It was a funny incident that happened with an Indian female monk, affectionately known as "Mata Ji," and me, involving buffalo milk. I was visiting a small ashram in a rural village, eager to experience the simple, spiritual life of the monks. Mata Ji, a wise and kind woman with a serene smile, invited me to join her for the evening ritual of preparing milk. She handed me a large, heavy brass pot filled with freshly collected buffalo milk and asked me to help churn it into butter.