Hit and Run Incident in India
Picking India as my choice of country to Dentistry seemed obvious to me. India as we know, has the best and the worst of everything. Being 18 at that time, and wanting to taste freedom without costing my parents a big fat hole in their wallet, India seemed to be the most ideal.
When I first arrived in India, I submerged my hands in as much sanitizer as I could, as often as I could. The smell, the sound, the people, the food seemed to be worlds apart from what I was used to back here in Malaysia. I questioned my decision to come here on a daily basis, and often would most of my conversations to my family be regarding my intentions of coming home, for good.
As the months passed by, I slowly settled in and I grew more comfortable of my surroundings. I grew fonder of the food, picked up more and more of the local language , spent my time discovering new places and meeting new people. I even learned how to ride a bike! Safe to say, 6 months in , and I was starting to enjoy India, I was having the time of my life.
India being India, especially where I studied had its allocated amount of beggars, and after the initial discomfort, most my classmates and myself even, got accustomed to them as being a part of society. They were happy in their own world, and we in ours, our paths seldom crossed except for the few exchange of Rupees that would occur every now and then. They were harmless, struggling to make ends meet for their large families and we were too, harmless, struggling to make ends meet to pass our exams.
But one day, I did cross paths with a beggar lady, and that day and the events that followed; I’m sure will never leave my mind, let alone be forgotten.
The nights was my favourite time to ride on the streets of India, the roads were empty, people were scarce, the scenery painted serenity. It was peaceful, a perfect escape from a long day of lectures and never ending exams and assignments. I would smile to myself, as the wind would brush through my face,
When I first arrived in India, I submerged my hands in as much sanitizer as I could, as often as I could. The smell, the sound, the people, the food seemed to be worlds apart from what I was used to back here in Malaysia. I questioned my decision to come here on a daily basis, and often would most of my conversations to my family be regarding my intentions of coming home, for good.
As the months passed by, I slowly settled in and I grew more comfortable of my surroundings. I grew fonder of the food, picked up more and more of the local language , spent my time discovering new places and meeting new people. I even learned how to ride a bike! Safe to say, 6 months in , and I was starting to enjoy India, I was having the time of my life.
India being India, especially where I studied had its allocated amount of beggars, and after the initial discomfort, most my classmates and myself even, got accustomed to them as being a part of society. They were happy in their own world, and we in ours, our paths seldom crossed except for the few exchange of Rupees that would occur every now and then. They were harmless, struggling to make ends meet for their large families and we were too, harmless, struggling to make ends meet to pass our exams.
But one day, I did cross paths with a beggar lady, and that day and the events that followed; I’m sure will never leave my mind, let alone be forgotten.
The nights was my favourite time to ride on the streets of India, the roads were empty, people were scarce, the scenery painted serenity. It was peaceful, a perfect escape from a long day of lectures and never ending exams and assignments. I would smile to myself, as the wind would brush through my face,