Week One-From A Letter Home

Tree in Bloom on Roof

I am sitting on the roof of my building. It is warm and I am feeling sleepy. I don't think I should be up here because there are all of these electrical wires strung around me, but it is nice to feel the fresh air. I have been pretty alone these past few days, but that is okay. School hasn't started yet, so I am just wandering the streets. I like going to a place called the Good Luck Cafe, where Iranian men sit and smoke and drink tea all day. It is on the corner of a very busy street and around midday the exhaust gets really thick, but it looks beautiful in the sunlight.

I bought marigolds and bananas on my first day here and now I buy them all the time. I really don't need more bananas, they will go bad soon and I am not eating them quickly or craving them. I think I buy them because it is something that can be a habit. I know the price now of bananas, and it feels reassuring to buy them. I have to pluck up the courage to search for things I really need like eggs. It is surprisingly cool in the mornings. I have been wearing the down jacket I brought for the plane and now use as a pillow. I wish that there were more women out and about, because I can't really smile at the men. I think that once I have someone to walk with, I can start smiling and laughing more.

Almost all the articles in the paper are concerned with the incident in Delhi and because I have so much time, I have been reading every word of the paper each morning. I am level with the tops of trees and I can see men carrying blocks of cement on their heads to build an apartment building across the road. I have a pretty bad cold which is strange because it wasn't the kind of sickness I was expecting. I think that all of the exhaust is making it worse, but now I can blame my lack of communication on having no voice as opposed to my ignorance of Marathi. I was feeling pretty lonely this morning, but then I thought about writing you and I felt much better. I will write you a letter that flows nicely and is funnier when I feel better. I will send that one from the post office. I love going there even though it makes me feel certain that any letter that passes through will surely never leave. There are dusty stacks of paper everywhere. Yesterday I went to find real coffee and I saw the waiter sip someone's mango lassi from the straw before serving it. It is a funny feeling to laugh inside, just for yourself.