Neha is the youngest of three sisters but also has a younger brother. This is significant and the family stops here for a reason. As with many traditional Indian families, her father, if not her mother, was waiting for a boy. What might in other circumstances have been a joyous occasion therefore lacked celebration, in fact ‘Papa’ was so disappointed to have yet another daughter that he became angry with her ‘Mama’ and refused to even see Neha for a month after her birth, professing hate for the new arrival. It’s of no surprise that Neha goes on to reflect on her childhood as ‘not very happy’.
Despite the controversy of her gender, she says she did feel loved at home, though I personally think this is little more

At the end of 6th standard, Neha was ill at the time of her exams and she failed. Papa was very angry and decided she would spend the summer going to work with him as a punishment for poor studies. The cycle rickshaw he used was heavy and he was weakened by drinking. Neha’s job was, therefore, to walk behind the cart and push. This was not a passenger vehicle, as he now operates, but a goods service and unfortunately, his main occupation was delivering alcohol to bars, perhaps not how he developed an alcohol addiction in the first place, but certainly not helping him recover from it. Mama found work as a cleaner, going door to

By this time, Papa had not just allowed his discovery of Buddhism to improve his own life, he’d shared it with his whole family, who were now all practicing. Neha didn’t take long to fully embrace the opportunity to become more involved in the Dhamma either and became a Mitra of the Triratna order in 2010. She requested ordination in 2016. In 2011, her hard work finally paid off. She heard from her brother in law of a vacancy for a graphic designer at Lord Buddha TV, an alternative news channel based in Nagpur that broadcasts across the whole of India. After taking her show reel to interview, she was offered the job, a role she still more than fills, frequently spilling over into a myriad of peripheral duties with her multiple talents. It’s hard to imagine someone more dedicated to their employment, especially when the small organisation does not always have a smooth cash flow to enable timely payment of salaries. This is more than a job to Neha though; it’s not just an opportunity to engage in her creative passions either. Far more importantly than that, it is a way of helping to spread the word of the Dhamma and help others find ways to ease their own suffering. After all, such teachings affected a great deal of positive change in her own life and to share this potential is a key motivator for her.

Thinking back to our conversation as a write this, a snatched hour round the back of the stupa at Bordheran during a busy schedule filming the talks by Subhuti at the NNBY 10th Annual Convention, I realise that I have, in some ways set myself an impossible task. I can’t write Neha’s story yet, for despite the rich material in her first two decades, her story is far from complete, a fact she is all too aware of herself; this is not a fairy tale ending. ‘Is there anything else you think I should mention?’ I ask, half exhausted already from recording the details of so many trials and tribulations. ‘Yes!’ she responds, ‘My struggle is not finished!’ Every day at work is challenging, with more tasks than she can complete. She’s working on big stories too, broadcasting the talks and activities of some of the most senior order members, so there’s a lot of pressure to do so successfully, pressure that she doesn’t always even get paid for, when a key advertising client has not paid their fees, or the tiny channel has simply run out of cash.

She’s had problems with colleagues as well, and recently encountered difficulties with bullying and blame, causing her to return home in tears every nights for a long spell. Her mum supported her through these problems though, and with this help she found the strength to stick it out, not reacting to or fuelling such unpleasant behaviour. Her skills and good will have also been stretched professionally; she was originally employed as an animator but when her manager left after just one month, her future was uncertain. At this time, she only knew how to work in 2D and animation software but the channel director liked her work and asked her to stay on in a different role, as an editor. For this, she taught herself how to work in entirely new editing software because no one else at the company would teach her. It was a similar story when she was invited to run her own programme.

 lifestyles and cultures. This in itself has been something of an issue for the couple; interstate marriages are not common and it took some time for Neha to ease the concerns of her family and achieve their blessings. Not that I suspect it would have stopped her if they’d maintained their disapproval. Aware of the imminent wedding, and as a somewhat excited guest, I was pleased for the opportunity to grill Neha on a happier issue; how did you meet? How do you think your life will be different after the wedding? What are your plans for your future as a couple? At this, she wrinkles her nose and asks ‘It is important?’ She tells me, after a joke dismissal of the question, that whatever happens, she plans to spend at least the next two years spreading the Dhamma through her work at LBTV. There will certainly be no children in the short term. In the long term, who knows? She remains uncommitted beyond her drive to become ordained, and this is something she feels they will be working for together, as Dhamma practitioners. ‘Maitri tells me we will be a team’ she says, ‘there will not be “your work” and “my work” in the home; we both have jobs, we will share the house work.’

There were other concerns too, of course; any young person about to enter into a lifetime commitment may be expected to feel somewhat anxious about such things and, I realised, when talking as a friend, not as an interviewer, that what from a Western perspective is a distinct lack of relationship experience was adding to these worries. I found that particular conversation very difficult at times and really got the sense that though Neha was indeed happy with the idea of getting married to Maitri, this was perhaps still in the context of feeling that she didn’t have much choice about whether or not she got married at all. ‘It’s not too late!’ I felt like saying, ‘run away with me!’ but knowing that would not be helpful, I contented myself with simply listening to her concerns and making it clear that I was willing to continue to do so at any time. If I can trust anyone to have made the right choice for themselves, I feel sure it’s Neha. She had at one time, she tells me, entertained the idea of leaving India entirely and becoming a nun, in order to fully commit to her practice and avoid marriage entirely. This, she feels is a more sensible and balanced approach that will allow her to stay connected with her family and probably to do more meaningful Dhamma work.

Any fears I, or indeed she may have had, have happily melted since the wedding and Maitri’s promise at least with regards to housework certainly seems to stand true; the wedding was in January, and I received an invitation to dinner shortly after the couple returned from some time away with Neha’s new family. Sure enough, alongside Neha in the kitchen, Maitri was chopping, cooking and washing up too. We had a fine meal, with Maharashtrian specialties cooked up by Neha, (including her first, very successful, attempt at pakora!) and some home treats prepared by Maitri. They seemed happy and relaxed together too, a relief to me, with my cultural preconceptions about equality and gender roles in marriage. Neha is glowing, smiling, as busy as ever at work, but still capable of telling me that she is very happy. Not yet quite a fairy tale ending perhaps, but a very joyful pit stop if nothing else, and it’s certainly a union that’s blessed from the start. There are not many weddings, I think, to which Subhuti, a very busy and senior order member, would fly all the way from Pune and back in the same day to officiate.

Neha is clear that she never would have believed it to be possible for her to be living as she does now. This isn’t a matter of luck though, it’s sheer hard work, raw belief and pure determination that has achieved it. Yes, certain opportunities have arisen for her, but none that would have occurred without her own drive and motivation to realise the fruits of them. ‘If you had a message, for people in the UK who might read your story, if they are Buddhist, or if they are not, what would it be?’ I ask as a concluding thought, unsure that I will be able to articulate her experiences well enough myself to communicate the lesson that I know so many could learn from her example. She looks a little taken back at a difficult question and is thoughtful for a moment.

I’ve met many people in India, many of them have told me impressive tales of triumph over adversity, many of them I now feel honoured to count among my friends. I am sure, too, that I shall return when possible, to continue what I’ve left and that I shall meet many of them again. I don’t think, however, that there is anyone else I’ve met in my time here in whom I recognise that spark of deeper connection, a truly common perspective on the world and of our places in it, the kind of friendship you have where you almost instinctively realise a complete trust that this person will be around for the rest of your life, regardless of the circumstances you find yourselves in or the distances between you. If I think hard about it, I can actually only say I’ve met 3 or maybe 4 other people in my entire life with whom I feel such a connection, who I would call my ‘best friends’ and funnily enough, they all live in completely different countries.

For the ‘lay’ folk, dana, or giving, was important and they would make new robes for the ordained to go off in. This was partly gratitude for the teachings they had received during the season and partly to make their own contribution to helping spread the benefits of Dhamma teaching. For modern practitioners in Triratna, these activities are not so relevant but there is often the opportunity to ‘reaffirm’ the vows one made when becoming a mitra or member of the order. I had received an invitation to one such ceremony in London, but of course would be unable to go, so when I heard that Sheetal was going to a reaffirmation day at her local Triratna Centre, I was immediately keen to attend; not just as it would be my first opportunity to visit the Mahendra Nagar Centre but also to participate in the puja. It would have been an enjoyable activity in the UK but here it seemed like a really quite important thing to do. Not only would I be able to reaffirm my commitment to my own mind, I could do it publicly and let my adopted Sangha see that I was genuine in my ‘Going for Refuge to The Three Jewels’, alongside them and in the same manner that they do. As I’ve mentioned before, though there is much that is at least similar enough to feel familiar in Triratna in India there is also a lot that is really very different as well.

After we arrived at the centre, I was able to relax and enjoy watching the shrine dressing activites. Of course, we’d turned up absolutely on time to an event organized in India so we had at least 45 minutes to wait before much happened. As it turned out, things finally kicked off merely an hour and ten minutes late. I knew I was going to have difficulty following a lot of the day as it would be conducted in Marathi but thankfully, the day started with chants in Pali (which I know, whew!) and a period of Metta Bhavana meditation, which I am familiar enough with to follow the stages of sans guidance. I focused on a few people from Triratna in the UK. I feel part of both Manchester and London sanghas since my move north to south, so I had plenty of people to pick from! Such is the nature of genuine friendships I think; it doesn’t matter how distant you are, those bonds remain true, so happily you don’t really lose such friends, you just accumulate them. After this, there was a full-on talk that I actually couldn’t follow so I made time to make lesson planning notes and jot down some thoughts for myself about the nature of Sangha and the re-commitment I was about to make. Thinking about Sangha seemed especially apt in such a situation, finding myself as I was, suspended in limbo almost (if you’ll pardon the analogy from an alternative religion!) between Indian and English sanghas. Occasionally, I could grasp bits of what the speaker was discussing, especially when he began referencing the Five Precepts using the Pali terms we chant every day. Unfortunately, my studious air and feverish scribbling apparently meant everyone assumed I understood Marathi (I constantly underestimate just how scrutinized ones actions are here; if you do something, you can guarantee everyone’s not only noticed you doing it but drawn about a hundred corresponding conclusions before you’ve even finished.) This explained their confusion and disappointment when I was unable to respond to their attempts in conversation!

Lunch was a predictably delicious affair of rice, dhal, chappatis and subji and we had a full hour to eat it, which I was grateful for as previous experiences led me to assume it would be a bit of a rush! When the ceremony began, I was excited to learn it would be a Sevenfold Puja thinking I knew it well enough to follow under my breath in English; so much for that. It was completely different and I just couldn’t work out which stage we were doing beyond about the third. There was no Heart Sutra and no final mantras. Hey ho.

The actual reaffirmation involved so many people that even just this section alone took over an hour! The Mitra Ceremony involves making offerings to the shrine of a flower, some incense and a candle (representing physical impermanence, the all-pervading nature of the Dharma and the illumination of the enlightenment mind) so you can imagine that for nearly every person in attendance (Sheetal and I estimated about 150) to do this takes some time. Buddhists aren’t best known for rushing things either; it’s a bit at odds with the 'calm and mindful' job description!

Sheetal was keen to know how the numbers of mitras compared with the UK but I found it so difficult to say. It certainly seemed like a greater percentage of those attending were mitras than I might expect in the UK but then it was a day for mitras and India is generally a society in which spirituality is infinitely more normalized. There are four Triratna centres just in Nagpur. Even London only has three. Comparing any aspect of India and England (and I know this is a strange analogy coming from a vegan) is a bit like comparing finest matured Stilton to processed ‘cheese food slices’. They’re sort of the same in a great many ways and yet at the same time, couldn’t be more different. Notionally, one might be qualified to have superior qualities to the other and yet there are times and places where only the ‘inferior’ will do. If that makes no sense to you then that’s fine. I’m still equally confused about really pinning down the differences between my home and adopted cultures so that makes us just about even.

That evening, I had agreed to take our community of young women round the corner to Nagaloka where the esteemed Dhammachari Lokamitra was giving a talk for Sangha Day. He has a great deal of experience in India and is one of the founding members of Triratna (or FWBO as it was) in the country so he is very much respected not just as a senior international Order Member but as one who really understands the local community here too. He spoke at length (though I know it was just a summary) on Dr Ambedkar’s approach to Dhamma, detailing his assertion that it was a way to achieve empowerment, a method for overcoming barriers between people and a key factor in effective governance. Lokamitra discussed each of these from the perspective of how we operate as a Sangha. He concluded by stating that if we are honestly practicing the Dhamma on an individual level and as a community supporting each other in our ideals, we should be an example of the most effectively functioning community possible. This in turn renders us empowered to break down barriers in society and utilise our human commonalities to facilitate the effectively radical, and not just tired old prescriptive governance that is required to really build a better world. To build the world we speak of when we greet each other ‘Jai Bhim’, and call to victory for Ambedkar’s vision of a truly equal society.

So I’d like to say that after a day of all that intense focus on Sangha, the community I live and work with, those individuals who together form one of my three key refuges in a practice that ultimately pivots on cultivating universal, selfless compassion, I’d like to say I came away overflowing with metta (loving kindness) and bursting at the seams with warm, friendly positivity. I’d like to say that because it would be appropriate, it would be ‘nice’ and it would mean I could stop writing this increasingly lengthy update; but it wouldn’t be very truthful.

Actually, I came away wondering. One of the first questions in the year one mitra study course (and one Sheetal, Shakyajata and I had recently considered in a very fruitful study session) asks which of the three jewels we feel most strongly attracted to. For myself, it’s always been Dhamma (or Dharma if I’m in UK brain).

Not just in terms of the teachings but also in another more subtle use of the word that refers to what I interpret as a universal flow of energy of which we are all a part, once we transcend our own egos. This energy, I do not believe to be unique to Buddhism. I think some religions call it God. Some people who might be broadly spiritual but not ‘religious’ per se call it ‘Mother Nature’, or even more abstractly ‘Love’. I have an inkling that physicists call it ‘Dark Matter’ and rather enjoy baffling themselves by trying to pin aspects of it down in particle accelerators. I suspect we may eventually find out it’s simultaneously all and yet none of these things. You can probably tell from this paragraph that I’m rather fond of thinking about it. So, my ‘one’ of the three (not that it’s really possible to separate them, of course) is not Sangha. Don’t get me wrong, I feel communities are critically important regardless of your culture and I spent much of my time while I qualified on an MA trying to develop ways through an Art and Design practice to strengthen community, find commonality, empower people and breakdown barriers. In terms of my spiritual life though, it’s not the most important one. And having heard and thought so much about Sangha, having been embraced so warmly into this new one, I felt really awkward about about that.

So much for quietly hiding in my shell until I’m ready to once again present the version of me that I’d like people to think I am all of the time. And this means that I cannot hide it from me either. I am living right up against the surface of myself and can’t indulge my belief that I’m just a little bit superhuman any longer, not even fleetingly. I’ve never been so aware on such a minute by minute basis of all my mundane shortcomings. Occasionally, I’ve been excruciatingly aware of some huge glaring flaws in my personality but I’ve done rather a lot of work on those thanks to several years of counselling and I find them really quite manageable these days. Until now though, I’ve never been so aware of all the tiny, trivial, apparently unimportant ways that I’m not quite as I’d like to be. I feel as if I am staring into a mirror, 24/7. Not just a mirror of my physical form either, but worse, a mirror of my inner psyche. Sound harrowing? It is. And I find that maybe this is why I am not as enamoured with Sangha as I might have thought I would, or should be. Maybe it’s all just a bit too raw, but maybe it’s exactly what I need to be doing. Six months of life at the cutting edge of my (very new) spiritual practice was never going to be all about lighting candles and arranging flowers on a shrine to the heady scent of incense and the pleasant chanting of melodic mantras.

So, for my own part, my Sangha Day practices have finally amounted to confession, in the sense of acknowledging that I am not always quite the person I’d like others to have to be around and then dana, in the sense of my genuine commitment to give all of that person to both my spiritual community and to those I work with on a mundane, worldly level. It’s also a commitment to give all of myself to my efforts to realise my will to enlightenment for the benefit of all beings. Giving myself completely to that cause means withholding none of it. It means giving myself entirely with both my features and my flaws, my strengths and my weaknesses. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. It won’t always be pretty, it won’t always be dry or hygienic, but it will always be honest and it will always be safe in the knowledge that even when I am feeling at my least acceptable, there will always be a Sangha there ready to not just accept but to actively expect that honesty. And there I find a place to build my faith in the third jewel. Yes, I believe I can, with enough effort, eventually attain what the Buddha attained. With that faith secured, I believe wholeheartedly in the Dharma as a process for getting there. But can I trust those around me to really be there and support the whole of me on the back of three and a half decades of worldly conditioning that have taught me humans aren’t really always that trustworthy?

After lunch, Mark and I strolled out for a further explore of Bhilgaon village before wandering back round to the Nagaloka Buddhist training complex. I’ve pretty much got to the point where my confidence is such that I might have done this alone but it is rather nice to have a companion when you attract curious stares and the ‘Please ma’am, just one selfie!?’ demands. Having said this, I do think that two western faces tend to attract more of this kind of attention in the first place so it’s a bit of a double edged sword! Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable hour while the others rested and our main afternoon activity of a big shopping trip could begin in earnest!

We managed to find Mark’s shirt and my sari (as well as a rather lovely scarf for Shakyajata) in an ‘emporium’, which is sort of like a rather basic (and slightly confusing) department store. To choose the sari, we were invited to sit on chairs at a kind of low stage, upon which a salesman would liberally spill great lengths of rich fabric from their plastic wrappers, plucking them from a shelf behind him when asked. I began to despair; I don’t like shopping at the best of times and there were so many possibilities. Of course, my eye kept roving to the ones that were way outside of my price limit and I was aware that my indecision was not just draining my time but also that of my fellow shopping buddies and the patient salesman. “How about this one?” No. “How about that one?” No. “This one perhaps?” Hmmmm… No. “Ah. How about that one, there, the turquoise one with gold embroidery and a flash of red trim? And how much?” Finally, I’d found the one! Fortified by my mercifully brief rummage, I even managed to spot a dress I rather liked the look of and added that to my purchases, which were confusingly whisked away by the separate retailers as soon as I’d agreed to buy them. Sheetal didn’t seem concerned by this though so I went along with it, watching in interest as the items were scanned and then dropped into a big chute! I was presented with two slips of paper, one for each garment, that I was required to take to a desk downstairs for checkout. On presenting the slips to the cashier, you pay (My debit card worked! Result!), before having your slip stamped; but you are not yet furnished with your purchases until you have visited a second desk, where your items are retrieved by another worker on presentation of your payment receipt. I’m sure there’s some logic to it somewhere but it seemed like an unnecessarily drawn out process to my mind. If that appeared to have exhausted me, I needed to forget it because we weren’t even near finished. I still needed to buy a ready-made blouse (the sari fabric comes with a bit extra attached for you to make your own but unfortunately (or maybe for the best) Sheetal’s sewing machine is not working. I also needed a petticoat to wear under the sari. And to think some women wear these every day! These were thankfully a little simpler to get and I even managed to haggle 50 Rupees off the blouse while Mark located some strawberry flavour Kellogg’s cornflakes and Shakyajata found a kurta and trousers that she liked. Fighting our way up and down Dr Ambedkar Road was a trial however and by the time we stopped by a sweet stall for Mark to go inside and buy some paneer (cheese), we were all exhausted and really ready for some supper!

On Sunday, we have a two hour Dhamma class; Buddhist teaching led by Shakyajata. This is mostly for the students but Mark and I can join in as Sheetal translates into Hindi. This week, the young men came out on the bus to join us and it was really nice to see both groups together, though it did mean the shrine room was bursting at the seams and became almost unbearably stuffy. I confess, I slunk out early; sometimes it is useful to recap basic things you are familiar with but I felt my time would be better spent not draining anymore oxygen from the cramped space so I slightly ashamedly took myself off for a spot of yoga in my room instead. After lunch, we sought some shady outside space at Nagaloka again. We are very lucky to have a local green area, something I’ve become really aware of since Mark’s arrival and residence in the city centre. He’s certainly keen to spend time a little further out of the city when he can. We whiled away a pleasant two to three hours just chatting about not very much at all before heading back for the evening puja and meditation, but the highlight of the afternoon was a very close up view of a Grey Langur monkey, who seemed completely unperturbed by our presence despite our attempts to attract his attention!

After teaching and later consuming yet another delicious lunch involving far too many chapattis, batch cooked at least once a day by Sheetal, who had even thought ahead to leave some for us as she would be out all day, a lull descended upon the house. Those of school age were out and learning. The girls were deep in their own academic activity with Vaishali, Aryaketu’s sister in law and Aryaloka’s computing teacher, up in the classroom. The rest of the family were either attending a staff training day at Indora or being of retirement age were resting from the midday heat, as was sensible Shakyajata. And I was feeling better. Whether it was a cold or an initial reaction to the dusty air, I’ll probably never know but with a less runny nose and an end to the sore throat, I was also finally feeling that any lingering jetlag had pretty much receded. I then realised that I had yet to venture forth alone.  Usually, I like to get out and about independently as soon as possible when I am in a foreign place. On this occasion though, I have been aware that any accidental social faux pas or unintended breach of cultural code may not only reflect badly on me but could potentially cause difficulties for my hosts. I will be around for longer than the couple of weeks I’d normally be in any area for, and I’m probably pretty recognisable so I’ve felt more need for tact, diplomacy and taking time to allow myself a gentle introduction to the geographical and social spaces in which I shall be living. Even so, this afternoon seemed like a pretty good opportunity to start spreading my wings a bit so I left a note explaining my absence and wandered out into the village.

I probably picked a really good time of day because although the temperature had barely begun to dip from the noon battering, there wasn’t much traffic to avoid nor probing stares to neutralise with optimistic congenial smiling. I strolled past a few people lounging in front of shops, the occasional conversation drifted out of shady houses. Even the mangy-looking feral dogs were crashed out in the dusty heat, while cows snuffled at the side of the road beside them, small black pigs occasionally joining in. Brightly coloured saris hung over baked brick walls to dry, chickens strutted nowhere in particular, yet very purposefully and upon spotting a fruit barrow being wheeled clunkily past a lady washing rice on her doorstep, I began to wonder if I might have been accidentally sucked into one of the National Geographic photographs I used to enjoy looking at as a child. Much like one of the strangely leggy chickens, I realised that although I was heading down the road with an apparent focus, I hadn’t thought much about where I was going beyond ‘out of the house’. Noticing that I was on the same route we’d taken previously towards Nagaloka, this then became my destination and I realised I would be finally able to get a good look at the Walking Buddha in daylight. I explored the site quite a bit more and discovered a garlanded statue of Ambedkar too, before bumping into a neighbour whom I had met a couple of months back at the London Buddhist Centre (it’s a small world; at least in Triratna!). After swapping contact details, I continued my amble and found that since I had the time and space for them, all manner of reflections were coming to mind.

I became particularly aware of how much I had enjoyed teaching earlier in the day and I found myself thinking how often it is that you don’t notice problems until they are removed; a bit like when you suddenly become aware that an annoying noise or nagging pain has stopped, without having been consciously that aware of it before. Such are some features of my current teaching experience in comparison to that UK system in which I had become so uncomfortably institutionalised. There is firstly, a much more flexible approach to time. “Better to be a little late than too early!” I was told by Shakyajata when I was about to leap from the couch five minutes before we were teaching. Indians themselves often refer to Indian Stretchable Time (as opposed to the more scientifically formal Indian Standard Time!) and while Westerners may find this frustrating, a less rigid approach to timing (this novelty watch design explains pretty well) does allow a much more perceptive degree of response to the people and situations around you. Is it a little too hot today? No worries, we’ll start class a bit later, when everyone will be more comfortable.

Such were my musings as I continued exploring beyond the boundaries of the Nagaloka complex and back out on to the good old Kamptee Road, finding an alternative route back to the house which ended my constitutional in a neat loop. Though I noticed a steady increase in the amount of traffic coming into the village as schools ended their day, all was just as calm as I had left it at home and I was back just in time for a cup of tea and a chat with Shakyajata, who was feeling rejuvenated after resting. We discussed amongst other things, the content of the evening puja and Dhamma class, sipped spiced black tea and watched a nesting dove patiently incubating her clutch in the nest above the fuse box.
Later that day, as I enjoyed the sunset and star rise from the gentle motion of the swing chair while it cradled me in an evening breeze, I realised that I may finally be learning how to do nothing. In the West, we almost obsessively fill every minute with some kind of activity, even if that activity is passively consuming during our leisure time. We are so loathe to simply be with our thoughts and sit in our experience without some form of distraction, yet it occurred to me today, almost like a revelation, that when there is not anything you have to do then you do not actually have to do anything. The universe truly is a construction of our mind and the way we describe our experiences to ourselves is critical. ‘Sitting on the balcony of a Buddhist colony in India, listening to children playing in Hindi’ seems like quite an idyllic way to spend an evening; however, in my mind, the parallel experience back home might read something like ‘sitting on the balcony of an housing estate in London, listening to kids screaming like cockneys’, which wouldn’t be half so pleasant. Really however, the differences are minimal so I shall make a point of reminding myself that I alone am responsible for my interpretation of the world around me as I process my awareness and translate my experience into feelings.