Yaootza!

I wanted to say just that, before heading to india, so post my 3 weeks vacation, I'll say that again - yaootza with a bang. From the time, I caught my flight in New York to Hyderabad and back, all the series of events are imprinted in my memory as a string of bookmarks. Maybe i should change the title of this blog as tale of 3 cities, Philadelphia, Hyderabad and Rajahmundry. All three very close to my heart that i have a undying patriotism to them.

I thoroughly enjoyed the thought of direct flight to Hyderabad, since I had taken the route via Bombay the last few times and hated it. What amazed me most was the sight of a father traveling with his toddler sans the mother. An interesting thing about being an Indian is there is no guesswork necessary, by the time I came out of the immigration line in Hyderabad, I knew that his wife didn’t get the vacation since she’s a contractor in CA, and since his parents never saw the 3yr old kid, all the family, relatives everyone are waiting to see the toddler and are at the airport to receive him, so that’s why he’s changing the clothes of the child. The father was even keeping an eye on the other kids in the plane who were traveling only with their moms without their pops. One guy, I saw in the flight went to the extent of taking the liberty to leave his duty free bought liquor with me while he can go and do more shopping, in a state of dumbstruck I first accepted but later spotted him making a call in fursat, so I gave him a small gentle piece of my mind and got back.

The echo of sounds and sights of heavy traffic, the incessantly ring of phone at home, the brightness of the light switched on by the maid in the early hours, my mom and dad’s bright voice and face while I climb down the stairs, the sight of street lights with the back drop of vendor’s banners lining the walls of the big buildings in the dark of the night, all this was riotously surfing my heart. I’m unable to shake the feeling of that familiar eeriness that I so love, and though with my body I’m here, my heart seems to left behind in that very heavy traffic streets, and in the homes made of people.

The noise and people talking is so engaging that you don’t even need to say anything. I remember this one situation, I was asked to write something in the comments section for a school book, but then everyone was reading behind me what I was writing, of course they were kids, but in the echo of my very own words that they were reading aloud, I lost the flow of thought I wanted to convey. In other situations I felt the same way… In my brother’s living room, a friend and all of us were talking but I was just being washed with the words that were coming out of their minds. I didn’t say anything, I felt as if I was an onlooker. I compared all this to the deafening silence we all feel in our very living rooms in US. I’m not saying the life in US is not good, but the standards are high, the freedom in your cocoon is highly regarded that it isolates the core of our living. The non-sensical movies, the imitating kids, the prestige hungry wannabe people, I came across all of them in India. But what stuck to me most was the love and warmth of a mother, how she chose to perceive a same situation that, she and I, both witnessed at the same time. The love and affection of close friends, the family treasons, a TC’s amazement, the loneliness of a parents with kids abroad, sight of four kids going through rubble playfully with such innocence, the stark difference in highways to Eluru and Kakinada, a chef’s professionalism in River Bay in Rajahmundry, the face of the waiter who served us dinner in Priyadarshini late night, the drive thru OU to get biryani from Bawarchi to home and then not liking it, the comfort of making a quick turn instead of going through another exit, the palatial temple of Iskon in rjy, not to mention the food at Alex Kitchen, I believe bobby’s cousin in now the host, the guy at gujari’s who was dropping hints for us look around the store while he can start his lunch was utterly disappointed that we were done and we need to wrap up and go.

All I can say is this trip made me look at myself in closer, made me grow a bit more in my own skin. I met up with my old school friends at Zaafron, it felt so f*****g darn good, we all were chattering like there was no end. What I loved most was the fursat-ness in the daily life, really, nobody is in a hurry, there isn’t a drive to get things over with, when the 5 minutes of wait turns into 1/2n hour, u’ll never know. Now that I’m back, I cant come out of that fursat ness, I’ve slowed it down, but I know life here will catch up with me and shake it off of me. But until then I’ll enjoy it.

As I was standing at the immigration line in New York, I started to miss home terribly. The abundance of facilities in order, the plush wall to wall carpet in the airport, the non-chaotic lines, the orderliness seemed very odd to me. I felt like I was in different age and time. I dint seem to like it. While vamsi drove I slept in the car, as I reached home and removed shoes the very touch of my home’s carpet on my feet felt…I don’t know I cant describe it. With much deluge, I headed to work the next day, I felt like I was in another surreal world. The sight and touch of my cube, the same place I spend most of my time, felt pointless. All this felt like a world I can’t touch but somehow living through in small bits. I’ve always carried a thought that all our life we slowly discover a bit of who we are, we’ll never completely know who we are, since situations evolve a new personality in us that we aren’t aware of. This trip was one of them for me, nothing extraordinary happened, but many ordinaries came together.