(The woman in the field/Brianna Sacks)

While staying at the Ananda Ashram, located about 45 minutes outside Pune, India, down a rock-ridden, dusty road, I was reminded of how rare it is to be almost utterly alone in a throbbing, crowded society.

On my second day dousing myself in spiritual affirmations and sunrise meditations alongside about 20 Westerners and Europeans, I took a walk. I wanted to feel an aspect of India even more foreign than overflowing Mumbai—rural India.

Ten minutes in I noticed a swath of bright, worn fabric gliding through the dense hillside followed by a meandering goat. An old, leathery woman emerged onto the lonely road. I followed the pair at a distance, acting as inconspicuous as the only other person around who happens to be a white American woman holding a camera can be.

Soon, she dipped down into a small field, joining another woman.

I don’t remember the last time I sat and just watched someone work. Watched someone go through the motions of her daily existence. Today the women were picking a puny, shrubby plant that yielded a pod resembling a chickpea. I edged closer to them and the munching goat, and sat down. Their heads lifted, but they continued down the rows as if I was one of the thin cows gnawing on grass nearby--insignifcent.

For the first time, I had a dwindling afternoon to watch red, dust freckled feet move back and forth. Watch backs arc and straighten. Listen to cow bells tinkle and these rural, working women chat. I was there, part of the routine, but not really. I could not speak to them, and they had no interest in me.

After 15 minutes or so I rose to leave, nodding “thank you.” Unexpectedly, the older woman tittered at me, ripped several itchy stems from the rows, walked over and put them in my hand. I didn’t know what to do with the ugly bushel. I tried smelling it (disgusting), tried handing it back (she didn’t take it). I stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before giving an idiotic thumbs-up sign and then climbed back to the empty road clutching my gift.

So I ended up back at the Ashram with a handful of smelly, alien chickpea pods and the disturbing, but oddly comforting realization that in this country, you are never completely alone.

Reach Editor-in-Chief Brianna Sacks here