by Rynn

“Chennai,” I tasted the word thoughtfully.

The city was well foliaged. I know that not only from my bus view, but because I had watched in excitement as we’d flown in on the flight from Pune to Bangalore to Chennai. I also knew that there were many lakes and marshes.

The air was thick with damp and the heat was pressing. Sweat had already made my Punjabi sticky and uncomfortable.

“Hello, Chennai,” I murmured as signs and posters flew past. Every available space of wall was plastered heavily with posters and political paintings—some of the same over and over.

“Woah!” Travis suddenly yelled, half standing in his seat to see better. “They stay in their lanes here!”

Everyone whirled to the bus windows to look.

“Well, mostly.” Travis admitted after a few moments observation.

Chennai, while still in India, is about as similar to Pune as China Town is to Boston. Tamil, the regional dialect, sounds nothing like Marahti. The words are more complicated, staccato rather than the round tones of Pune.

“It feels like an entirely different country,” I whispered to Hattie.

“Even the rickshaws look different,” she replied. It was with a profound sense of loss that we saw less than half the normal amount of rickshaws. And the ones we did see just didn’t look quite right. I did not realize how deeply attached to rickshaws I have become.

There are many adjustments to make as we stay here in Chennai. Our housing is all one flat—with one bathroom.

Instead of focusing on one children’s home like the Hope of Glory Foundation, we are holding open air evangelism services almost every day. We also visit two orphanages once a week. On Sundays we are responsible for two services in churches.

Yes, new things are going on.  I’m proud of how we pull things together no matter the situation, how little time we have. We’re learning to be flexible, whether with ten minutes prep time or ten hours!