So Far Away

Living away from what one usually calls "home" is an ongoing journey. As I prepare to leave India again, I re-examine my personal meanings of home and belonging. In a political sense, I have come to appreciate the ever-changing dimension of home, and what it means for me to "belong"--here in India, and there in the US. I must admit that this re-examination is usually confusing and immensely emotional.

My 95 year old Grandpa

I spent the last 24 hours with my grandparents (my mother's parents), who live near Mangalore. They, especially my grandfather, hold a special place in my heart and in my life. I am told that as a baby, I was extremely fussy and stubborn (big surprise). Other than my parents, I would only go to my Dad's mom or my Grandpa. I remember being most eager to see him, and anxiously awaiting for him all the time. He has been a wonderful grandfather.

He has been sick on and off for a couple of months, and its scares me to death. I think it scares me even more, because I live so far away. So far away, I might not be able to just pack my bags and visit if I could only see him for one last time. I have deeply embedded hope that he will be around the next time I come to India.

Here is my grandparents' home.
All of us cousins have torn this house apart with our childhood games and teenage nonsense.

This is the back-in-the-day, still functioning, everyday-used,
hot water reserver in the bathroom.
It is a huge copper pot which has a heating source (usually of dried coconut husk or palm leaves) underneath it.

Aunts and Grandma (seated) making yummy rice noodles with a traditional noodle making, lever "machine".

Here are the noodles!

First there were flowers

Then they were tied into garlands by my aunts.
These flower garlands are sold in the local market.