INDIA/ Odanadi: We are children, we will conquer the world

Yogis are some crazy people. They talk about chakras and eat lots of weird stuff and are extremely open about bowel movements. (Don’t hate. We’re in India; it’s inevitable.) But they’re also capable of doing some beautiful things, of bringing people together and shining light on things that may otherwise go unnoticed.

My afternoon on Friday was one of those things. A group of yogis in Mysore have been volunteering with Odanadi, an organization that rescues and rehabilitates people affected by human trafficking, and has a home for girls just ten minutes away from our cozy little home here in Mysore. Odanadi is currently working on building a home for boys as well, since the boys currently live in what I can only describe as a dilapidated shack. So the beautiful leaders at Odanadi worked with some volunteers to organize a fundraiser where we were able to meet the beautiful young women – and kind young men – who lived there.

We arrived by rickshaw and were instantly greeted by smiling faces and a beautiful oasis within the outskirts of Mysore, all palm trees and beautiful buildings and bright colors and laughing children. Throughout the afternoon we were treated to performances by some of the girls, a renowned flautist, and a beautiful dancer. We got henna and ate delicious food and enjoyed beautiful music as the sun shone down on us.

But the true beauty of the day was meeting all the sisters (as they call each other): receiving a tour from the spunkiest and toughest 15-year-old I’ve ever met (“come, sister, come on!” I couldn’t follow quickly enough), getting countless hugs and waves and smiles, partaking in tickles and songs and dances and warm embraces that didn’t require introductions or words or anything more than human contact, than “you are loved. you are loved.” surging through my brain.

I literally cannot imagine what these girls have been through. Not just the small ones, the delicate ones, but the tough ones who look like they could be my friends but have seen a lifetime’s worth of ugliness that I may never begin to understand. I wanted to ask them more about themselves, their lives, where they come from, but I knew that the slight language barrier wasn’t the only thing holding me back. Those are questions I couldn’t ask. Answers I didn’t want. Memories I didn’t want to bring up.