India can only be described as a smorgasbord - of sights, sounds, smells and tastes, with a range that's broad enough to please travellers with the pickiest of palates. Since finishing my internship and arriving in India, I've seen the posh high rises and sprawling slums of Mumbai, tasted the tantalizing masala dosas and idlis of Chennai and Bangalore, and gazed in awe at the majestic forts and vast deserts of Rajasthan. And that's just a meagre sampling of the many experiences that India has to offer.

But regardless of how many photos I snap, I know that, ultimately, my memory of India, and in fact, of any place that I visit, will be centred on the people I meet and my interactions with them. In thinking about that, I've lost count of the number of times I've met people on the street, in the market, on the train, etc. and been treated as if I were a long-lost friend - invited to share a meal with their family, shown around their neighbourhood, and given some sort of small gift just for "awarding" them with my company. The same applies to the all the instances when I've been even slightly lost or confused - someone would inevitably appear, sooner rather than later, to point me in the right direction, and often, personally escort me there; Granted, some of the treatment I've received can be attributed to curiosity - an Indian who can't speak the national language, travelling solo, seems to be a guaranteed crowd drawer. But that reason doesn't account for all of it - for example, the genuine interest in their voices when they ask questions about me and my family, the sincerity of their warm wishes and invitations to return again soon, and their refusal to accept either thanks or payment in return for their hospitality.

It's made me think about the term "less developed country," or LDC for short, that's often used to describe countries like India and Bangladesh where vast portions of the population don't have their basic needs met. In terms of standard of living, developed countries obviously win, but what about kindness, caring for one's neighbour, and performing unselfish acts? All of those are traits that I've seen personified over and over again in this part of the world, but sadly, seem to be disappearing from the Western world, where the name of the game is about looking out for No. 1. I hate to point the finger at capitalism, since it's already blamed for so many of the wrongs in the world, and also because it's what's fuelling India's and Bangladesh's growth into increased prosperity. But it seems obvious when I compare my experiences in these two very different parts of the world that, although the LDCs are obviously lagging in many important areas, the developed societies have also lost something in their drive toward material wealth - it's difficult to put a label on what exactly that "something" is; perhaps the best way to describe it is a powerful sense of community that extends beyond just immediate family or friends, and even past the town or city borders.

This isn't meant as a condemnation - I'm as guilty of the "don't even know your neighbour" phenomenon as anyone else. But I know that when I get back home, I will make an effort to change that. Because, just like the end goal of development should be focused on improving people's quality of life - a measure that has many dimensions - I've learned that connecting with people, whether they're right next door or halfway across the world, can't help but enrich the quality of mine.

Image gallery from Raksha and Helen 

After two months in Kenya, I experienced an unexpected culture shock.

It was not the living conditions in the slums, or the policemen who take leisurely strolls around town holding their giant rifles, or the riots, or the tear gas from the riots, that gave me this unsettling sentiment; but the lavish lifestyle of the wealthy.

Recently, my work - the Youth Centre-Nairobi - ran a VCT and clinic outreach program in a small slum called Mitumba to provide testing and curative services to the local population.

The informal settlement houses around 4,000 residents, and there exists a jarring contrast between the settlement itself, and the fancy, Western-style housing - equipped with satellite dishes - directly adjacent. They are separated merely by a wall with barbed wires.

It is a well-known fact that almost every upper- and middle-class residential area in Nairobi has a slum nearby, but this is the first time I witnessed such proximity. An irony lies in the fact that many slums exist due to the beautiful residential area next door - these are the workers, and their families, who were hired to construct those houses; and it is more economical for them to build their own shacks next to work rather than commute on a daily basis.

Much aid has been poured into the larger, famous slums such as Kibera and Mathare, but the smaller slums such as Mitumba are still neglected. There are no water pipes or electrical wiring running through the area, nor is there proper waste or sewage treatment. The lack of access to clean drinking water has led to a cholera outbreak. It is one thing to read about cholera in "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and it is another to be told explicitly to avoid food from the area due to the possibility of contracting the disease.

On the open field where we set up our tents, one could see a giant water tank. It was a project initiated by the local MP to give the community a means of storing water. Unfortunately, the project was never completed, due allegedly to corruption, and now the walls are cracked in ruins. I am still not sure how to reconcile this image with the beautiful houses on the other side of the wall.

The next day, I attended a meeting at a place called Village Market elsewhere in town. I was not prepared for what I saw - a large-scale mall with architecture reminiscent of that found in sunny California: an open-concept verandah with food courts selling dishes at double or triple what I spend weekly on food; fashionably dressed "wazungus" walking around with sunglasses and high heels; high-end retail stores such as Mango that are found in North America; and fountains. Fountains for aesthetic purposes with free-flowing water. And two koi ponds. The entire city of Nairobi suffers from water shortage problems with water frequently and regularly cut to many parts, but this mall, catering to wealthy locals and foreigners, has water for fish.

In Mitumba, I could not eat, because of the looks the children would give me as I ate. We gave a banana to a small boy (at left is a photo of him eating the banana).

I know the world is not just, but reading about injustice and inequality on paper, and witnessing it within 24 hours, are completely different stories. I have not shaken the haunting emotional impact of experiencing Village Market right after Mitumba, and I hope I do not forget it.

I never before grasped the great fortune of having the ability to drink the water that comes out of my tap. I cannot say I really do now, either. I have only caught a glimpse of the other side, and only begun to grasp how lucky I am, how lucky we all are.