Setting the Record Straight

We haven't moved. We're still at the nunnery.

I should have mentioned it earlier. People have been asking. But the truth is, I didn't have the heart to tell the story till now.

We had found the perfect little house in Bhubaneswar. It had two bedrooms that were bigger than New York City studio apartments, an additional small bedroom, two bathrooms, our own kitchen, a sizable living room and a terrace. The whole place was newly renovated with brightly colored walls, and we were going to be the first tenants. The rent plus made-to-order meals plus a cleaning service for two months was $8,750 rupees per person (that's approximately US$194).

We informed our supervisor. We informed the UNICEF office. We wrote letters to the university acknowledging that we were taking our safety into our own hands by moving. It was all arranged. On moving day, two drivers came to the hostel, and we packed all of our luggage into the backseat. We handed over our keys to the warden, said a quick goodbye, and piled into the car.

Four staff members, our supervisor, and our UNICEF rep all came to help us settle into our new place. When we and our entourage arrived, the landlord opened the gates, and the staff members started unloading our bags.

Joyously, we entered our new house ready to live like adults again. But then we looked around only to find that the house was completely empty. No dining room table. No stove. No beds. No nothing. Empty. Well, with the exception of the seven witnesses to our aborted plans.

Now just to be clear the place was empty when we first visited it. But the landlord assured us during several conversations that occurred over five days that it would be ready in time for our arrival. That clearly was not the case.

Feeling like the air was sucked out of our bodies, we did the only thing that we could do. We loaded our bags back into the cars, sat down, and had them drive us back to the hostel. The warden met us at the door, handed us our keys and we dragged our stuff up the stairs to the rooms we will inhabit for the rest of the summer.