I think of Hindi as a language of comings and goings, because one of those verbs seems to appear in almost every sentence. As, for example, this question that I hear frequently and with varying levels of incredulity: “Hindi aati hai?”—“You speak Hindi?” but literally “Hindi comes?” (The answer, by the way, is yes, a little—not enough to conduct research without some assistance, but enough that “Hindi aati hai” is sometimes a statement made by my friends as a warning to new acquaintances that they shouldn’t try to use the language barrier as a way to gossip behind my back.)

My Fulbright experience seems to be full of comings and goings as well. After a month at my host institution in Kangra valley, I made an 8-hour bus ride over to Kullu to attend a friend’s wedding. While there, I was also hoping to meet up with some Gaddi shepherds on their seasonal migration down from Lahaul to the plains (I’m researching wool production in the Himalayan state of Himachal Pradesh). So after “how have you been?” my second question when greeting old friends was, “have your sheep come yet?” They hadn’t, but should be coming any day now….any day now…until my 2-week sojourn became a month and I started to hear that the sheep had already come and gone. I had been able to meet with one shepherd, who let me watch him shear a few sheep and buy their wool for some experiments. But I decided I had better head back to Kangra, which required a couple days of preparation as I made the rounds to return borrowed knitting needles, drink many cups of chai, and say my good-byes. I felt like I was just settling in, and it’s time to move on. Back in Kangra: have the sheep come yet? Yes, I missed them, no, they’re on the way, maybe they’re in Raj Gunda? Maybe Bir?

Arriving in Kullu had felt like coming home, as I’ve spent several months there before and have basically been adopted into a family there. I was surprised to feel the same upon returning to Kangra, even though I’d only been here for a month. In my absence the rice has all been harvested, and the terraced vegetable patch that Praveen had been digging is now sprouting a fine crop of peas. But the more things change, the more they stay the same—when I got to the mess hall for breakfast, Saroj Didi beckoned me into the kitchen for a Pahari dance party; the kids at the learning center greeted me as “Octopus Didi” and launched right into the song I had taught them about sea creatures; and the only auto in town still hasn’t budged an inch. And the sheep will be coming any day now, any day now, unless they’ve already come and gone…

(photos courtesy of Swati Parwani)