I make a lot of mistakes here.
I forgot Hamid Karzai's name in front of a bunch of Afghanis. My kurtas are always getting torn and held up with safety pins, and my chai is either 90% water or 90% milk.
Some of the mistakes I kind of like -- mixing up the Hindi respectful "aap" with the informal "tu" so I end up talking to kids like they're my boss. They probably are.
But one of the sweetest things about my community here is that I'm usually forgiven, and the space gives me room to grow. People keep drinking my chai, and encouraging my Hindi.
One time the girls in our sewing class noticed a problem with my salwar pants. In minutes they wrapped a sari around me, made me take them off in the middle of the room, and tailored the problem while laughing at me.
Every day that I stumble, pay too much for an auto-rickshaw, or act like a weirdo in somebody's home, I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be supported, welcomed, and somehow, loved.