Home, again

I am home. Done with my far-flung adventures full of sea lions, blue-footed boobies, runs through cactus filled hills with smiling kids, clinical work, rickshaws, fabric shopping and delicious new flavors.

It is raining in Cambridge now, suitably, matching my mood.

I wasn't able to write while in India - internet cafes were sterile and air-conditioned and I had no desire to sit inside and miss all of the colorful world outside them. The trip was wonderful on many levels and for many reasons.

I flew to Delhi accompanying, or accompanied by, 34 Indian exchange students returning home after a year in the States. They quickly became my brood, and I missed them immediately after putting them on trains and planes to return to their families.

The trip was almost smooth - save one lost passport on the plane while flying from Frankfurt to Delhi. After having each kid check their bags to make sure they didn't have it (accidentally, of course), and turning the plane upside down with flashlights and the help of the cleaning crew upon landing, we considered it gone. After 3 hours of patient negotiations with 4 or 5 Indian officials, each of whom needed to write in a book, stamp the book, and look her up on the computer, she was able to leave. We reached the hotel by 3am and I was in bed by 4. At about 5am, I sat up, awoken by a knock at the door. "Is Rosha-mam there? We need to talk to her, alone." Rushing outside in my pajamas, quickly analyzing their appropriate modesty, I met three of the students who all appeared, wide eyed, to have seen a ghost. "What's wrong?" I asked. "We found the passport...." They didn't know how or why, but it had turned up in one boy's bag who was neither friends with her, nor sitting anywhere in her vicinity. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

The rest of my time in India felt more like a home coming than an exotic adventure.

This feeling still strikes me as strange: I am not Indian, I have spent more time in many other countries than India, I have no Indian family members and don't speak more than 10 phrases of Hindi. Why then, does this country, bustling with beggars, rickshaws, incense, diversity and food crackling in hot pots of oil, feel so comfortable?

Perhaps this feeling can be attributed to my family's long-lasting love affair with India: our eating meals on Indian stainless steel plates, our making of chai each Sunday morning, the use of "pani" for water and "tik-hey" for OK. My parents and extended family have incorporated bits and pieces of Indian culture into our rituals and routines and this trip reminded me of the striking power of the every-day and of family tradition.

My aesthetic sense also feels alive and inspired in India - the black and white Hindi text written on the buildings, the bright, bold and beautiful colors of the salwar camises and the stark white of the courta pajamas worn by the Muslim men. India provides stimulation for all senses - horns honking, the breeze of ceiling fans mixed with the pounding heat of the 45 C degree temperatures, the scent of incense and curries, the colors of the clothes and buildings and light of the sun. My mind was never bored.

Or perhaps it is the countries impeccable use of trains and bicycles (in the form of stately black heavy bicycles for one, two or three people, or converted to the ever colorful bicycle rickshaws), my two most favorite means of transportation.

Last, but not least, my company made me feel at home. I stayed with Katherine, an old and dear friend who is conducting research for her PhD in India. She speaks fluent Hindi and now Urdu, can bargain with the best of them, and looks as if she is floating as she walks, her lovely dupattas flowing behind her.

Yes, I fell somewhat in love, and miss India already, but I can't complain.

I have an exciting year ahead - exploring the realities of nursing, taking some classes in Public Health, and learning the ropes of a domestic romantic partnership. I will continue to make chai in the morning, to add garam masala to my veggies, to prance around the house wearing colorful fabrics draped around my shoulders, and I will continue to keep the feelings inspired by India, alive.