It was one of the most pure moments of my life. The five of us girls squatted on the dirt floor stirring the rice, dal and the innards of an unidentifiable animal across metal saucer plates with our filthy fingers under the persuasive study of our host. My eyes concentrated on the cloudy blend in my water glass, understanding the others' cautious sips, fearing it had been drugged. My apprehension would have been unwarranted except I had very little trust for anyone in this city. Men grope me as I push through a crowd, unfriendly strangers follow me all the way to my front door and it seems every monetary transaction is another opportunity to take advantage of my foreign status. I could see the headlines now: “Five American girls gone missing in India.”