This trip is unlike many of my past trips, for a multitude of reasons.
My past trips were predominantly vacations. My suitcases were filled with books I’d been meaning to read, a fresh journal in which to scribble my thoughts, all the comfortable salwaar kameezes I owned, yoga wear, and pajamas. While in India, I woke up early (mostly due to the fact that my room was to be dusted and cleaned), went to yoga class in the morning, spent the rest of the morning reading for pleasure, visited with the family or went shopping in the afternoons, ate dinner, and retired to my room for more reading/writing/TV watching. They were lazy, leisurely trips that allowed me to rest and recharge. I got to spend some much-needed time with my India-based relatives, hearing stories about their childhood and my late grandparents, discovering new facts about my fascinating family, and getting fed far more delicious South Indian home-cooked food than I could possibly eat (but devoured anyway).
I loved these trips. I eagerly anticipated them, and pouted as I boarded the flight back home to the States.
This trip, however, is completely different.
I wake up early-ish (around 7), mostly due to the fact that family is barging into my room to shower, get their belongings, etc. I immediately check my iPhone for e-mails, tweets, and Facebook updates while waiting for everyone to leave the room so I can get ready. I prepare for work quickly, donning a pressed salwaar kameez, twisting my hair into a low bun, applying simple makeup, and making sure everything I need for work is in my tote. After a strong cup of Indian coffee and breakfast (toast with pachaadi or fried idly), I follow my father and uncles downstairs and into the waiting car to head to work. After a short, bumpy drive, we arrive at the office to the smiles of our security staff. Still tired, I trudge up the 2 flights of stairs, walk around the corner and enter the 3rd floor, walk into the office and settle at my cubicle.
My morning flies by, as I respond to e-mails sent from colleagues in the States over the night, following up on outstanding action items, drinking a cup or two of chai, and pestering my father and the president with my questions.
Lunch rolls around, and I walk across the floor to our small cafeteria, where the caterer is setting up the meal of the day. I eat quickly with my uncle, chatting with the other employees and attempting to commit the details to memory. I still don’t know everyone’s name, or where they work, but I’m trying. Everyone calls me madam-garu (a sign of respect) and smiles shyly at me. Other than the project coordinator and the operations manager, I haven’t really conversed with anyone, and that bugs me. It’s a slow process.
The food coma from lunch sets in, and I spend the first minutes back at my desk perusing my favorite blogs, the headlines on the NYT and WSJ, and tweeting random musings. After a cup of green tea, I get back in the work zone, shooting off e-mails and updating project reports and our SharePoint site. I’m oblivious to the time until 4:00 rolls around and my father looks at me and asks “Pothem a?” (Shall we go?) I pack up my bag, bringing along work that hasn’t been completed, my lab notebook holding my to-do lists and meeting notes, and various chargers and plug adapters.
After a short bumpy ride, we are back home, trudging up the stairs after a long work day. I re-open my computer, but not to work. I try and blog, check downloads of my TV shows off iTunes (the Internet speed is dreadfully slow here), and attempt to muster the energy to work out. I’ll probably hop onto the treadmill in my uncle’s room after typing this post (in an attempt to run off my heavy lunch), shower, and return to my computer to get back to work. As I type away on my laptop, my father walks up to the penthouse of the building (which the company has rented as a guest house for visiting consultants and employees) to enjoy a few beers with my uncle. I would normally join them, but there’s something about drinking alcohol here, in front of my elder aunts and uncles, that seems wrong. I sometimes join them with a fresh lime soda or ginger ale, but usually relish this time for myself.
I’ve been skipping dinner–something about this heat makes me feel full all the time. I try to eat some yogurt with avvakai or nimakai (Indian spicy pickle) in an attempt to appease my aunts, who still attempt to stuff food down my throat constantly. As I pick at my yogurt, I sit and listen to the rapid-fire Telugu, reminiscing about their childhood, talking about their children, asking when I’ll FINALLY get married (I’m the last single standing on the P side of my family). I smile, nod, and respond back in my elementary Telugu.
It’s 9 o’clock. I’m exhausted, but try and keep my eyes open to read. I try and catch the bf on Skype for a quick conversation; our hour-long talks have been severely cut to 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there with the time difference and ability to seclude myself. I’m passed out by 10:30, with the alarm set for 6:45 in anticipation of doing it all over again.
We work Saturdays. Sundays are the only days off. Work days are sometimes cut for family functions (housewarming pujas, specially-scheduled lunches, necessary shopping trips). The dust has triggered severe allergies, but Sudafed has silenced my sniffles and sneezes (for the most part). We have 13 people staying in 3 apartments in the same building–it’s loud, warm, and full of love, but my only-child-syndrome kicks in and I crave alone time more than I ever have.   As I sit typing, I’ve been asked if I wanted coffee 6 times by 4 different people. My mother, my atta (aunt), my pedanana (uncle), and my bava (cousin, I promise to do a Telugu family tree blog post to explain this all later) have all come into the room asking if I’m okay, as I sit alone at my desk and type away. I feel the love, but wish I could just lock this door, blast The Bravery’s new album in my ears, and just be alone for a few minutes.
No dice. It’s just the way it is. I remind myself that my lonely nights in hotel rooms will commence in a few short weeks, and I muster a smile, breathe, and go out to the family room. With hugs, kisses, and offers of food, I’m so lucky and blessed to be so loved by my family.
Nothing lasts forever. So I’m going to enjoy this for as long as I can, as it too will end.
