I lie there, rocking back and forth. Below me are the strands of yarn, laced and twined together into harmony to form a hammock.

In the distance are the birds of summer that came to sing. They sit perched up on the sprouting leaves of summer. In the ground, they were spinning and tossing the ribbons of their songs into the air. I have nothing better to do than listen to the music of India’s memories.

A soft warm breeze caresses my skin and ruffles my braids like a thousand feathers embracing my face. I gracefully sit up, as the sand oozes between my toes warming them and feeling as if I had just dipped them into a steamy Jacuzzi. The sun creeps up my bare legs, slowly crawling its way up to my thighs, my waist and my eyes. The rays warm every inch of my skin.

India is the place I can feel the warm breeze on my skin, learn the cultures, and savor the beauty of the country. I think of the holidays I celebrate with my family like Diwali.

My interests lead me to take joy in this country that I love. I enjoy things with my heart, not with words.

India is something I can’t put into words.

I can feel myself slice into the turquoise waters, watching the rays shoot into the depth. I feel the wind snake an invisible arm around my neck.

India is the place where the deep turquoise waters are calm and still, rippling and creating a lullaby of light trickling through the heavens. The sand drips from my fingers when I grasp it. In the background I hear foreign chatter. Language fills the air, fast and fluent in mid- speech. Cultural music winds its ways into my ear, bouncing across the waves.

India is a place where the warm breeze calls my name. Sparrows sparkle in the branches, as do the rays in the sky. A slight aroma of hydrangeas fills the air. As I stand facing the lake, I know this is it. I stand there staring at the water. The rays caress ripples and tango about the river. The sound of the water implants a sense of serenity in me. I shut my eyes.