The city is an urban oasis, filled with vast biodiversity. In 2016, it began its efforts in developing green spaces along roads and waterways, producing fresh, cooling air in the face of urban heat.

The projects wider impact is like a breath of fresh air. Medellín’s temperatures fell by 2°C in the first three years of the program. Furthermore, there has been an increase of cycling and studies show wildlife is returning- it’s a remarkable step forward by Colombia to combat urban heat and mitigate air pollution.

Medellín is leading by example for cities around the world to adopt this strategy as urban centers continue to expand and temperatures increase. Moreover, the green corridors have been intentionally chosen for their functional use. The 72 species of plants and trees provide food for wildlife and help biodiversity spread, leading to cleaner, fresher air. Bogotá has followed suit to implement green corridors throughout the city, along with São Paulo.

It begs one to ask the question of why isn’t every city in the world partnering with organizations such as Cities4Forest to implement greener initiatives. Why aren’t policies in social urbanism being implemented in major cities all over the world?

Nature is our greatest ally- by choosing to work with nature instead of against it, is in our greatest interest.

For a city that has long been narrated as the ‘murder capital of the world’, it has remarkably transformed itself as one of the most innovative cities. Referred to as the ‘Medellin miracle’, its extensive social investment and creation of public spaces has transformed the city into a leader for social urbanism policies.

These businesses are eco friendly and it is clear there is an ethos of ethics in their mission and products. The focus is on the craft and the hands creating the products more than any bottom line. In a capitalist society like USA, it can be easy to get lost in the chatter of sustainable fashion. The fast fashion industry is one of the biggest polluters to our planet, after oil and gas. Many brands perpetuate the pollution by choosing to create mass amount of products with polyester and synthethic materials. For brands such as Nike, H&M, GAP and countless others it is oxymoronic for them to label their products as ‘sustainable.’

Unfortunately, the adoption of ethical processes in sourcing responsibly and adopting production techniques that are sustainable for all stakeholders pushes up the prices. However, as consumers we have the power to change this reality. It starts with raising our awareness in how we utilize our purchasing power by buying less and thoughtfully.

During my time in Auroville, it was evident there is an element of growth and learning that is always happening. I encourage those reading this article to question their choices in what they choose to purchase.

Fair trade will never go out of style.

The Sandhu’s are family and Bombay will always serve as a piece of home. Upon arriving, we reminisced in the old photos of my family, engaged in stories over a glass (or two) of wine, and ate so much delicious new Indian cuisine I think my nails are permanently stained yellow.

Although Mumbai is overpopulated, polluted, and near deterioration, dreamers all over India flock to the city in the hope for a better life. Work is rarely found, and the pay is usually nothing close to substantial. Nonetheless, people work- and they work to the bone. If traveling by train, it is common to spot women chopping vegetables and preparing for dinner in the time it takes to get home. Six days a week, close to twelve hours in a day is a normal schedule for most of the population.

Despite the hectic life, countless people, and mounds of trash on the sides of the road, I noticed a simple man standing on a street corner one day, holding a sign that read: अपने धर्म का पालन करो और सबसे प्यार करो. In other words, “follow your religion and love everyone.” I was told he had been standing on that street corner holding the sign with a smile on his face every. single. day.

Follow your religion and love everyone.

Follow your daily duties and love everyone. Follow whatever it is you choose to believe and love everyone.

Now there’s a radical idea!

to love everyone…

I was in disbelief as we drove through the dirt roads to my mother’s childhood home. I had grown up hearing countless stories of life in the village. She was giddy with excitement, avidly pointing out each detail of her upbringing- the store where my grandmother shopped, the college her and her sister rode their bikes to on a daily basis, the games she would play as a little girl in the village.

I was amidst a plethora of memories I had been imagining since I was a little girl. The kitchen where my grandmother cooked meals for 5 children, the concrete bedrooms where my mother would escape the searing sun, and the rooftop where the entire village was within a glance away. After each trip to the village market, my grandmother would always offer the bicycle rickshaw driver a cold glass of Sharbat.

Kartar Niwas (the name of the home) was rebuilt by my uncle, leaving it unseen by my grandmother before she passed away. Nonetheless, her unique touch still remains. The home is mostly empty, with little furniture, dishes and clothing but it is rich with memories of love, gratitude and peace. Kartar Niwas is an untouched relic in the village-preserved with humility by its neighbors and cared for by the entire village.

My connection to India through preserving the roots from which I emerged is the best legacy I can hope to leave behind. My roots are vital in having a clear vision of where I am headed.

As a little girl, I would sit with my grandmother for hours listening to her stories about her life, faith, struggles and joys. She was a very strong willed and devout woman- as I grew older I realized she was training me on life.

& I can still hear her stories loud and clear.

I had heard countless stories of how my fathers ancestral home was once beautiful and adorned with laughter, now sat dead and noiseless. My father is the youngest of four siblings. He left India after marrying my mother and settled in California. My grandparents followed soon after to live with us.

During the partition, my grandparents were born in modern day Pakistan. Amidst war, they managed to escape to Punjab, India with as much as they could carry on their backs including a precious gold set- made in Karachi, Pakistan- and settled in Mansa.

My Thaiyaji (uncle)- fathers older brother- and his family lived in the home for many years. It has since been sold. Thaiyaji’s death simultaneously dragged all the life out of the home, leaving the structure nothing less of a skeleton.

There was no gate, no furniture and no remembrance of the fact a lively and spontaneous family once graced the brick walls of the home. It was forgotten.

I consider myself lucky to have connections and memories to places across the world. The last time my father and I visited his hometown, we had the privilege to visit his primary school and meet the local school children. More than twenty years after my father left Mansa, he returned and worked with the school board in providing safe, drinking water fountain for the kids.

Everything in this lifetime is temporary. The best gift we can give each other are happy memories. A healthy home filled with laughter, and sharing stories about each others days over homecooked meals. Our sense of belonging is deeply connected to our home-however you choose to define it. It is our first learning sanctuary. Thank you for my father in choosing to leave his home to risk building a new one across the world. It was an honor to share these moments with him in his hometown of Mansa, India.

Upon my first step into the doorway of my aunt’s beautiful home, I was welcomed with open arms- along with a basket of flowers, fireworks, and a ritual of pouring oil on each end of the entrance gate, which I later learned was for blessings when someone loved comes to your home for the first time.

Despite the exhaustion, I forced my eyes open and hoped my Punjabi was somewhat comparable to theirs. I loved them instantly. We shared countless stories and laughs over butterscotch cake (trust me, it’s delicious) and coffee.

Patiala is a fun and beautiful city, with amazing food, walking parks, castles and shopping markets. It was once a royal city- the infamous Maharaja Ranjit Singh ruled the area against the British. His legacy introduced a period of Sikh cultural and artistic renaissance which is evident throughout the city. Patiala is known for its uniqueness. The Paranda, Jutti, and Patiala Salwar are traditional items exclusive to the city.

No trip to India is complete without a visit to our home state of Punjab. Punjab brings a sense of belonging no other place ever can. This “land of five rivers” is home as much as the pacific northwest is in America.

At last, we arrived. We “showered” (bucket and all, of course), changed our weary clothing and headed across the street to the gated temple. This was not any sort of temple I had been to before. Nestled between the chaotic streets of the city, it was tranquil- rose bushes, fruit trees and the misty green grass adorned the pathway to the altar. We each walked up to the temple with a dozen roses in a variety of colors. People from all religious backgrounds- Hindu, Sikh, Muslim- bowed down to what I later found out was the final resting place of the guru who had passed away in 1969.

I am Sikh, I was raised in the temple and was taught ‘Seva’ is the foundation of our faith in the Divine. My late grandmother had devoted her entire life to this place, and the guru, who is believed to be a direct descendant of the first guru of Sikhism. A guru is a teacher, and no doubt my grandmothers were my gurus. With her dear memory in my heart, I bowed down and paid my respects, I cleaned the steps leading up to the holy place, drank the holy water from the well, lit the candles, and basked in the warm sunlight under the trees, sharing stories of our faith with fellow believers.

With a million questions racing through my mind, a faint thought caught my attention. What would the world look like if we all- regardless of race, creed or religion- could gather with peace & unity to serve the Divine? I would like to imagine the little sliver of land within the city of Jabalpur is a glimpse into what the Kingdom of Heaven would look like. People from all walks of faith and corners of the world can practice Seva. This is the art of giving, with no need to receive. The act itself is a gift to everyone. Practicing Seva is a meditative act, and it purifies our thoughts.

Since visiting this sacred place in Jabalpur, I have embraced the lessons from my grandparents and parents to serve selflessly. I am a dual citizen of USA and India and I make an effort to visit Jabalpur whenever possible, to pay my respects and cultivate my overall well being.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna instructs Arjuna, “dedicate all your actions to me. Then your mind will rest in the Self, free of the wishing and selfishness fever.” The ultimate goal of most religions is to rid us of our ego. When we practice Seva in our daily lives, we can cultivate peace and happiness for ourselves and for others.

Seva is an integral teaching of Sikhism. It is an antidote to society’s current ailments. Practicing selfless, love inspired service, without any attachment to the outcome goes against what most children learn in the West- the ends do not always need to justify the means. The good news is, learning and practicing the Seva principle has proved to be a compass throughout my adult life. Luckily, our ways of thinking are taught, not inherited.

Each of us has the ability to employ our power for the betterment of society. “Sarbat Da Bhala” is the final word in the Ardas-a Sikh prayer- which translates to “may everyone be blessed.”

Roaming the perilous streets of Rajasthan was inspiring, almost enchanting and at times astonishing. There are no car lanes, or rules for the road, let alone the need for rear view mirrors -as my dad so gracefully pointed out to our driver. Stepping into a vehicle feels eerily similar to riding a roller coaster ride. Despite the differences, this still feels like home.

The glistening beads of women’s saris, the slums that barricade the streets of one wrong turn, the ice cream snatching monkeys residing in the trees of Amer Fort were little pieces of my heaven.

India is a third world country. The state of Rajasthan is no exception, much like most of the world, America included. If you visit, you will be asked for money. This is not the type of begging that is evident in the states. This is the type that wreaks your heart, pierces you when you look away, and are left speechless when (or if) you gain the courage to look them in their eyes and say no.

Tonight, I go to sleep praying for two faces in particular. A woman with no hands, begging on the roads of Amer Fort. And a boy who was trying to get me to buy dough to feed the fishes in a nearby lake. Tonight, I go to sleep fully aware of how wonderfully blessed I am, well beyond anything I deserve.

I believe this is the reason my parents faith is so strong. My mom and dad were born and raised in the villages of India. A major reason for visiting India was to better connect with the struggle they went through as immigrants in America. Traveling to India with my parents was a significant missing puzzle piece to hone in on my identity as a bi-cultural individual growing up between two worlds.

After a few days sightseeing in Jaipur, it became apparent I did not fully belong in India. Language and all attributes aside, I was still a “foreigner.” My mother had not been back to India in over 25 years, and felt as if she did not belong there anymore either.

Our sense of belonging is a fascinating concept. As mammals, we look for trust in our environment by surrounding ourselves with a herd, people who look the way we do, speak the same language, share similar values and morals, etc. When we are not accepted by a group, it becomes a survival threat. Social trust releases Oxytocin in our brains and makes us feel good. The same as monkeys grooming each other and koalas cuddling. Ultimately, our sense of belonging depends on our social bonds. Each small act of trust triggers oxytocin and helps build a new oxytocin pathway. With enough repetition, we can build new social alliances , and it feels good.

We live in a very divisive world today. Thankfully, I have learned to celebrate my bi-cultural identity. I can belong anywhere and that is so rewarding. I have not stopped visiting India since sharing this experience with my parents because I believe we can all learn to celebrate our power to build trust. I am eternally grateful to my parents for taking the biggest risk of leaving their home to make a new one across the world.

Jaipur is an elegant city and full of rich history. A place fit for royalty, with its pathways graced by embroidered elephants. The colors were enticing and the heaps of tourists provided for some great laughs. It was the perfect stop before our next destination to Jabalpur, India- a religious worship place that is sacred to my family for three generations.

I traveled to India January 2016 with my parents. This was the beginning of my journey in meeting relatives for the first time and being embraced by my ancestors land. After being hurdled from flight to flight and gate to gate, I was finally en route to my final destination. I had dreamt of Hindustan my entire childhood- a place I had only heard of in stories as a child, and visually experienced through watching countless Bollywood movies. Twenty hours later, we began our last descent, my stomach churning in twists and knots- perhaps a symptom from the flights but this was different. I managed to notice a slight peace within myself, a faint smile began to grace my face. At last, we had landed in New Delhi. And not long after, I realized… I am home.