Change Yourself…Change The World.

When you live in a large city for an extended period of time, sometimes you just need to get out of it for awhile and experience something completely different. With me living in Bombay and my friend and fellow former Clinton fellow Mike in Bangalore, both classic tier-1 cities in India, it was therefore unsurprising that we immediately decided in December that we had to go somewhere rustic and exotic. While Mike was visiting me in Bombay over Christmas, we strategically determined that a trip of such epicness must include cave spelunking. Therefore, we settled on the closest 10-hour bus ride trip in sight: the city of Aurangabad, home to the World Heritage Ellora and Ajanta caves.

The Ellora caves feature Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist carvings along 34 different sites (a pretty amazing feat for the 6th century), while Ajanta showcases incredible Buddhist carvings and paintings (some of the paint still intact) in 30 sites dating all the way back to 400 CE. I’m no cave aficionado usually, but clearly these were a must-see.

It turns out that trekking around and whispering secrets in 2,000 year old caves, followed by luxurating at the best resort in Aurangabad, with the fabulous Mike Johnson by my side, is indeed an unforgettable adventure

Mike and I at Ellora!

Check out our journey below.

More pictures of Cave Spelunking

It’s perfect weather for a Saturday in November. It rained last night, and while you can still feel the ever-present humidity as soon as you step outside, an overcast sky combined with gusts of wind from the sea cools down the entire city. It made for a very pleasant 45 minute cab ride from my little center of Pali Hill in Bandra down to Kala Ghoda, the art district of South Mumbai. I dined with friends over delicious Parsi food- Barucchi Akhuri, Chicken Dhansak, and Berry Pulao- and wandered around the National Gallery of Modern Art, where we proceeded to entertain ourselves by interacting with the exhibition; art in relation to sound.

I’m back home now, sitting in my bed contentedly while munching on my favorite afternoon snack of crunchy cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, slivers of sharp cheddar cheese, and hummus. The evening holds promise of a fun birthday celebration dinner of Korean barbecue, and drinks in Bandra with friends.

It’s those moments in between things, that feeling of bliss, of comfort, of contentedness in being exactly where you want to be, that I want to remember and look back on.

Updates fail me these days. It seems that the older you get, the faster life goes. But, as an attempt to chronicle my life on this more-forgotten-than-not corner of the Internet; it’s been four months later, and I have now found myself transitioned into a wholly new phase of my life, a phase which I envisioned and then extremely rarely, came straight to life with such minimal guidance that the stars must have been aligned.

A short seven months ago, as I turned 26 years old I felt blind-sided by a fundamental shift in priorities, a-la “It’s time to grow up, but just a little bit.” I turned into a narcissist Mark from Trainspotting- you know, at the end of the movie where he’s going on about washing machines, cars, compact disc players, a starter home? Choosing life and all of the things that come along with it? Though I wouldn’t give up the past 6 years of traveling like a nomad for all of the luxury in the world, continuing to live off of pennies on life-changing fellowships and experiences no longer seemed as appealing to me as it did when I was younger. I felt ready to transition into a more permanent position, to put down some deeper roots and stay put for awhile. I wouldn’t exactly call myself ready for a starter home, but being able to buy a refrigerator without emptying out my savings account seemed like a nice thought.

As soon as this thought visualized and came to form, the most incredible opportunity appeared out of complete thin air (literally, a few days after writing that blog post)- and even crazier, after a lengthy interview process of which I had never experienced before in my life (five interviews, four case studies- one of them four hours long), I was extended a job offer at one of the top (and most difficult to get into) organizations in the world for the field I’m in, with the most perfect learning opportunity I could ask for in this stage of my life. It was as if destiny reached down straight out of the sky, knocked on my door, and presented exactly what I had asked for on a silver platter; I clearly had no choice. I pinched myself about 1,000 times to make sure this was reality, said yes immediately, packed my bags, and moved straight to Mumbai.

The change has been very abrupt, a little too much so- leaving Delhi was much harder than I thought it would be, and settling into Mumbai has been more of a painful process- yet a mere seven months later I have even more than I envisioned in some of my more far-fetched dreams. I am living in an absolutely fabulous apartment in the heart of Bandra, weekends filled with social events and cultural immersion into a brand new city I’ve really come to love, week nights filled with “chilling at home” with my roommate and his parade of friends that often come over for drinks. For the first time in my life I’m able to live comfortably off of my salary and even save. My office culture is full of interesting, intelligent, and kind-hearted people who care about the work they do.  I find my work at times overwhelming, but challenging in a really great way; I’ve never grown more professionally than I have these past few months. I have a really flexible schedule that allows me to work remotely as needed, which is really nice. And the friendships I’ve made here in such a short span of time is pretty incredible.

Life is never 100% perfect- something will always be out of whack. I can’t say that every day is filled with gratitude or constant contentment. It’s easy to get caught up in the rat race, to hear about what your friends or colleagues or family members are doing or to read about the latest gadget, and to always want more. It’s easy to let little, or sometimes not so little things in life influence your day or skew your perspective.

But oftentimes the most important moments in life are when we take a step back and recognize all of the wonderful things front of us. So my deep gratitude that I try to remind myself of every day is: seven months ago I visualized this next step in my life and what it is was that I truly wanted, and the dream came to life. It feels really good to say that for right now, this is more than enough.

It’s one of those late evenings in Delhi where I can’t fall asleep. One of those wee hours in the morning where I lie in bed in a cool and dark room, gazing at the city through my enormous panoramic-view window that I still haven’t bought curtains for after 7 months of living in our flat. One of those rare evenings where the city seems to be holding it’s breath: the auto-rickshaws have stopped their honking, the neighbors downstairs aren’t blaring Metallica; even the myriad of stray dogs that gather in East of Kailash like a swarm of ants have stopped their barking for the briefest of periods, as if mesmerized by the silence. One of those unusual nights in between the biting winter and the roaring summer of Delhi, where you can feel the change slowly weaving into the city through a pleasant and lilting breeze. One of those moments on the tip of your tongue, as if you could just open your mouth and taste it all.

One month ago I turned 26 years old. I rode into my birthday like a champion on a horse that just won the grand prize at a tournament- arrogant, proud, high off of my accomplishments. World traveler. Beasted the Peace Corps- or at least limped to the finish line. Accomplished ‘do-gooder,’ as if it was an invisible trophy I carried around everywhere. Compassionate friend. Reflective Writer. The list goes on. But ‘Age 26’ was not a badge I wanted to wear. 26 felt- older. Closer to 30 than those golden years of my young and carefree 20’s. Suddenly, I found it impossible to not consider a not-too far off future, one that makes me think of responsibility, of security, of setting down more permanent roots. Looking at friends in the United States building experience in their career paths, established in their cities and in their routines and their relationships. Marriage and babies and mortgages and West Elm furniture. For someone who prides herself on stepping out of her comfort zone for a living, this question of ‘settling down someday’ was suddenly the scariest thought of all.

From day one of turning 20, I’ve always promised myself that this decade is for me to travel, learn, grow, and see and do everything while I have the freedom to. The past 6 years of non-stop traveling and living all over the world has been absolutely incredible, extremely challenging, physically and mentally exhausting, unabashedly life-changing; experiences I would never trade for anything. The places I’ve visited, things I’ve seen and done and learned, and the beautiful people I’ve met will forever be a large part of me. In return I have sacrificed comfort, security, a well-paid and stable job, time with friends and family back at home, and roots to fulfill those dreams. And throughout all of it, I have always put one foot in front of the other, trusting that the next step would continue leading me to the next right thing. It has all been worth it.

And it will continue to be worth it. This nomadic lifestyle is still an ultimately grand adventure, an extreme learning experience, a passionate and incredible existence that I deeply enjoy. I still hope to spend my days traversing around the globe, meeting new people, learning new languages, living my life from one suitcase to another for the time being. Yet this sudden paradigm shift in thinking has forced me to contemplate living this lifestyle with a bit more intention of my long-term life goals. Basically, turning 26 has been a little akin to ‘facing the music’: it’s time to grow up. I can and will still do this now, but I don’t want to do it forever.

With some gentle pushing and prodding from extraneous events and conversations, some sort of time-ticking panic set in that I had never once before felt in my life. Questions started pouring out of me, so many important questions that I didn’t know what to do with them all. What am I going to do after this fellowship? Am I going to continue living in India? Do I only want to continue living here because I love it so much that I’m scared to leave? What are my long-term career goals? Where am I really applying to graduate school next year? What do I want to do in the business world- is it entrepreneurship? Consulting? Impact Investing? How can I help economically disadvantaged communities in the future while being able to support a stable and sustainable lifestyle? What are all of the other potential opportunities I’m giving up by the next step I take?

I wrote for weeks, page after page of questions, most where I didn’t have answers. Weeks wrought with confusion and tension, picking up scattered pieces and trying to find where they connect, like a giant puzzle- except in this case, I don’t know what the picture will be once it’s finished. I sought out friends and mentors, seeking their advice and feverishly scribbling down all of their suggestions like a coked-out journalist. Metaphorically standing in a grocery store with a thousand cereal boxes in front of me, unsure of what to put in my basket. Paralyzed by choice, guilty and burdened for having so many choices in front of me when many have none. I shut myself into my room for hours at a time, refusing to let myself out until I took responsibility for some answers; yet then finding myself so mentally exhausted at the seemingly never-ending ocean of ideas that I actually fell asleep from thinking too much. It’s been a bizarre and unexplained phenomena that is quite unlike myself.

I have four more months left in this amazing fellowship, four more guaranteed months of living in Delhi, in India, in this place that I love way too much. I try not to squander the present moment- my friendships, my work, my life here- by spending so much of my time gazing outside of my window at 2 AM on another night of endless possibilities.

When I found out in the Peace Corps I was moving back to India, I felt the usual thrill and adrenaline always associated with the prospect of living in such a beautifully chaotic place. As I had spent two years in Paraguay listening to Indian music, watching Indian movies, and cooking Indian dishes from scratch (much to the confusion of my neighbors and friends- is she American or Asian?), I dreamed about all of my experiences there and the incredible places I had felt a part of. Varanasi- one of the most spiritually charged and ancient places I’ve ever visited. Calcutta- the city of utter madness, and some of the best kathi rolls you’ll ever find. Bodhgaya, which holds the tree where it is said the Buddha was enlightened- and one of the best 16 mile treks I’ve ever taken. Dharamsala- home to my Tibetan family and the most incredible experience of my life. There seems to be no end to fabulous places in this jewel of a country.

Yet as I received my assignment for the Clinton fellowship, I was given the opportunity to live in Delhi. Delhi? The city of smog, crowds, and endless traffic? So hot in the summers you look as if you climbed out of a giant swimming pool every day? Home to hundreds of cheap hostels that are always accompanied by shady swindlers looking to rip off the average backpacker? I gritted my teeth, smiled, and bore it. Living in Delhi may not have been the most exotic of places, but at least it was in India.

But now that I’ve been living in Delhi for over 6 months, my perception of this city has entirely changed. My initial impressions of Delhi (which were carried out cumulatively within a 10 day period) are completely the opposite of what I feel now. I love this city. There’s a vibrancy to this place that I never realized before. There’s no limit to life here- a million things to eat, people to meet, markets to get lost for hours in, cultural monuments, endless concerts, incredible culture, and a touch of materialism that’s enough to get any American through her slight Western nostalgic cravings (Forever 21? We’ve got it. Starbucks? Yep. Hard Rock Café? 3D Cinemas? Bowling? Sushi? Check, check, and check. If Chipotle opened a chain here, I’d never leave). Perhaps it’s because I spent two years living under a rock in Paraguay, where the most lively place in my town was a hamburger joint, but I greatly appreciate the myriad of experiences this place offers me.

Unfortunately, Delhi has a less than stellar reputation globally. While discussing this with Indian friends and colleagues, they seem to be a little ashamed of the perception of their city. “Is the traffic as bad in the United States as it is here?” is a question I am commonly asked, usually while sitting in hours of clogged up highways where you can witness rickshaw-wallahs stop their engines in the middle of the road and hop out to buy cigarettes on the road-side. Safety for women is also a common topic of conversation, considering a scandal that hit the world stage last year where an Indian woman was tragically and repeatedly raped on a bus. And with the level of pollution here, I am often reprimanded to wear a mask or cover my face with a scarf while riding down the street.

Yet I’ve gotten so comfortable living here. With good common sense and a heightened sense of awareness, I’ve been able to navigate Delhi without once feeling threatened or unsafe.* I haven’t been subject to petty thievery or harassment (knock on wood), and I’ve always been accompanied by hordes of caring Indian colleagues or friends who make sure I feel comfortable no matter where I am. The traffic can be a bit annoying at times, but just takes a dose of patience and a smile. There’s plenty of smog to go around here, but it comes and goes. Plus, the Delhi metro really is worthy of major boasting. Sorry NYC Subway, you just pale in comparison.

The rest of this place dazzles me. I’ve never felt so connected to a city before, and I’ve lived in quite a few of them, including Los Angeles and New York. There’s something marvelous about this place that I can’t quite describe. So many unique pockets to explore, so many different languages and customs, something in the air that’s spicy and explosive. Life is never dull here; there’s always a new adventure around the corner, and I have the ability to step out of my own front door and witness fascinating events where I’m constantly learning something new. It’s a kind of spontaneity I love, but where I can return back to the cocoon of comfort any time I choose. Or perhaps the magic in the air here really is just my comfort, and that is the true definition of feeling at home.

Come visit.

* Note: Delhi, as well as many other mega-cities around the world, can absolutely be a dangerous place. Visitors and travelers should approach this city with a heightened sense of self-awareness at ALL times. For first-timers, please consult a guidebook or any other form of ‘Delhi-411’ information to mitigate your risks of being in any potentially unsafe positions. But with a few simple steps to counter any prospective danger, count on an unforgettable experience!

The past five months living in Delhi have been a whirlwind of both intense love, spirit, joy, and simultaneously tragedy, pain, and sadness. These two far-flung dichotomies have always been ever-present in my experiences here, so I should not have been surprised when India once again delivered. Yet I still find myself suffering from a sort of proverbial whiplash from how equally penetrating and powerful these conflicting feelings have played a part in my life. I always step into this country with such awe and wonder, yet I then find myself suddenly facedown on the pavement without quite knowing how I got there.

I arrived in Delhi in September on a hot summer evening (or perhaps a very early morning) to meet 34-odd other Clinton fellows that would come to make up a crucial part of my experience here. As our first week of orientation went by, I found my voice and spirit that only ever seems to exist in this country: raw, pure, passionate love emanated from me. I felt fully myself and alive in ways I had forgotten, a vulnerability that I had buried within myself and only came out in rare spurts. The jaded and bitter edge my personality had taken, like rust to steel, after two years of isolation and loneliness in the middle of rural Paraguay, disappeared completely. Spontaneity, compassion, adventure, and lots of good humor took their place. My soul was singing.

Good friends have called me extremely resilient and strong over these past few months in India. I always seemed to have a smile on my face, even while getting Dengue fever and spending two weeks in the hospital. While being put back in the hospital again a month later, this time in the ICU. While being admitted to the hospital a day later again for internal bleeding and going through minor surgery. While making the decision to go home to the United States to recuperate for a month from being so ill. But if you are living your best life and being your best self, how can something so trivial get you down? If I died, at least I would die with my eyes wide open to the world.

Truth be told, it did affect me, but not in the ways you would expect. I felt a heavy sense of guilt, so heavy it became almost unbearable. Feelings about not being able to serve the organization I worked with in the ways I wanted or that they expected became a heavy weight in my heart. I felt a deep sense of appreciation, but also burden, to my friends, family, and to the fellowship for spending huge gaps of their time and resources to take care of me. The expectations I placed on myself to make up for these gaps were not necessarily fair, but they were there nonetheless.

I sought solace and comfort in a bond that quickly became my main pillar of strength, that I easily let become one of the only things that made it manageable. I let it return me back to the world of the highest highs, feeling reckless and free. Riding this wave, I went back to the United States in a sullen mood, not ready to let go of the magic India promised me. Life in the US was full of medication, of doctor’s visits, of rest and sleep and utter boredom. There was no enchantment there, only a reality to face that I had had a serious brush with death in India, and I had to really take care of myself if I wanted to return.

I counted down the seemingly never-ending days and finally returned to this country, eager to get back to the life I had left here. Yet as much as you can will for permanence, life is always changing, and India was not the same as I had left it. I watched in a sort of muted horror as I slowly saw that this pillar I had leaned into was rotting at the seams, crumbling away to dust. The only response I could permit myself at the time was to hold on stronger, even when its sharpness cut me, even when I allowed myself easy lies because the truth was too much, even when I knew it was wrong. I held on until I was left clutching nothing but permanent damage and scarred memories. I felt numb with regret, paralyzed by the onslaught of emotions it brought out in me, feelings I hadn’t allowed myself to fully process in months; in some cases, years. My mind felt cracked open at the seams, raw and exposed. I struggled to hide behind excuses, willing the people around me to accept the shoddily-crafted half-truths I hastily created, hating myself for not being able to stop the onslaught of emotions that were pouring out of me like a broken faucet.

This is my constant cycle in India. There is something about this country that doesn’t make me afraid to pull out the most precious part of myself, the part that everywhere else I protect and guard. It is in these moments that I am the most wonderful and alive, a beauty and power that will astonish even myself. Yet every time I have taken off this armor, I have been both simultaneously greatly rewarded and deeply wounded. Perhaps it is an inclination in others to mar something they see so innocent and pure. Perhaps I give my heart away to the world too quickly. Perhaps my intense love for everything I see and feel blinds my judgment.

But would I have it any other way? Could I have it any way? No, I could not. I am in India for that magic that I can only seem to draw out of myself here, because knowing that such a thing exists within me and that I can live it is worth more than any pain.

In my posts, I always try to end things on a good note, like there is always a positive side to suffering, a revelation or lesson that others can embody or learn from. I don’t feel like ending things on a good note right now, because they are not. Losing an important constant in my present life is hard to bear, harder than I can put into words. Time heals all wounds and whether we want to or not, things must normalize again. But sometimes it feels good to admit that you have no conclusion, and to live with the pain for awhile. That’s where I am in this present; perhaps for the first time, I am not afraid to say it.

It is 7:30 PM on a Saturday in South India, and I have decided to write again.

I took a break from blogging for many reasons. I felt bored with it. Writing in this exact same medium for the past five years- on ‘traveling and growing through the world’- started to lose its sheen even to me. The eagerness of sharing my experiences, which felt new and foreign for longer than it probably should have, started to feel dull after living for two years in the same place, as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Paraguay. I realized I was no longer the person I was when I created this- even though I wanted to be.

Discontent started to settle in that nothing could diminish- not the sense of duty I felt in helping those that wanted to delve into my same experiences, the excitement of growing readership, or the obligation to keep an account of my life that I could look back on over the years. Blogging became a chore, something to tick off a list of things to do. Initial pleasure at writing turned into anxiety as weeks and countless experiences slipped by that I could not motivate myself to share. So, I disconnected from the blog-o-sphere and from social media, and decided to re-discover the magic of India alone.

Five months into living in Delhi, I’ve recognized the importance of sorting out these experiences and putting the proverbial pen to paper. I feel refreshed and ready to start sharing again, though perhaps in a different format than before. The format is still being conceptualized to me, but I think it will be less of a “this is my account of my travels in the world,” and more of a “this is an account of my life, whatever it may be.” I like to think that my writing has always been honest, but this will be more honest. I like to think that my writing has been personal, but this will definitely be more personal. The shackles of writing about myself on such a public forum for all of the world to see don’t seem as heavy as they used to, even if they probably should.

I will not hold myself to writing once a week as I did, and ultimately didn’t follow, in the Peace Corps. I want everything that comes out to be natural, raw, and real in the moment. Perhaps that could come out as three posts in one year, or three posts in a day. I will not hold myself to trying to grow my website or strategize ways to grow my readership. It was always something I toyed with, never ultimately took any action on, and have decided now to not move forward with. This is a lovely hobby that I enjoy immensely, but do not feel obligated to.

There may be some changes, but I am confident that they will be positive ones. The bottom line is, I am back to the blogging world, and it feels like a new beginning.