I have been thinking, wondering just what memories of India will last for years.  I think watching the kids see Kanchenzanga emerge from the clouds the first time, or walking into the courtyard of the Taj Mahal will last. But the better ones will be the ones that are meaningful only to me.  Josh and our driver Gabriel are kicking around an empty water bottle and laughing in the parking lot of the school while we wait for Sarah. The sun is dropping to the west and casting the schoolgrounds in a golden hue as clouds drift across a rich blue sky.  I have stayed in the car reading Jhumpa Lahiri stories about Indian families struggling with life in America while my iPod serves a strange randomization of old U2, Enya and Doors songs.

My urge to write this is mostly to cement the feeling that came over me that this would in fact be one of those memories. It may sound pointless in telling, but it may in fact come to mind when I recall how I once lived in India and was happy.  And if in years to come I read this and wonder why the memory lost its signifigance I will at least have learned that you can't predict or plan what memories will survive the test of time.

Shawn