The air is consumed with what seems like a thousand taxis blowing their horns as they whiz by, dangerously close. Tiny old men, all skin and bone, pass us pulling their rickshaws while motorcycles weave through the traffic with concerning speed.
We are on our way to visit the homes of some of the children we’ve been working with this week.
Sweet little Muskan, so shy and quiet, came to class dressed in a pretty pink dress today. The bold color is adorned with “sparkle,” making it beautiful in the eyes of any Indian female because ‘shiny’ makes any outfit instantly 70% better. Muskan’s dress is spotless, just like her. She’s a careful, obedient, sweet and shy little girl with a tender heart.
My senses are on overload as we walk, but I am comforted by my new friend. Her tiny little brown hand so gently tucked into mine, she looks up at me with her big brown eyes as we walk along together. It’s not long before a daisy chain is formed like a paper cutout—all precious little Indian girls … and me.
Dodging the traffic, we ignore the stray dogs and step over the trash. Muskan looks up at me again with some of the sweetest eyes that I have ever seen in my life. This time the friend beside her also looks up at me with curiosity, and together they begin to giggle. Their laughter is so precious and fun that I can’t help but join in with them. Together we walk, giggling away.
As we exit the first home, I notice her shyly standing to the side, watching and waiting to see if I will continue to hold her hand. When I reach out my hand, she smiles so tenderly, clearly pleased. On we walk … visiting many other homes.
Finally, we reach hers.
Squeezing through the narrow entrance, we are welcomed into the small turquoise room with a “Namaste.” Soon we learn that this is actually not Muskan’s family … but it is indeed her home. This family has taken her in. One large bed that takes up ¾ of the room now sleeps another precious little girl who has become my friend, all because she had no where else to go.
Muskan’s mother died some time ago, and her father threw Muskan and her siblings out on the street when he remarried. It’s assumed that the new wife just didn’t want to have anything to do with them. I find it hard to believe that my careful little friend has gone through so much and still has such softness about her.
Muskan has shown me love and kindness that will stay with me for years to come. She’s reminded me that no matter what our circumstances, there is hope. She’s taught me that sometimes it’s the simplest acts of kindness or sweet little giggles that can bring a great amount of joy to those around us.
I think I’ve learned just as much from the family who has taken her in.
By all “normal” standards, this family had absolutely no room or ability to sleep and feed and raise another little girl, and yet they took her in anyway. I don’t know how they make it work, but they do. I can’t help but wonder who is more blessed: Muskan by this family’s graciousness in providing her a new life, or the family by the preciousness that flows out of her tender, kind spirit?
This family has taught me that there’s always room to love one more. They’ve shown me that you don’t always have to have it all figured out … you just take things one day at a time. They’ve shown me an example of the power that love has to change and transform.
I wonder what the world would be like if we all paid attention to the opportunities before us each day to extend a hand, offer a smile, or feed a hungry mouth. Would we be the ones to change the world, or would we end up being changed?
