the frog story

One evening last month Chris and I were beginning to feel a little bit lost. There were so many things to do and so many events to go to and we were new and we were just kind of tired. Early this particular evening, a person from the consulate who I like very much called and invited us over to have some snacks and drinks. It was a very delightful evening and we both felt rejuvenated in finding a kindred soul who was encouraging and excited about being in India. From this pick-me-up, we decided to walk home. On the way, across the bridge that spans the “canal” (aka: poopy creek), I found a frog. Of all things. Of course, I captured it and took it home. I mean, what else would I do? I then let it go in our yard and prayed for the best.

The next day I tried to keep an eye out for the frog to see if it (don't know if it was a male or a female) had stayed or took off or what. Then I thought, with horror, that Sival might kill it if he found it. I then undertook the project of trying to explain to Sival that I had, in fact, caught a frog on the streets of Chennai and, in fact, brought it home because I liked it. Now, as much as a person understands English, this might be slightly difficult to understand. I mean, come on. People in the US would have thought that I was insane.

Sival smiled and said, yes. I understand. There is a frog and I am not to kill it. It is your friend. OK, madam.

I still haven't seen the frog again, but I'm pretty damn sure that Sival didn't kill it.