24 March 2025
Today, I finally began to feel like myself again. Last night, I joined my new roommate—an Indian girl experiencing dorm life for the first time—for dinner in the city. Emma was also slowly recovering, and though I wasn’t quite up for long walks, my new neighbor invited me to drive around the city with her and her boyfriend. He had a car, a sharp wit, and within minutes, had me laughing with his smart remarks. It felt good to laugh again.
We cruised through the brightly lit streets of Jodhpur and stopped at a little street café for pizza, burgers, and cold coffee. It was simple, light-hearted, and just what I needed. I was quietly hopeful that the coming day would bring more healing.
Lisa and her friend Anna had arrived in Jodhpur too—Lisa’s artist residency at Shri Jasnath had come to an end. The two of them were off on a short tour of India before Lisa heads home, and they invited me and Ulla (another kind soul from the ashram) to join them for a relaxing afternoon at their hotel.
But this wasn’t just any hotel—it was a former palace. The grounds were stunning: lush gardens, charming yet luxurious “huts,” a sparkling blue swimming pool, and staff ready to meet every need. For a few hours, we lounged like celebrities, soaking in the comfort and calm. After a round of strong coffee and a quick change of clothes, we headed out to explore the Blue City once more.
Their local guide, eager to impress, led us through a winding maze of spice stalls, vegetable shops, clothing stores, and hidden gems. Just as we were making our way back to the iconic clock tower, he made an unexpected turn down a quiet alley. We asked where we were going and he smiled—“You’re coming for chai at my home.”
We climbed up to the rooftop of his house where his lovely wife welcomed us with steaming cups of chai and delicious homemade snacks. As the sun set over the city, we shared stories and laughter. One that stuck with me: he told us he met his wife in a stationary shop—she was buying a pencil, he was looking for a sharpener, and he said to her, “Why don’t we just get married then?” It wasn’t true, of course, but it made us giggle.
Eventually, we said our goodbyes and made our way to a rooftop restaurant Ulla had recommended. The view of the fort was breathtaking. We shared a giant traditional thali that fed all four of us—rich, flavorful, and surprisingly affordable. I’m constantly amazed by how food prices vary in India. Expensive doesn’t always mean good, and cheap doesn’t mean it’s lacking.
As we walked back through the buzzing streets, exhaustion began to settle into our bones. We were ready to return to our rooms, shower off the city dust, and slip into the comfort of sleep.
But before I drifted off, a quiet wave of gratitude swept through me. Spending this time with Lisa one last time was a gift. Somewhere in these past few weeks, through quiet conversations and shared moments, something in me had begun to heal. A mother wound I hadn’t even fully acknowledged was being soothed.
It’s always been hard for me to connect deeply with other women, but this trip—this experience—has started to shift that. As I travel through India as a solo woman, I find myself opening, softening, trusting. I’m feeling both the ache of goodbye and the deep joy of what’s been shared.
And in that sweet, tender space—tears and all—I know something profound is unfolding.
