I could start this essay the ol' fashioned way. You know "the days were hot, the nights were cold," yada, yada, yada. The days were hot and the nights were hot but not as hot. What would you expect? It's India, my friend. IT'S ALWAYS HOT. But you don't want to know about the temperature, you want to know about the experience. And that is what you shall get.
Me 2012: My humor then was not as sophisticated as it is now. I'm kidding of course.
We left for India 2 days before school left. That means that I had to take all of my finals 2 days before everyone else (No, I’m not complaining). My last week on U.S. soil was divided between packing items and studying. But the night before, even though I was tried and never wanted to see another t-shirt or sigma sign, I was excited. For the first time in 8 years, I would see my relatives. My uncles and aunts and cousins and grandmas and grandpas, the whole gang.
Me 2012: Ha! Sigma? Really man? You so funny. Life would get much more difficult than sigma signs.
We woke up at 2:00 a.m. To some, that would have been impossible. But for me, it was too much fun. I had always associated getting up early with a good time so the earlier, the better. We checked all of the items, and left. We got to St. Paul International Airport, went through the metal detectors and boarded. And then show-time. We took off!
Me 2012: I still love traveling. I don't like to stay in one place for long. A traveler at heart right here.
After 4 planes, 3 layovers and 10 hours’ worth of delays, my family and I got home. When we stepped out into the night, the first thing I felt was the humidity. It was 100 degrees with 55% humidity at 2:00 a.m.! And I vividly remember thinking "What have we got ourselves into?" I met my uncle for the second time in my life, boarded a bus and rode for 12 hours to get into the heartland of southern India. We had reached my birthplace, Madurai.
Me 2012: I still remember the humidity. SO. DAMN. POWERFUL. And the smell. It must be said. The stench of the slums is terrible. But if my people can live there for life, I can weather the storm for a couple of months.
Since I grew up in the slums of India, we didn’t go to any resorts or amusement parks or anything of the sort. The whole vacation was spent either on a bus, traveling or inside a relative’s house, talking. And I must say that talking that summer was a lot more interesting than a roller coaster ride.
Me 2012: Many memories I remember are from the bus rides to and from place. Many people, at least my family don't have cars. So it was either walking, auto rides, buses or the occasion bike ride with strangers. Most people don't know this but people down in South are extremely nice and they are willing to help you out. Unfortunately most people don't give us a chance. Which sucks. But onward!
The next month and half just disappeared. We traveled over 300 miles, going from uncle to grandpa to cousin, throughout all of India. The landscape? Beyond words. But if I had to describe it, imagine the rolling hills of Africa's plains, mixed with palm trees and lakes speckled throughout like blueberries in the brown, Indian sand pancake batter.
Me 2012: Nice description man. NOT. You could do better. But yes, it's beyond words. I could sweeten it all up and say it was ALL beautiful. But that would be a lie. There were places beyond words but there were also places where it was ugly, disgusting and terrible. This was the uncensored India that I didn't remember as a kid. This was perhaps the "true" India. And it still makes me sad thinking about it.
And the food (it needs its own paragraph). I used to think that my mother's cooking was the epitome of Indian cuisine. Boy, was I wrong! Everywhere, street vendors were selling delicious, exotic cooking. I gained 10 pounds by just eating! But like the sweet, light, milky flavor of "palkova," my time in India was fading.
Me 2012: How I would kill to go eat the food there again! Everything was fresh and cooked perfectly. I realize that the little shops down the corner could out-cook even the five star restaurants. And I know why: the little shop guys down the road HAD to make good food or face starvation and die. Each meal they prepared was literally their last. If it wasn't good, they COULD NOT SURVIVE. So they put all the love, talent and hard work into it. And I could not only taste it in the cooking but I could see it in their eyes. Which makes me proud to be a South Indian.
We are a hard working people.
We don't quit.
We will survive.
The last day was bittersweet. I was looking forward to using a real bathroom, seeing my friends and feeling the sensation of "cold." But this would the last time that I would see my family for a long time. My cousin was getting married soon; my other cousin was going to college. Life in India was so different from the last time I was here and I can only imagine how differently it will be when I come back. That last day, there were a lot of tears. Not me though, until some...uuh...dust got into my eye. When we stepped on the bus, I looked back to see everyone gathered, waving for possibly the last time in my life.
[FIN]
So there you have it. My writing skills back then. Thanks again to my creeper friend for Googling this. This was interesting to go "back in time."
