It was a crisp morning in New Delhi. Early March is easily considered winter in India, but it was a nice 75 degrees that day, which, at the time, I considered to be somewhat warm. Little did I know that 118 degrees was in store for the coming months. This easily explains why people were staring at my short-sleeved kurta, a traditional Indian blouse, as I made my way to school.

I wound my way through the busy streets by auto rickshaw. The path to school was so confusing that I needed friends to help me for at least a month. From open, busy highways to alleyways filled with people, it was almost impossible to get a grasp on where I was. Although my path occasionally changed to get there, at least one thing stayed the same.