I experienced my first front yard two days ago in celebration of Republic Day. Many Indians I know are patriotic, even if they talk through the national anthem. Today marked the first and final performance of Twelfth Night by the students of 6A,B,C, and D. In my opinion the makeup artists put too much foundation on Shreeja. She resembled an abused animal, because of her eyes. My cooperating teacher didn’t eat her fruits today. I recorded our performance with a bad camera. We weren’t invited back, but were told to wait for around half an hour. Mukul’s smile spread through a room of older girls this morning. “Really pale.” “The English boy is here.” I attended a literary festival in Jaipur almost two weeks ago, along with many others who identify with the Fulbright program. I remember feeling good about my Great Ideas major after listening to a seminar by a “political philosopher.” Unfortunately the book I found was lost in the bunk of an auto rickshaw, along with a cake I baked. The second night in the city brought me to what resembled sand dunes, a slum, on the banks of dirty water, under telephone wires, above the buried bodies of pregnant women and children under six. Stephen, a PhD student on his way to the Himalayas, finds peace and quiet there, and relieves himself if necessary. I am the new owner of pants that span the color wheel, including sea foam green. The landlord took the terrace for the day, along with two tables, two chairs, the clothesline, and the scum on the bathroom floor. He left the peels of the kitchen ceiling intact. The New Year took place around a bonfire in a Rajasthan desert, nearby to camels named Mr. Jangles, poets wrapped up in burrito blankets, chivalry buried in layers of pants, a pair who slept with a dog, legacies of dancing on knees, George Clooney the taxi driver, and a warm reprise of those knees in a sleeper bus compartment. Looking back, I’m glad to have walked among all of the blue buildings.