Introduction

I was twenty-three years old and living in India. It had been six months since my last visit with my family and friends, who were somewhere in New York City while I was working with the United Nations to organize a conference on children and armed conflict. I’d been told to live with an Indian family so as not to cause offense by occupying one of their many guest rooms for myself. The house was three hundred years old and it did not have bookshelves, let alone a fridge or running water. The house had no walls, and the open living room blurred into the open kitchen which blurred into the open bathroom which blurred into the courtyard where I’d take my bucket baths—and then outside again into the street where people would sit under umbrellas selling kulfi ice cream or raw vegetables that would get chopped up in front of you by men who looked like they would beat you up if you didn’t say thank you when they handed you your cucumbers: it was wild and chaotic and everyone was very loud all the time—no wonder I didn’t sleep well my first week there!

When I was twenty-three, I lived in an old mud hut in southern India.

When I was twenty-three, I lived in an old mud hut in southern India. It was the perfect place for me to work on my thesis: “The History of American Intervention in the Middle East.” The United Nations had asked me to help them organize a conference on children and armed conflict, and they worked out a deal with my university so that if I would take this job, they would cover my expenses.

I didn’t know much about India at all when I got there (or about anything else for that matter). But somehow being in this totally foreign place really opened up my world view—and taught me gratitude for what I have here in America!

The United Nations had hired me to help organize a conference on children and armed conflict.

A conference is a gathering of people to discuss a common topic. Conferences can be large or small, formal or informal, and they often involve multiple speakers who give short talks on the issues being discussed. The United Nations had hired me to help organize a conference on children and armed conflict in Geneva, Switzerland. Children are people under 18 years old; armed conflicts involve fighting between two groups over territory or other issues.

I was told to live with an Indian family so as not to cause offense.

It was the United Nations that told me to live with an Indian family so as not to offend them. It wasn’t a bad idea, either—I could have some Indian food to learn about it and get a sense of what they were all about.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know anything about India and its culture before coming over here. All I knew was that there would be lots of spices (spicy!) and lots of cows (sacred!). As an American living overseas, I felt like it was my duty to try everything—including eating bugs! So when my host mother offered me some chapattis (flatbread) topped with something called “curry,” I was game for anything that might help shed light on what this country had in store for me.

The house was three hundred years old and it did not have bookshelves, let alone a fridge or running water.

The house was three hundred years old and it did not have bookshelves, let alone a fridge or running water. The UN had hired me to help organize a conference on children and armed conflict. Our team took turns sleeping in this house with no bathroom and we shared our meals as well. The streets were lined with stray dogs—some skinny, some fat; some old, some young; some healthy looking, others sickly—and many of them had puppies or kittens nursing at their sides.

One morning I woke up early because there was a dog licking my face while I slept on the floor next to my bedroll. When I opened my eyes he was staring at me expectantly with his tongue hanging out of his mouth—which made me laugh because it reminded me so much of my own dog back home in America who used to do the same thing when he wanted something from us! He seemed extremely friendly so I decided to take him into our small group meeting that day as a sort of test run (I’d never done anything like this before). It seemed like everyone else thought it was just fine too since they didn’t object when they saw him sitting contentedly among us at breakfast later that morning (which is usually served in between sessions).

The house had no walls, and the open living room blurred into the open kitchen, which blurred into the open bathroom, which blurred into the courtyard where I’d take my bucket baths.

You see, the house I lived in had no walls. It was open-air from top to bottom and from side to side. The living room blurred into the kitchen, which blurred into the bathroom, which blurred into the courtyard where I’d take my bucket baths.

There weren’t any doors or windows either; everything was left open all year round (except for when it rained). You could walk right up to any part of our home and peer inside if you wanted to—we slept on mats on bare floors and didn’t have any furniture anyway, so there wasn’t much privacy at all! There were no shelves or fridge either; we cooked over an open fire outside using whatever ingredients we could find in nature like leaves and bark instead of spices or breadcrumbs while eating off banana leaves instead plates made out wood with rainwater collected in pots during downpours as drinking water…

And the courtyard itself was surrounded by open-air stalls selling kulfi ice cream and raw vegetables that would get chopped up in front of you by men who looked like they would beat you up if you didn’t say thank you when they handed you your cucumbers.

The courtyard itself was surrounded by open-air stalls selling kulfi ice cream and raw vegetables that would get chopped up in front of you by men who looked like they would beat you up if you didn’t say thank you when they handed you your cucumbers.

It was wild and chaotic and everyone was very loud all the time, and it’s no wonder I didn’t sleep well my first week there.

When I first arrived in Mexico City, I was shocked by the noise. It was wild and chaotic, and everyone was very loud all the time. It’s no wonder I didn’t sleep well my first week there.

When you’re tired, it’s hard to focus on anything important or meaningful. So when you’re tired from not sleeping well because of too much noise around you, it becomes even harder to concentrate on your real goals in life—and that’s a problem!

This is how it happened that one night, around two a.m., I found myself awake on a thin mat spread over a hard floor, staring up at the dark fan above me as it swirled slowly around for what seemed like hours.

It was a hot night. The fan whirred loudly as it spun around, filling the air with its soft sound. I lay on my side, staring up at it from the hard floor. A dog appeared in the doorway of my room; he walked over to my bedside and sat down next to me. The two of us were still for some time before he left again, leaving me alone with only my thoughts until morning came and took away both him and his story once more.

Then suddenly a small dog appeared in the doorway of my room, walked over to my bedside and sat down for a moment next to me.

Then suddenly a small dog appeared in the doorway of my room, walked over to my bedside and sat down for a moment next to me. The dog was brown and skinny, with matted fur that seemed like it had been glued together by dirt. She looked up at me with her big sad eyes and then laid her head on my lap as if she were asking me something important. I stroked her back while thinking about how grateful I was that she had come into my life at this time when things were going so badly for me.

The next morning I woke up early after having slept soundly all night long without any nightmares or bad dreams about anything at all! The first thing I saw when waking up was the little brown dog curled up on top of my pillow looking very contented with herself. She yawned, stretched out one leg and then jumped off the bed onto the floor where she began licking herself clean before wandering off around the room exploring its corners.”

Conclusion

I wish I could tell you that this was the first time in my life I’d ever met a dog. But it wasn’t. In fact, before I moved to India, I had been living with my family in New Jersey and had two dogs of my own: one named Reese (a pug) and the other named Mimi (a labrador). So it’s probably not surprising that when this little dog came into my room at 2 a.m., he seemed like an old friend who’d just stopped by for a visit. I smiled at him, he wagged his tail once or twice in response, then he hopped up on my bed next to me and snuggled into what was left of the space between pillows and mattress where human bodies usually sleep at night.”