When we went through the neighborhood that Tuesday, we could only manage to round up three volunteers - all guys in college under the age of 18.  So the entire group walked out to a remote fallow field and relaxed while I played the guitar. I laid out the standards – I can strum ‘Jeena Yahan Marna Yahan’ perfectly nowadays after its 3000^th request.  After I recited a couple American songs (they are gluttons for anything involving singing), and transcribed a couple Bollywood tunes off of Balu’s cell phone, we called it a night. 

When we were walking back, I could tell that a couple of the volunteers were talking about me.  Jolander, one of the volunteers, paused and asked me if I was getting bored -- not just about tonight but in the general sense -- with my time in India this year and wandering around and such.  Maybe it seemed like that from the look on my face, because if I am quiet and not especially animated.  Amusingly enough, I was reflecting at that very moment on how simple and pleasing pleasant my time with them hadcan been. So I shot back my standard response, which is never a lie: “nNo, I’m never bored, because every day here is new for me.”  I added how much I was going to miss this place and especially days like this Tuesday.  To me, our Tuesdays are incredibly important, even though superficially we may not be doing much to prevent the spread of HIV.  Tuesdays are important because in enjoying each other’s company, we are building relationships that are more real than any formal or didactic meeting could ever be AND that would translate into a more effective network of peer counselors halting the spread of AIDS.  I took it in stride when they told me it was an honor for them to be with me, because I felt the same way about them. Jolander and the other guys will probably never understand how fulfilling it is for me to be able to share with them - whether it is the guitar, one of my longest-held passions, or conversation, still one of the best ways to get to know anyone, anywhere, no matter what language you are speaking.
Besides, I reminded them, I would definitely come back and visit.

“You will come back and visit after you are a doctor, right, Manish?” asked Jolander. 

I said, “Yes, definitely. And I’ll sit in our clinics and help Dr. Patil and the rest. But I’ll come back before then also - maybe in a couple years.”

And then a barrage of ridiculous questions and statements melodiously filled the air. “When you come back Manish, you will probably have a helicopter to travel between the slums,” and “Manish, does Indicorps have private planes for the fellows, just like our hospital has private cars for the doctors?”

I did not worry, like I would have back when I first arrived, in October 2003.  It did not matter that perhaps the entire point of my coming to India and working with all of them -- the volunteers, outreach workers, doctors, children, self-help groups, and cricket players -- might be utterly lost on them.  I just smiled as we walked on in silence and let their giggles fill our darkening dirt path one more time.