Revisiting India

I’m visiting India after four long years. As my flight touched down in Delhi, I turned to Ro and said “We’re home!”. Not “We’re here”, but “We’re home”. It immediately took me back to a conversation where other expat friends felt like India wasn’t home any more, and Austin was. People who know me well know that I struggle a lot with the concept of home. For a change, this trip didn’t leave me with any bittersweet feelings. Just complete happiness and belonging while in Delhi, and the same when back in Austin.

On previous trips, I have felt like I was just a visitor in India. But this time I felt a sigh of relief within me upon landing. After many many years, I’ve held entire conversations in Hindi. I read road signs in Hindi. I celebrated Diwali with a crowd that possibly doesn’t have a huge tree inside their house in December. I spent time going out with my cousins, and just enjoying local life. I am remembering what used to be normal, and how it felt to just belong without being questioned. This is a Delhi thing though, for I’m often an outsider in Madras which is significantly more conservative, with the population not expanding via migration from other states or countries. They notice your differentness right away. In Delhi, there are so many Asian & Caucasian foreigners that the Indian-born foreigners like me are not an oddity by any means. Delhi meets me in the middle.

I am also enjoying seeing Ro in this new environment. He didn’t complain about the smell or the dirt or the litter, rather noting them as points of concern. “Mom- they need to fix the pollution!”, or “Mom- these floors (courtyard outside Taj Mahal) are dirty! Can we walk into the Taj after walking on the dirt?”. Thanks to his surprisingly Indian looks (genetic dominance of Meera over Marc! 😉 ), Ro fits right in. Sometimes kids address him in Hindi, but as soon as I tell them he doesn’t speak any, they seamlessly switch over to English. They don’t question it, because he could well be from a different Indian state where Hindi isn’t spoken. Even my little niece fluently jabbers on in English, making it easier for Ro to experience being one with the culture.

I gave Ro a bathroom etiquette tutorial as soon as we got home.  “You squeeze this spray head and wash your butt after you go potty.” “WHAT? I have to touch my butt?!” “Well, don’t you wash it in the shower? What’s so different?” “But! I’ll have wet fingers if I do that!”. Yes, I thought, and a wet butt too 😀 The following day, he pressed the water sprayer so hard that it ripped a piece of his flesh. I pointed him to some toilet papers, and he heaved a huge sigh of relief.

Among the more trivial things, it was fun to watch a Hindi movie in a theater, with no distracting subtitles. It was fun to haggle for clothes, run across streets dodging traffic, and eating tons of kababs. And just when I thought “I could move here”, there was the smog, the traffic, which was worse than I-35 on steroids (that would be like 880 or one of the bridges for Californians), and having to watch my sources of drinking water, ice, fresh juices, fresh veggies, you get the idea. But that’s okay, as long as I continue feeling at home where ever I go!

• ← Homemade paneer
• Itimad Ud Daulah →