I looked down into my tin cup, dented and scraped from years of use. I saw buffalo milk, white floating chunks, and water from the local well mixed together. It tasted sour, was gritty, and the chunks chewy.

I just turned to Tony, smiled, and said, “Welcome to India.” We smiled politely, grimaced, and proceeded to down the liquid. At least Tony did. The villagers were so excited about his “love” of this drink called “lassi” and made sure that his cup remained full. I just worked on explaining my stomach problems.

I was in India.

1  1