An eastern peninsula

It is always the same. The sequence of the tumultuous thoughts that appear a week before you step into that Airbus 300 headed east. Over the Atlantic and Indian oceans, back to the only place you can call home, without the air quotes.

You begin with dusting those large suitcases that only serve the call of duty for your Indian adventures. And to fill those suitcases, lists are constructed. My list begins with my nephew who hasn’t the slightest clue what his uncle is up to. I use toys to re-enter his memory bank and to be his imagination partner again. I can only hope that this time he remembers me a little while longer after I leave.

What do you get a mother whose demands are so atrociously simple? And what do you get a father who considers ink cartridges for his fountain pen are a mighty fine deal. Yet, I persist with gifts that disappoint at best. In either case, the week prior to departure is filled with multiple and tiring runs to the mall.

There is always a marquee event each time. This time, friends from kindergarten days, suddenly turn adults. Marriages complete the transition from young guys relishing street food after a summer’s game of cricket to young adults planning which way the couch should face in their new houses. Yet, happiness persists. This metamorphosis is everybody’s destiny.

India begins when the plane is a mile high above the Mumbai coastline. The heady mix of coastal saltiness and garbage landfills proves too mighty for air filters in the plane. And India ends when you walk back into the Mumbai airport, past the airport guards. One with a semi automatic and the other with a wooden stick!

Between those two bookends lies a home. My bedroom with its cabinets that once could hide me now no can longer hide the aging carpentry. My wonderful room, even with the windows closed cannot stop the barking of the stray dogs but still allow me peaceful night’s sleep.

Wonderful food will highlight each day. From my mom unmistakable lamb preparations to shady joints serving trans fats with intense flavors. There will be no lack of deserts, be it the sweet kind or the bitter betel leaves. Between the meals, would lie plenty of sunlight and ambient temperatures that can easily embarrass the best of Michigan summers. A constant chattering of car horns and human conversations will ensure no uncomfortable silences.

Each trip back home has been eventful and thought provoking. Your sense of belonging is challenged more intensely every time. Your distaste for Mumbai sweat and grime grows each time. Your ability to digest the second or the third Wada-pav decreases. And your American bubble of space balloons out of proportions at the wrong time.

But despite it all, your want of being home again, never wavers.