It was through soccer, as usual, that I made my first connections in India. And, as usual, I had brought a soccer ball with me, this time deflated in my stuffed bag. I pumped it up with the help of a neighborhood bike repairman. He set up shop in the spotty shade of a scraggy bush next to the main road, sitting on a rock until a customer came. With a newly full ball in tow, I walked through my immediate neighborhood of mud huts and cement houses juggling the ball in the air, hoping to initiate some sort of interaction. No sooner had I gone twenty yards, when a flock of young kids surrounded me, excitedly yammering in Tamil, a language which, at that point, I had yet to learn. There was a miniscule girl
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