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The day had been full of long stares, endless questions, and ancient ceremonies. I'm in a village with my new friend Naren who has graciously invited me to attend a traditional India baby shower for his firstborn son Arjun, we met just three weeks earlier at Starbucks over talks of following our passions and the joys of the roads less traveled. With a tired body, a racing mind, and a full spirit I sat in a semi-circle of strangers tucked away in the shadows of a large tent, we shared drinks and plates brimming with food from the night’s festivities. All that morning and even late into the afternoon the woman cooked and served tea, as the men gathered to talk and smoke hookah, and all night the entire village feasted. The moon graciously gazed upon us as we exchanged stories of who we are and why we are here, I’m in the welcoming company of the Jats! The children screamed and chased each other, the women sang, and the men danced the life of the Jats was a beautiful one. Every so often a child would peak their little eye full of wonder and mischief through a tear in the tent, the energy of the night was filling. Never had I met a people so proud of their heritage and strength, and never had they met an African American, our spirits were secretly in awe of each other. As shook hands with each man in the semi-circle, all but one hand swallowed my own, these men with hands as hardy as their history were full of joy that could be felt and easily as it was seen, even in the dark their smiles shined brightly. These Jahts were the descendants of warriors whose strength was only outmatched by the determination of their will. There was neither a shortage of food or questions as every so often a new dish would be placed in the center of the group. We laughed loudly and listened intently to one another, the subtle language barrier made the conversation even more dynamic. The atmosphere was so engaging that my ears hung onto every word in hope that I would recognize a few, we often would turn to body language to express our feelings. When all else failed I would turn to Jitender a man who graciously translated for me as the evening turned to night. The group was full of smiles and rosy cheeks as we drank and toasted to new friendships and fond memories. The drink of the evening was a special whiskey that only members of the military had access to, as they poured me a fresh shot they explained how its strength was so spectacular that most of the men would dilute it with water. As prepared another shot and I stole a moment to get lost sea of stars above, as my eyes fell back to the earth I smiled. For a moment there was silence and then a large slap of the knee brought everything back into focus, it was time for another shot. The group had been shocked that I did not mix my whiskey with water and praised me for my toughness, a lingering skill from my college days. Our night out was coming to a close, as we shared the last of the libations we all embraced. Jitender tapped his friend on the shoulder and exclaimed “invite him to your wedding”, my time with the Jats was only beginning.