Growing up in India was not easy.  We co-existed with rats, mosquitoes, flies, cockroaches, and even snakes.  But the most difficult part, is that we all fought for access to clean water in India. 

When I was young, my parents couldn’t find a home they could afford, because my father worked for a church and made a very small salary.  During that time, the only place we were able to live, was inside the church he was working.  It was a small space within the church, and our “rooms” were separated by a bamboo mat that hung from the ceiling.   My sisters lived on one side of the room, while my parents lived on the other side. With no where else to go, I would sleep on the floor in front of the altar.

Outside of the church building was a shed which housed a small, modest, kitchen.  There wasn’t a stove, refrigerator, sink, blender or anything else we normally would think should occupy a modern kitchen.  But my mom was so creative, and loved making all kinds of food for us there.  Everything was made from scratch and was cooked over firewood, on an open flame.  I can still remember the smell of the firewood burning as she prepared meals for our family.

In addition to water being the biggest struggle we had living in India, was the lack of bathroom facilities. My dad would ride his bicycle about 2 miles every morning to a church member’s home to use their bathroom. My mom, my siblings and I, would go to the bathroom in the open wooded area in the back of the church, near the trees.  This was our normal, daily routine.

This may sound unusual, but finding places to go to the bathroom was not as difficult as it was to find water. When we needed water, we were forced to ask other people if we could use water from their well.    We felt like a constant nuisance using other people’s wells. We felt like we were always walking on eggshells, not knowing if we would be banished from their water well.  It was fearful to think about struggling to find water all over again. One day, a Hindu neighbor from across the street heard about our situation, and invited us to use her water well. She told us to use their well whenever we needed it and to treat it like our own.  She was a very kind and noble woman who lived with her son, his wife and their 2 children. Their entire family treated our family as their own and we did the same.   

Each morning and evening, my sisters and I would cross a busy street to help my mom by fetching the water for her.  The well was a large hole in the ground. We would have to lower our bucket, which was tied to a rope to gather the water. We would carefully pull the rope up trying not to spill any of the water inside the bucket. We were so grateful for this neighbor’s generosity towards our family.  Although she was from another religion, we co-existed happily as one family, sharing a mutual love and respect for one another and our differing religions. The kindness this Hindu woman showed me is etched in my heart forever.