Towards Organic Agriculture and Healthier Lifestyles!

By 10 am on February 18th, the Profugo house was filled with people from nearby areas. Some of them came walking a long distance. Our first public program on agriculture, a farmer’s training in collaboration with Kerala state agriculture department was being held. At 10.30 am we started the inaugural session with a prayer song and Program Manager Aneesh welcomed the gathering. Mr. Jose, a ward member, presided over the function. Mr. Alex Mathew, the

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Journeys Without Borders

  Four college students traveling to an unfamiliar place halfway around the world with no understanding of the indigenous language, Malayalam, might seem a bit nerve racking to some; but not to these travelers.  We were willing to fully immerse ourselves in the Indian culture, and we did just that.  After being greeted at the Bangalore airport by Villanova alumni and current Profugo field fellow, Tyler Casteel, this group of four Engineers Without Borders members

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Researching India

As a result of my new experience researching for Profugo’s Twitter posts, I now realize that I have never really had to focus on the dynamic changes occurring in the world. Living in the United States, which is a large and mostly English speaking country, makes it easy to not notice the amazing changes occurring in the world. In my short time of doing research for Profugo, especially researching news in India, I have had

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The Art of Resiliency

The grass does not shine as bright green on our surrounding hills anymore. While some cold towns in the U.S. are buried by mountains of heavy white snow, here, in Prashanthagiri, a powerful hot sun hovers over the fields. Those dark green and brown crops stand in soil that eagerly awaits the first refreshing drops of the upcoming rainy season. Our land at Profugo’s Center of Development is not an exception. Looking at our experimental

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Unwritten

I can hear voices in a strange tongue that is familiar to me. After a few moments I realize that all the voices are of women and I am in the midst of a women’s sanctuary: the kitchen. The fire from the ancient stove gleefully spits out flames as the aroma of the hot spices play with the scents of cardamom and cinnamon, painting my blood red with their intensity. The women’s voices are like

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