| Author: Mary |
My feet are barefoot in the Hindu temple dating back to the 15th century.
My feet are barefoot in the Catholic chapel adorned with bright neon Christmas lights.
My feet are barefoot on the lush green lawn at ISI.
My feet are barefoot on the roof as they enjoy practicing yoga to the evening sunset.
When I get to my room and I take my shoes off, my feet are barefoot once again.
I have always disliked feet. They are dirty, smelly and if you don't treat them well (or if you are me), they are grossly embellished with calluses. But it is important to recognize the adventures my feet have taken me on here. Though my feet did not physically bring me to India, they have allowed me to be more present. I am not someone who handles discomfort well but through my feet I have been able to adjust to India; the culture, the sounds, the lights, the commotion. Each day, when the uncomfortable feeling of my blackened soles walking on the tile floor in my bedroom and sliding underneath the covers lessens, or when my toes are one centimeter further from being run over by a tuk-tuk, I know that I am a step closer to adjusting to Bangalore.