For an Indian-American, life is a Layover

God in Modern India!
God in Modern India

* * *

Namaste (Nah-mah-stay)!

So, it wasn’t really the kind of birthday celebrations I would have nurtured for myself, but come on, why would I have minded spending time with the three most wonderful people I love, my two boys, (one an infant, please note!) and my mom who was visiting us. And from hindsight, I now know why the husband was throwing out all this feel good stuff about my travel plans. “Sweetheart, did you ever imagine, that you can be on land, in air, over the oceans and in three different time zones, in three different countries on your birthday?!” Well, he was doing his part in trying to mitigate the risk of getting brainwashed for the rest of his life. And really, at that time, it all sounded so darn exotic, I just was overwhelmed at the actual thought of spending THE day so differently. Now, lets summarize it.

OOPS! The practical mommy inside me forgot to conjecture these episodes of the journey in her dreams. Travel sickness, long waits through security, breastfeeding in public(, puh-leeez let’s not go there), dirty diapers, numbness in the hands, feet and everywhere by carrying a 20+ pounder for 30 hours, sleep deprivation. and can I mention how many different ways a five year old can ask the classic “Are we there yet mommy?” question.. ?? For all the fleeting interactions I had with these complete strangers, I was always weirdly eager to put my best performance out there for them to see, and so, couldn’t SOL(here, Scream Out Loud) in the craziest of situations. 

And while the topic of nostalgic-travelogue to-the-motherland has been beaten to death by so many before me, I too want a space on the blogosphere to relive what I have experienced in the last couple of days of landing in the place that is so close to my heart… INDIA!

Now that I am here, these are few things noteworthy,

The technology at the airport which detected on a computer screen that I did not carry any H1N1 flu aboard the flight blew my mind away.. I was so proud of my country then and there that has given birth to so many software programmers :)

800 channels on the cable network, small for a country that speaks 1500 languages!

The modest mailboxes in front of the houses reminds me of the often forgotten man on the universe.. the mail bag carrier!! Kids, teens and adults alike carry around the latest pieces of technology in their hands, and over their heads.. The harmony in spite of the incongruity perplexes me to no end!!

A music composer’s dream and a real life “melody”.. F****** interesting is the blend of  sounds from rice cookers, car horns, door bells, humans, dogs all ringing in your ears at the same exact time.. :))

Yesterday, I was running an errand and was in the process of picking up fat free milk and peanut butter for my son (who promises that he cannot live without it!!), when I overheard two rickshaw-wallas (pullers) ordering french fries over the counter.. Thanks to Mickey D’s, the world is changing and I pray it is for the better.. :))

Lovely and amusing enough, though, I am writing this with a little bit of annoyance in my head.. This piece is the longest composition of my blog page so far.. Certainly not in terms of the number of words or the time it took to compile my thoughts, but for the number of iterations it took me to post this piece onto the web! Thanks to computer crashes and sporadic internet connectivity it is finally being published now.. :(

* * *

Signing off with treasures of priceless time spent with family filling my heart .. And getting ready for a marathon 8 hour shopping spree tomorrow.. Yipppeee!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s