JT and I return to the market in no time. The walk was pleasant. We seemed to speak about everything, from the weather to the people, the houses, even the trees. Every so often he would point out a monkey or two hidden in a flowery bush eagerly peeking at passersby.

He walked me into this tiny little eatery in a back alley somewhere. The road was narrow and steep, and covered in potholes. The building itself looked quite shabby. For once this wasn't a tin shack, but really not very different. The house was built of solid cement and bricks with ample woodwork. The once white walls were now bordering on grey, and the paint was cracked and peeling. Windows were clean but hidden by fading pink and blue curtains with a floral pattern. Inside, the interior was tiny but surprisingly full. On every laminated table sat a customer or more. I wasn't surprised. If the food tasted as delicious as it smelled, oh dear, I could feel myself salivating!

JT walked to what was perhaps the payment counter and hugged an old woman standing behind. Her salt and pepper hair was long and neatly braided. She wore a typical Indian Saari that was a pale yellow color. Although it was still quite warm in the daytime, she wore a black sweater. She was many shades darker than JT and all wrinkled. When she smiled at me, her eyes lit up with warmth, as if she were genuinely delighted to meet me. Her eyes were the same chocolate brown as JT's, but old and tired. Aside from that, there was no other family resemblance.

"Aunt Jasmine, meet Gwen. Gwen, this is my Aunt Jasmine. She runs this eatery, and she's one of the best cooks around here. She can plate us up a mean lentil curry." He rubbed his hands eagerly and probed, "So Aunt, looks like its house full again! Got a special table for your favorite nephew?"

Aunt Jasmine walks up to me and puts her hands on my cheeks and shakes my head gently, scrunches up her face and speaks quickly in a local dialect. She shakes my hand with both of hers before speaking with JT excitedly for several minutes. I'm sure he blushed, but it disappeared so quickly, I couldn't be sure.

As she led us down the hall, JT translated their conversation for me. "My Aunt apologizes, but she's not very comfortable speaking in English. She would like to welcome you to her eatery. She's offered us seats in the back room. It's where the family dines when they visit."

The hall was narrow, and the paint matched the outside of the house. At the end, a room was hidden behind a yellowing curtain. She lifted it and motioned for us to follow. Here, the smells from the kitchen were more pronounced, and so was the clattering of dishes. Perhaps the kitchen was behind the door at the end of the room.

We took a table closest to the window and a little boy, perhaps no more than eight years old scrambled out from the kitchen with glasses of water. JT shook his head and politely said something that sent the boy scampering back into the kitchen. Couple minutes later, he returned with chilled bottled water and empty glasses.

As he neatly arranged these on the table, I smiled and thanked him. He looked at me funny and scuttled back towards the exit.

"Don't mind him, Gwen. You're probably the first foreigner he's seen up close." JT chuckles at my bewildered expression.

As I cracked open the bottle of water, the boy returned with two steel plates and several steel bowls. He placed these in front of us and then returned to the kitchen. He re-appeared, this time with two steel serving dishes and put them on the table. He scurried back to the kitchen and materialized by my side carrying funny looking Indian bread on a plate.

I admit, I'm not one for culinary exploration and had so far, stuck to sandwiches at the rest house. I was as unfamiliar with Indian food as I was with the streets.

JT proceeded to fill two small steel bowls with a dangerous yellow looking curry that had bits of tomato and what seemed like coriander floating in it. In the next set of dishes, he served himself and me, a vegetable that I couldn't identify. He put the thin Indian bread on my plate and then lifted one for himself.

I am at a complete loss for how to proceed to eat. I stare at JT and hope he hurries up so I may follow his example.

JT catches on to my predicament and laughs a hearty laugh. "First Indian meal is it?" he asks mischievously.

I blush and nod. He goes on to explain what I was served. "This yellow curry," he says pointing to the little bowl on the right, is "daal or lentil as you would call it in English." "And this one," he says pointing to the vegetable, "is a mix of several vegetables, from peas and beans to cauliflower and carrots."

"And this," he says raising the Indian bread," is called a roti. Think a thinner version of pita bread. I'm sure you've tried those before right?"

I nod, now feeling more comfortable. At least I have a faint idea of what I'm eating.

"Here," he says. "This is how you eat," he says while demonstrating. "You break a piece of the roti and then grab some vegetable with it, dip it in the lentil and nom nom nom!" At the end of it, his fingertips were soaked in the lentil, and he didn't seem to care.

He sees the horrified look on my face and laughs yet again. "Not comfortable eating with your hands are you?" he asks.

I'm mortified beyond belief. I can do no more than merely shake my head. He lets out a loud whistle, and the little boy scurries into the room. They have a short conversation, and the boy disappears behind the mysterious door. He returns with a spoon for me.

"Here," says JT handing me the spoon. I must have been visibly relieved because he chuckles again, and that cute little dimple peeks out at me.

After a quick tiny taste, I'm further relieved to learn that the food is indeed delicious. My taste buds feel rather alive with the assault of several spices in perfect harmony with each other, like a synchronized ballet. After weeks of living on crisps and cucumber sandwiches, toast and coffee, my hunger catches up with me and soon, I'm devouring the food.

"Is good?" asks a gentle voice from behind me and I jump in my chair. I wasn't expecting to be watched. That is yet another funny thing about India. People seem to love to stare. They don't find it particularly rude. They are curious and not ashamed to show it!

"Yes, thank you," I replied looking at Aunt Jasmine and smiling a little.

"Good, Good, glad," she says and walks back out.

JT and I exchange looks and chuckle. As I reach out for more of the lentil, he asks, "So what are your plans now?"

I shrug. I had the whole day to decide what I wanted to do. No timetable to stick to, nowhere in particular to be and no one to meet. I could get used to this life. I was here for a new start, and yet I felt like I was on a perpetual vacation. Everything was so uncomplicated and slow paced.

"I did have to meet my bank manager today, but I'm sure a call would do just as well."

"Mhmm, make that call," JT says shoveling another handful of food into his mouth. I'm amazed at the dexterity with which he eats. Not a drop of food falls anywhere. There is no slobbering, and no little drips run down his chin. It looks all so neat and precise. It must take much practice to be able to eat with one's hands and not look disgusting. I'm sure if I tried I'd need a bib or two, perhaps even a new shirt!

I raise my eyebrows at him wondering what else he has planned for me today.

"So where we headed after lunch?" I ask, my curiosity has peaked.

"Mhmm you'll see," he says. He's finished eating and heads to a washbasin in the corner of the room. I quickly empty my plate and follow suit.

We walk back out to the front of the eatery, and he slips in behind the counter and places money in the register. His aunt walks towards us after cleaning a table and smacks him on the head. They exchange words, and he quickly grabs my hand and rushes me out. I barely get to wave goodbye.

Outside he explains, "She doesn't appreciate it when I pay for a meal, but in all fairness, if she served the family for free, her business wouldn't last."

I smile, and we walk back the way we came until we hit the bustling market. We head down another street, and I feel like I'm in a familiar place. The buildings here look like I've walked past them before. When we hit a well-treaded mountain trail, I realize we're heading to the rest-house.

"Taking me home?" I ask.

"Mhmmm," he replies.

"Tired of me already?" I joke.

He chuckles, "Far from it Gwen," he says smiling. "I figured you'd like to wash those cuts on your arm and perhaps grab a change of clothes. I have a fun evening planned since you're not busy, perhaps you'd like to rest up while you can."

Now that he mentioned it, I could feel a dull ache in my legs. I was tired after the run, the fall, and then the walking up and down the mountainside for the better part of the day. I had overeaten and was beginning to feel drowsy. However, I was also having fun and enjoying a real conversation. Not with a bank manager, not with an agent or a guide, and not a simple polite hello with the rest-house staff. This was the longest I had spent in human company since I had gotten off the airplane.

Back home, being a recluse, I hadn't minded the lack of human company, but I still had human interaction to keep me sane. Numerous phone calls, e-mail exchanges, and the likes. So far, JT's company has been great. Such a difference from what I was used to. In the rare event that I had gotten together with Tom's friends, we would dine at fancy or popular restaurants, or contribute to heated political debates over coffee and cinnabons. By contribute, I mean he would talk to his friends, and I would get to listen. There was also the odd late night drinks at a rowdy bar, followed by raucous meaningless chatter. At the end of the shindig, I would find myself fighting off groping hands.

With JT, we talked about completely different things. And sure, there had been some contact. He did hold my hand and hug me, but he hadn't gone further, and I was glad for it. I wasn't sure I was up for anything deeper yet.

I needed a friendly face in this alien world, and I had indeed found one.

I was happy for once and not about to feel guilty for it.

"And then what?" I ask looking at him.

He doesn't answer me. Instead, he diverts the conversation. He points to a tree and comments that the berries it bore were fit for consumption. He looked at a bush and said that was poison ivy. A few short steps later he bent low and plucked a yellow flower from the ground and paired it with a purple flower no bigger than my fingernail and offered them to me. He didn't know what they were called and we decided to name them butter current, after our favorite ice-creams, butterscotch, and blackcurrant.

We were quiet the rest of the way. He seemed pensive, and I had run out of things to say. It was at times like these that I wished I had better social skills. After all, it was unfair that he would have to be the main driver in our conversations while I, the often, mute spectator.

My brain was saved from my probing as the gate for the rest-house came into view.

"So this is you," he says stopping just outside.

"Yep this is me," I said for lack of anything better to say.

We stood staring at each other for a couple of minutes.

"So I'll come to get you in a couple of hours if that's ok?" he asks.

I smile and nod. "That would be all right."

He says goodbye and turns to walk away. Even though I know he's returning soon, my heart sinks as I stare at his back. Suddenly he turns around and jogs back towards me, grabs my left hand and begins scribbling with his pen. He smiles at me sheepishly and says, "Here's how you can reach me just in case you need anything. Ask for Major James, and they'll come to find me."

We both laugh, and JT waves once again before turning to walk up the trail. I watch him for a few seconds before turning and heading through the gates.