By Alex Murray

An unexpected holiday is now closing, and the air remains crisp from earlier showers. It has been a most busy two weeks. Ten days ago, Rosenda mam and Jan sir arrived. Two days later they were followed by our gracious associate and patron, Isabelle Lambotte. Our time together was a lovely week, filled with hopes, dreams, and a lot of the hard work required to make everything a new reality. Begun with colorful Holi celebrations and concluded with rigorous morning meetings, our week together enjoyed the most wonderful intermission: a joyous visit to Keoladeo National Park, Bharatpur.

Our adventure began in the early morning hours of Sunday the 8th of March. I’ve not made a habit of appreciating mornings as of late and found myself rather groggy was we approached the Foundation at seven o’clock. Much to the dismay of my weary body already gathered was a rambunctious group of Tushita Foundation students giddy with anticipation for a day to come. Having initially made attempts to calm their anticipation, I was forced to welcome their contagion of eagerness and embraced their warmth as energetically as I could. In short order, the group had fully gathered and we made our way to the two coach buses lying in wait. The journey had begun.

Dividing the group of nearly 80 people between two buses, all of us geared up for the long haul ahead. I boarded the bus alongside Federico, Joy, Veenaji, Isabelle, Ruksar, Payal, Ruchi, and the elder students. Our trip was to take us two hundred kilometers east across Rajasthan. Though our route followed a major highway for nearly the entire trip, travel was often slow going ultimately taking us four hours with a brief stop along the way. On the bus, a party ensued.

Much to my surprise, the entirety of our time on the road was filled with non-stop dancing jubilation. Payal and Ruksar had compiled albums of Bollywood’s recent hits, and no reason was found to start out slowly. From the moment we pulled away from Amer, the tunes were blasted and children with teachers alike swayed in the aisle demanding a liveliness beyond anything I could have imagined for the hour. Honestly, I did my best to conserve energy but often to no avail. Avesh and friends never let a moment pass without physically compelling me to take part in their celebration of the road trip.

It amazes me to reflect on that time of high energy and come to the realization that it really did last nearly four hours straight. There were moments I shook to the music like a fool consumed by too much sugar, times when teachers just closed their eyes in rhythmic embrace, and eras of Veenaji’s release in childlike hysteria. I remember fondly being told to look back by Federico. I didn’t see Veenaji; what I did see were her feet raised to the ceiling rocked by the melody of the children around her. It may have been a long ride, but it was one that all of us will remember with smiles beyond comprehension.

Four hours later with decades of Bollywood hits behind us, the group of students, teachers, volunteers, bosses, and I arrived at Keoladeo National Park. I’ve never been to a bird sanctuary before, and in good faith, I believe neither had any of the students. We reached the spacious wilderness with wide eyes all the ready for whatever was in store. After a brief moment with park guides, in groups of three we boarded a caravan of rickshaws and embarked on a voyage through an India that was. Fields of greenery stretched beyond the horizon; awe inspiring trees lined our path; an inspiring trickle of giggles rode off into an unknown paradise.

Having realized a slice of what we had gotten ourselves into, the Rinku, Amman, and I gazed off in every direction. Not a moment passed without someone exclaiming, “Look!” Majestic kingfishers darted through the skies as spotted deer caressed the landscape. Time after time I felt a sense of amazement to be sharing these moments with the children around me. This was nothing like the village we had all just come from. Canopies of foliage framed our wonder. Under each tree was a creature to behold. Often we stopped along our escapade, allowing each marvel to marinate in our senses. Herons strutted off in the distance. A light breeze fostered the serenity which captivated us all.

Several kilometers into the park, all of us disembarked from our rickshaws and took a moment to stand within the glory around us. Until that point, the group had become rather segmented. I quickly noticed this was no longer the case. Though from a distance forced by circumstance, I have always viewed Jan sir as a gentleman, a businessman, a renaissance man, a respected father, and a loving husband. There within the expanse of that park, Jan sir became so much more. A connection beyond words manifested itself as a beautiful exchange between him and scores of children. They neatly fell into line, in a manner I’ve never exactly seen before. Each waited patiently to spend a moment with him, sharing in his binoculars and ability to appreciate the majesty around us. We were with nature and everything about that scene felt natural. In no time we boarded our rickshaws to continue on, but I’m sure each child will remember the moment they shared with Jan sir for years to come.
For some time more, the group of us rode deeper and deeper into the sanctuary. Children screamed, unable to contain their excitement at their latest find. Near the center of the park we formed a large mass and walked on keeping ever so close to the guides. Every few meters our guides would stop us and explain whatever happened to be within sight. Each child kept close and quiet, hoping to understand this plethora of gorgeous stimuli. Seeing how captivated Rukiya and Sakina were as they toured hand-in-hand with Federico reinforced just how enthralling it all was.

After what had felt like a mere instant, our time at the sanctuary came quickly to an end. Our final moments were spent racing rickshaws, passing one another, slipping ahead as if our destinies depended. Words were exchanged by everyone hoping to be the first to where we had begun. The time at Keoladeo had reached its logical conclusion, and in no time we were once again aboard the bus.

Rather than making our way directly home, a lunchtime feast had been organized for all to enjoy. Shortly after departing the park we landed ourselves at a palatial hotel oasis. A full spread of bread, rice, paneer, vegetable curries, soups, and snacks awaited our patiently cultivated hunger. Quickly, we all ushered through the washroom, cleansed ourselves for the awaiting meal, and dove into the smorgasbord provided. Though many of the “adults” shared a table, I found myself belly-up to one of the students’ tables gorging myself on naan and delicious Indian delicacies. All of us surely took more than we needed, but true to form we reflected our gratitude and consumed it all. I’ve become accustomed to meals like these during the many months past; however, on that day I was worried Vishal and Avesh might need to roll me back to the bus.

As the children finished their meals, the hotel courtyard provided the perfect space for kids to be kids. I casually sat on the veranda sipping espresso as the teachers and I watched over the gang of children making the most of this Sunday adventure. Boys chased girls, girls chased boys, boys chased boys, and girls chased girls. I’m not sure how they found the coordination to accomplish all of this after the day we had all been through, but it was a beautiful sight to see. I have fond memories of the story Federico shared with me at this time. Apparently he too had been relaxing in the shade as all of this was going on, only to be approached by little nine year old Samiyra. Cute as can be, she tugged at his side demanding his attention. Once he finally realized what was going on, he engaged with her enquiring as to what was the matter. As any child might honestly ask, she gazed around the property and asked if we had just spent lunch at Veenaji’s house. As another half hour or so passed us by, we watched the children and Veenaji alike. She was one of us, but also one of them, and for that we all loved her. Maybe Samiyra had believed we were at Veenaji’s house, and looking back on the moment, I honestly feel as though we were.

The rest of the day was consumed by a long commute back to Amer. Once again music was blasted, dances rocked the bus, and Veenaji let her hair down. I’m not sure how we all did it, but we did. That day was truly fantastic. An early morning village sunrise followed by a joyful cruise to destiny. An afternoon in paradise proceeded by a feast in Veenaji’s palace. Everyone expressed what it meant to be themselves: happy and free. The picture which will always remain in my mind’s eye is that of Veenaji, duppatta wrapped into a turban, dancing all the way home with a group of students cheering as peers.