I think it would be fair to say that there are moments in everyones' lives that lead them in a certain direction, shape who they are, and impact the way they relate to others on a daily basis for the rest of their life. Of course, this may not be internalized as being so powerful, and even less so are we aware of the effects that such an experience can have, but in thinking back to my moment of profoundness, I relive the experience. I get the chills in my spine, the increased heart rate, and a tear in my eye. But will this vision last forever? Surely the impact will never leave me.

That Tuesday morning with Julie is fresh in my mind. I had just gotten back to the ship the previous night after exploring Southern India, and had such confusion fulfilling my every thought and emotion. India was just so...um, well, that's the problem - India was indescribable. I loved it and hated it. I felt old and young, experienced and clueless, and rich, selfish, sorryful, dirty, and most of all, uncomfortable. I just wasn't fulfilled with my lack of connection with India, and my emotions were so unsettled.

I looked out my porthole wondering what the day would bring, one last full day in this land of wonder. And as I pondered, my stomach craved breakfast. I went downstairs and got a plate full of eggs and potatoes with some orange juice, and sat myself down next to Julie. She was always fascinating to engage in conversation, a professor of art history. Such a subject encompassed so much more than art in itself, but, today Julie was not herself. She was quiet, but in no way held back the emotion behind her anger and confusion, and her lack of motivation to just go sightseeing. She needed more. Julie, too, felt that disconnection with India that I felt.

We saw kids with legs too small, or legs to big, even no legs at all. And mothers with no food for their kids. Kids without mothers, kids without homes, or shoes or watches, and we had it all. We were rich, we were Americans, and we just invaded with our huge and pristine, white, floating paradise, eating eggs and potatoes. Why were we here? To avoid these people in search of the Taj, or the temples? Maybe for bargains on jewelry and chess sets. Whatever we were looking for, we hadn't found it yet.

Julie was depressed and scared, but wanted to desperately help these people. I, too, felt selfishness and helplessness, turning down those pregnant women asking for spare change and all the others. We decided to go outside - with a few dollars, our cameras, lots of resistance, and a little bit of hope.

What were we doing? And why? Could we really help these people? We held our cameras firmly to our chests as we left the port gate, and ignored the calls for money from kids, the insisting rickshaw drivers, and the crying mothers. We just kept walking, to the right, and up that street over there, and into a bank for escape from their begging. But when we went outside the crowd had dissipated, and we were away from the chaos. We wandered around some streets and stopped to look at a woman sweeping the pavement. Back and forth went the dirt as she spread it to new areas. Why was she doing this? Was she getting paid to spread out the filth? It seemed meaningless, that someone would spend their day doing this. I pointed my camera a took a picture, and she looked up. Perhaps nobody ever paid attention to her, let alone take a picture. Or maybe my taking the picture upset her for that may be all anyone ever does. I walked away wondering.

Then we came to a few kids and a mother laughing and smiling in the back of a cycle, and the man pedaling along got out and greeted us. We were hesitant to stop and talk because we didn't want beggars, but these people just wanted to say hi. And so we did, too, and then we told them where we were from, our names, and suddenly we started smiling. We learned about each other and made new friends, and they were honored to have their picture taken by us.

As we walked, we kept the smiles, and suddenly India lit up with excitement. People waved at us and we waved at them. Some were sewing, and laughing, others working and eating fresh fruit.

And we started to notice things about those streets in Madras, how there was intricate architecture with French arches, and little huts in front of it with garbage and some roosters roaming around. I had never seen anything like this before.

There were naked kids playing in the streets, and laughing at each other and especially at Julie and I. There were families sitting with one another, asking if they could talk with us. And how their eyes got bigger and their smiles wider when we talked back. Perhaps they never got attention from people like us, and surely we had never gotten attention from people like them. They, too, wanted a picture.

I'll never forget the man that had just woken up from his nap on the back of his cyclo. I smiled as he fixed his hair in the small piece of mirror he kept so dear. And that young boy standing near him, so fragile and frail was he, with his belly out like the American hunger commercials I've seen.

Julie and I looked at each other as these wonderful people asked for money, but we had vowed not to give money. We felt so bad as we pulled ourselves from their desperate grasps and hungry smiles. As we kept walking there were more and more people, wonderful people, hungry for anything, and we stopped as we approached a Hindu temple. This beautiful structure was nestled between stores and little shops, and there was a straight line of older people sitting on the ground, some with kids, and all in need. Some were so deformed they didn't look human or alive.

Julie and I couldn't keep ignoring it, we were human and we were alive, and therefore we needed do something. We shaded ourselves from the heat in a small little store, and bought ourselves and others some Coca-cola for 15 cents each. As we paid the nice man we glanced at the huge jar of cookies on the counter. "How much for the cookies?," I asked, but he didn't undersand. Julie gestured at the cookies and the money, and so he took a coin or two and gave us a a few cookies. Julie and I looked at each other and we both knew what would come next. "How much for the whole jar?" Again he didn't understand, so we picked up the huge jar and pointed at the whole thing. He didn't get it, though, or he must have thought we were crazy because he started laughing. We dumped them all in our plastic back with the others and he took some more coins and a bill. He couldn't believe anyone would do such a thing. So we thanked him, gave him a cookie and a smile, and started walking.

We looked at the line of people by the temple, and approached them with cookies in hand. We kneeled down, said hello, and gave a cookie. I smiled as a beautiful old man looked in my eyes and bowed his head. I had never until then communicated with someone so well.

The next in the line was gracious as well, and she pointed at her son, he wanted two. I gave him three.

It made the people so happy, and it made us feel wonderful. We took pictures and smiled, and hugged the people, and we were the party on the street that morning. But as I stuck my hand in the bag I felt nothing. The cookies were all gone, but there were so many more faces and smiles and hands. Julie spotted another little store. Again, we struggled to buy all the cookies, and there were bunches of kids waiting for us.

Now Julie and I split up for more efficiency, and we joked with the kids. They came back with their sisters and brothers and friends, and crowded around us. They wanted pictures taken and hugs and hellos, and at one point Julie looked over towards me and I was gone. I had been taken down by the kids in all the excitement, but I finally got up again, laughing.

We met so many people that day and brought joy to them all. Julie and I struggled to get out there that morning, but it was so much harder to leave them. What would our new friends eat tomorrow, and who was going to smile and laugh with us like they did?

That Tuesday morning with Julie changed me, the way I act with myself and others, and what it means for me to live. Thank you Julie, and thank you to all that tasted the sweetness in the cookies. I'll never forget the power of a smile.