This is David. We worked together at the Copenhagen Consensus Center. This is my most common sight when I’m with him: his eager face beaming from across a table. We eat a lot of food together.
This mealtime was special for two reasons: 1) We were sitting on cushions on the floor; 2) We made the food ourselves (what’s pictured is not real food).
David recently married. I attended his wedding ceremony, which was in German and Hungarian. I asked him about married life at a rooftop bar in Udaipur. His response: “It’s great.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s settled. I wouldn’t say this 5 years ago, or even 1 year ago, but it’s nice – especially when you made the right decision.”
David loves his wife. He loves food, preparing it and eating it. He loves playing in his football club with his mates in Budapest and going out for drinks with them on the weekends. He works hard, gets paid well, and is happy with his life. I think he’s going to be a good father.

This is someone whose name I can’t recall. I think He told me once, when we first shook hands, but I’ve forgotten it. Maybe it’s wrong to say, but I’m not sure his name really matters to this story.
He is “the boy upstairs who cooks for me,” according to the manager of Bhavyam Heritage Guest House in Jodhpur, Rajasthan. Every time I was there, He was there, too. Turns out He lives in a tiny room on the rooftop of the guesthouse. He’s got a nice morning view but not much space and not much protection from the elements.
He liked me for some reason. Every time I walked up to the rooftop, I was greeted with: “Hello, friend!” and a huge smile. He would come over, shake my hand, and start naming parts of the body in English. I taught Him the words, “chin” and “shin”. He said them as our farewell.
On my last day, when I was alone, he told me the prices I should pay for 1 kilogram of tea and a 10-pack of socks. Apparently, prices in Jodhpur are 5-10% of what they are in Delhi. It was hard to understand each other, but we got along.
I promised to give Him my passport so He could go to America and I could stay in Jodhpur.

This is someone who definitely told me his name once – on one of the few times we shook hands. He owns the Bhavyam Heritage Guest House in Jodhpur, Rajasthan. The left side of his body is partially paralyzed. I think he said it happened 30 years ago. He’s 72 now.
I found him every time I left my room, either sitting on the only couch in the lounge, or sitting on a chair on the rooftop. He was never doing anything besides sitting (the photo is the one exception). Whenever he saw me, I could see his face brighten up a little. I think he liked talking with people.
Once, after I called a friend, he mentioned that he wanted to talk to her and prompted me to call her back. I did, but she didn’t answer. He looked pretty confused. The next day, I showed him pictures of my family. He tried to talk to the picture, as if I was video chatting with my father, brother, and mother.
Once a day, sometime in the morning, he would walk out to the rooftop, dressed only in an orange and yellowish robe below his waist. He would approach the balcony and stare at the sun.