Alright, so this has been a nightmare so far. First my flight from Phoenix international to Chicago O’ hare got postponed from its scheduled departure at 7:00 am to 12:20 pm. I had a connecting flight from Chicago to Brussels scheduled at 4:50pm. Thanks to some Christmas enthusiasm from the weather gods, I eventually landed Chicago at 4:51, just in time to miss my connection. Strike 1!!!
The good AA attendant at Gate K7, who , with all enthusiasm, showed me my plane pulling away on the runway, told me to go speak to a rebooking agent. Five minutes later I find myself in a queue at the rebooking counter. Apparently Christmas travel had turned sour for most of the people travelling through Chicago. These 30 minutes in the line have to be one of the most excruciating minutes I’ve ever spent. Control is something I’ve never learnt properly. And when you have to control your agitation on missing an international flight and your bladder at the same time, trust me, the brain keeps sending you conflicting signals. Strike 2!!! Ultimately I got myself booked on the next flight to London ,which was 6 hours from then and , from London to Mumbai, the next day. All my excitement of going to Belgium and treating myself to some traditional Belgian chocolates gone Phutt!
But all this is not the point. It has been almost 2 years since I left India to pursue a graduate degree in the US. And since that moment I had always dreamt of flying back one day to my home, my nest, the place where I belong. Considering this, I should be happy now, there should be a spring in my step. Yet, for the past few days all I have been, is a little depressed and I stoop when I walk. It doesn’t feel as if I am going home. Instead it feels as if I am leaving home and going somewhere else. Have I become what I dreaded the most? An NRI?
I spent the 5 hours at Chicago, with a huge Indian family , waiting for flight AA98. When I say a huge Indian family, I mean bigger than a normally big Indian family and that is saying a lot. This one had 4 generations worth of kindred. Believe me when I say I’ve never felt my personal space this encroached upon and vice versa. They were a noisy group, with the eldest sane male member directing everyone, the other men sharing inane jokes and general observations on the US, the women of the house chatting on petty things, children playing and fighting and their moms screaming. Having led a quiet and independent life for the past 2 years, I got really annoyed with this set, just for being so loud and so crass. I had been hitting on this cute American from San Diego but they were just so damn loud! But then I realized, they were not altogether different from normal Indians. People in India are just as loud. There is no personal space and the little amount that you might find, ends where your nose ends. People keep telling you what to do, they keep fighting, they keep talking and keep sharing their lives with innocent bystanders, or as in my case, co travelers.
I hadn’t realized this earlier in my life as I had nothing to compare it with. The past two years I’ve grown used to living quietly, used to socialization based on need rather than compulsion. I am used to seeing things in order, clean streets, self service, odorless air, and I like them. And now I am afraid to go back. What if I don’t like what I see? What if I get angry when my mom nags me? What if I don’t like the people for being in my face so much? What if I start hating the place as a whole? What if I start hating my home? I want to brush this off as just a queasy feeling. I want to believe that once I land in Mumbai, everything will be alright. But no , I really am scared.
I am waiting for my flight to Mumbai at London Heathrow airport now, and it is a dismal place.It looks like westernized version of ‘ Palika Bazaar’. The airport does not have a definite order. Seating areas are scattered between shops and restaurants. There is a dingy feel to this place. To top it off, there are Indian families sprawled everywhere, all shabby, some sleeping on the couches, some on the floor. It reminds me of railway stations in India. I see a lot of Indian students, most are happy while some, like me, are clueless. What’s worse! It seems the huge family from Chicago is going to fly with me to Mumbai.
Strike 3!!!!! Help!
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