazing people in the world after four months of living lazily in India.

I was afraid I had forgotten how to be professional and charming. Turns out I only forgot how to wear high heels.

This is amazing. Here I am surrounded by people who are changing the world with innovative, on-the-ground projects. They do anything and everything, and they do it with passion. The opening ceremonies were filled with well-written and moving speeches, and the dinners are buzzing with awe-inspiring conversations.

Plus, the dining halls make you feel like you're in Harry Potter.

But the funnest part, of course, is when the ties come undone and everyone gathers for too many cocktails. There's nothing like rubbing shoulders with buzzed influencers in a prison-turned-five star-hotel.

Too tired to write more... but more will come.

Welcome to England

TJ’s home is a timeless, nationless place, like airports and hotel lobbies. The halls are windowless and lined with florescent lights that never shut off, so when walking them, you never know what time it is or whether it’s day or night. This is the life of med-students and hospital workers.

I’m proud that I slept till 5:38am, the latest since my return from India. Of course, I had only two mornings in Paris—each welcoming days that were both too short and too long. On day three, I’m trying to analyze what I’m feeling.

And I have no idea. I’m preparing for the most incredible conference of my life—three days at the Skoll World Forum with social entrepreneurs who are solving the world’s toughest problems in the most innovative ways. I’ve wanted to be one of the lucky 600 guests for years… and finally, it’s here. But all I can think about is India.

Obviously, in the heart of gray European metropolises, I miss the colors and warmth, the green and the Life. I miss the people, because that’s what really makes a place. I miss the constant buzz of everyone always doing things or at least analyzing how the building of a better community is progressing. I miss the philosophies: the attitudes on money, work, life, cité, etc. I miss the pace—nothing is more sure than tea time. I miss eating with my hands and waking up to chipmunks and wet willies. And above all I miss the energy; the world seems so charged in India and so drained everywhere else. There, you can just Be. Here, you must prove everything.

Plus, I'm back to wearing boots and high heels that give me blisters... so I also miss life in barefoot.

Then I think about what I have to show for 14 weeks in India. I quit my job and my school. I stopped talking to people who had long fueled me. I lost track of the latest news on social entrepreneurship, and I’m poorly prepared to meet the most amazing social entrepreneurs in the world. (At least India gave me inexpensive business cards!) I returned with more scars than I can count, a rash, an illness, and no health insurance. I’m jet lagged and weak in timeless, nationless, place.

At least I’m amongst doctors.

But don’t worry folks: I have a plan hatching. Always, always a Dream… or two. :)


To Oxford we go!

all i can say...

...is i can't believe i'm leaving.

Neem Bath

I have a rash. It sucks.

I also have no natural talent for learning other languages. Which also sucks.

Today I spent mostly on the land, working on my projects and helping the forest when I could. I itched at every step, and every scratch brought my spirits a little lower.

I tried to distract myself by curling up in the hammock or on the ledge to read. But the itch took over. It creeped into my brain and I could think of nothing else, do nothing else. Scratch… scratch… scratch…

I tried taking a ride on the scooter, but the effect was the same. Each straightaway that granted me the ability to drive one-handed meant I could sooth the incessant nag of my skin.

It was no use. I needed to be on the land, working, itching. It’s what the Day demanded from me.


Meanwhile, Vasantha—the amma who cooks and cleans at Lumière—was cheerfully trying to engage me in conversation. I wanted to ask about her children, her life, her world… but my “Learn Tamil in 30 Days!” book has proved less effective than I had hoped. She seemed so warm and engaging and all I could do was laugh.


Then she grabbed my arm firmly in her chubby fingers and twisted it around. She scrunched her dark face, bit her full lips, and stared with hard eyes. She had spotted The Rash.

I demonstrated itchyness with my pale hands and formed a pout that Eloise would’ve been proud of. Her hard analysis melted to ideas.

While hollering the harsh language of Tamil, she suddenly scurried around the kitchen and soon outside, where she proceeded to rip branch after branch from the Neem tree. She used her hands to explain what she was doing, but I’ve always sucked at charades.

And then the pot of boiled Neem leaves and who-knows-what-else and it was time for me to have a bath.

She walked me into the bathroom. I stood awkwardly beside the steaming bucket, clinging to my fuzzy blue towel and bar of Western soap. She stood fully clothed in the doorway and demonstrated in animated gestures how to take a Neem bath. And without another word, she disappeared.

So I bathed. And it felt damn good.

Emerging from the open shower into the forest, I caught her smiling face waiting for me, tea in hand. I smiled. I smelled like Green but would taste of chai, and finally—FINALLY!—I didn’t itch.


This, my friends, is life in the forest. And all I can do is laugh… because—itch or no itch—it’s fun. :)

The Vet Visit

The dog would surely die. Just like all the others did.

The land is littered with coconut tree headstones celebrating canine lives cut too short. Sarasa is the first puppy of the current steward, and by his fourth month, his fate read like the Magic 8 Ball: “Outlook not so good.”

It started with a twitch in his hips, like he’d hurt his hind legs. But weakness gave way to waste, and the vet cursed him with a death sentence: Canine Distemper. “He’s due for more shots in three weeks,” the vet said through grim lips, “but he won’t make it, I don’t think.”

But Lumiere is full of love and life, and Sarasa refused to give up hope. Canine Distemper enters the bloodstream and leaves puppies vulnerable to bacterial infections, which typically leads to death. The pup can’t fight the virus; once contracted, it lingers. But it doesn’t have to be fatal... It just usually is.

From the brink of death—armed with warm blankets, careful diet, antibiotic injections, tele healing, and lots of attention—Sarasa fought his way back to life.

Three weeks later the call came. The vet returned to the land, and as he pulled down the sandy path, he lost his breath. “It can’t be...” he whispered. “This can’t be the same dog!” Running to greet him was the puppy that would certainly die. But the puppy was far from dead—he oozed energy, nipped at the vet’s ankles, showed off his latest trick: Sit. “It’s a miracle!” the vet shouted. “A gift from the gods!” And his Tamil-speaking assistant touched his lips and thanked higher powers for saving a life.

I was touched by their surprised joy.

It’s been many days since the vet’s visit and the dog’s second batch of vaccines. He is still week, but he dog refuses to die. There will be no Sarasa coconut tree for a long time.