Slow down

By Taylor Hanson

Sakshi led us as we walked single file through the single-acre field that her grandparents farmed on. Her flip flops exposed her feet to the bitterness of the winter weather. But she had the biggest smile on her face. I was trailing behind, watching as her younger cousins traced her every step. Kartik struggled to keep his balance, trying with all his strength not to step on the crops that were on either side of him. 

“Chalo!” Sakshi said. 

That was the one word we knew the best. The one word all of us understood. Khusi grabbed my hand and we followed Sakshi to the haystack that sat underneath the guava trees, where the sunlight — when it decided to show — hit your face perfectly. We climbed the ladder that we trusted a little too much and collapsed down onto the hay, giggling as we watched the clouds pass through the sky.

Sakshi grabbed a guava and started peeling it, putting the knife a little too close to her fingers. She gave us the fruit and we ate it together, enjoying the sweetness. As we laid there on the hay I thought about all the things I could have been doing at that moment. I thought I should take a picture of this moment or I should be trying to talk to them. But I didn’t have my camera and I didn’t have a translator. So I continued to sit there and soak up the precious time I had left with those kids. 

That was the best part of my trip. All the moments that we spent on the farm behind the canteen, playing with the children. Even when I had interviews, photos or observations to do, I would always find myself with the kids. I got better at learning to be where my feet are. I got better at not always trying to find ways to fill every spare minute. That’s what Indian culture taught me: a new pace of life. 

America is really good at always moving. Always trying to do more so you can make it to the top. Get that promotion, move to that big city, don’t stop until you get where you want to go. But here, it’s been so different. I’ve learned to slow down. To accept the chai that is always prepared for you and enjoy time in each other’s company. To have dinner at 9 p.m. and not rush through it so you can go to bed. To sit in the canteen watching as people walk up to the counter and then go on with their lives. 

I’m going to remember this trip. Not for the work that we did or the project that we made, but for the people we got to meet and the stories we got to share. I’m going to remember the moments I got to spend sitting on a haystack, on a little farm in the middle of India, with the kids who taught me to slow down and just be.