Love Letters From the Universe

Greetings from Udaipur.

I seem to have made it through FSD (Foundation for Sustainable Development) Orientation. We four interns shared two rooms at Rang Niwas Palace Hotel, had daily three-hour Hindi classes, informational meetings, and tours of the local culture, shopping spots, and restaurants. Our three Program Coordinators took wonderful care of us, and will continue to do so for the duration of our term with FSD.

On Saturday, we all got picked up by our respective host families – like a litter of puppies being adopted. My ride did not arrive, since my host mother had an appointment. So, the other PCs drove me to my new home: Shahnaz Hussain Beauty Clinic (Exclusively For Ladies). I’m living in a Muslim household, in a Muslim neighborhood, just off Fateh Pura Circle, one of the three or so shopping clusters in Udaipur. When I arrived in the stunningly beautiful Hussain house, we soon figured out that Shahnaz is not so much a host mother as a host “didi” (sister), as she’s only a year older than I. She has a very kind husband, and two children: a son of 14 and a daughter of 8. My room is on the first floor of the house, where the salon and receiving room are. The family lives upstairs. There is a painfully sweet young servant, Laloo, who is apparently at my disposal 24 hours a day.

This will take some getting used to.

After living in NYC alone – carrying my own 35-pound bags of laundry and hauling bags of groceries home to cook alone – it’s hard to deal with a knock at my door offering a tray of chai or dinner or the bag of the clothing I, excuse me very much, was urged to have him send out for ironing. (This service costs roughly 60 cents. I’m just saying.)

And when I feel myself wanting to protest, I remember that the world is different here. Having someone else iron my clothing means that someone else’s business is getting work. If I’m here to help in some way, then patronizing businesses is one way to do that. (Although I admit I still clear my own dishes. Poor Laloo has to get a little help!)

Of course the real reason I’m here is to work. Which brings me to the next point: I know I told everyone that I was coming to work with Mahan Seva Sansthan to help develop community theater projects toward education. Apparently, my supervisor, Rajendra-ji, had a better idea: He wants me to write a film script.

You read that right.

I have been employed to write a script for a documentary film covering MSS’s major projects over the last 10 years.

Now, let me explain how the title of this blog factors into the story. I call serendipities – or life’s coincidences – “Love letters from the universe.” When they happen, I see them as guideposts. Something like, “You’re in synch; the universe has your back.”

Most of you know that the way I have been able to afford this volunteer excursion is by taking a decent portion left to me from my father’s estate. My sisters have families, so their portions allowed them to provide for them by putting money down on new homes. I have no family of my own, so I wanted to do something that would make a lasting impact.

The first “love letter” came when I received the news that I would be working with children. In other words, since I don’t have my own children, the universe said, here: Have India’s... (My friends say I don’t have a family yet because I’m married to my work. I’d contest that, but I’m too busy...) But no, now I receive the rest of the love letter that says I get to be in India to apply the work I love most in the world for people in need. It’s almost too incredible to believe.

Of course, now I have to learn all about rural education systems, tribal politics, watersheds, vermicomposting... I’m doing a lot of research, asking a lot of questions (in English as well as broken – shattered, actually – Hindi), and reading stacks of project reports. Hopefully, it will sink in.

If not, I’ve cleared it with Rajendra-ji that I can add musical numbers and turn the whole film into a Bollywood extravaganza (a la “Swades”). At least I think I cleared it with him; my Hindi is so bad...