The Final Chapter
By Mckenna Toston The Guardsman San Francisco is like a ghost town. Dreary and desolate. I feel like I’m in a post-apocalyptic city where nobody knows each other. Why are the streets so empty? How can a bus filled with people be so silent? Why is prolonged eye contact socially unacceptable? How come starting friendly conversation is like pulling teeth? Nothing makes sense here. In India, I was everyone’s sister, or didi. I never...
I left my heart in India
By Mckenna Toston The Guardsman I told myself a hundred times I wouldn’t cry on my last day. I never cry. Why should I now? It’s not like I fell hopelessly in love with a man who lives on the other side of the world, who I’ll probably never see again. It’s not like I left pieces of my heart scattered around India. A piece in the streets of Kolkata. A piece In the temple of Madurai. In the rice fields of Hampi. In the slums of Mumbai....
India will be hard to leave behind
By Mckenna Toston I’ve learned a lot about myself during this trip.. I can go without showering for eight days straight. I can sleep on the floor for two weeks without having one negative thought. I’ll eat anything served to me on a plate, whether I recognize it or not, so long as it’s vegetarian. My stomach is no longer capable of properly digesting anything. I don’t do well in the heat—at all. And I...
Chai tea, a birthday and a rickshaw collision
By Mckenna Toston I was awakened the morning of my birthday by a chai delivery from Sonu, accompanied by a dozen roses, a jeweled ring and a dosa breakfast. And then I got arrested and spent some time in the local police station—apparently it isn’t smart to get on a motorcycle with an unlicensed driver and speed around the city at a terrifying pace. But it was my birthday and I was feeling reckless. After a ride that had me half...