Jet lag makes you tired…and emotional.

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I know, I know! You’re all itching for some India pics and we have them. Yes, indeedy. 1500 to be exact. Or to round it off. Either way, it’s a lot of friggin photos.


We got back a week ago on January 14th. Or as they say in India the “14th of Jan.” Little things like that always catch my attention. Electricity is “current.” Speed bumps are “speed breakers” and flashlights are “torches.” Pictures me chuckling with delight over these details because I do.

Returning has been…far more difficult than we anticipated. It’s hard to trade palm trees and sunny, blue skies for dreary, rainy January cold. It’s also hard to return to a wee apartment where there is absolutely no space for anything.

Travel, but particularly traveling abroad, gives you such an incredible high. It really is addictive. This world is so big and we are so eager to explore it.

As with all highs, lows invariably follow. We have been and continue to work through those. We haz a sad.

It’s hard to say good-bye to the family, to India, to travel, to vacation. And to return to ….normal: Work. Grocery shopping. Folding clothes. Cat hairballs. Several people at work have commented on how long our trip was. “Wow three weeks!” and “You’ve been gone forever!” I know they mean well; it’s just chit-chat. But Somanna hasn’t seen his family in two years.

Three weeks feels like a weekend. That’s 14 days out of 730 or 0.019%. It’s a blip in the radar.

When we visit India and convene with the family, I am struck by just how far away this family is from one another. And for just how long they’ve been doing this international gig. As someone who grew up in the same town as both sets of grandparents (my grandmother lived next door) and who can still reach her family within a day’s drive, it’s quite literally a foreign concept to me.

India is a humbling experience, on a very real and personal level. I am the racial minority, the one who looks different, sounds different, is different.  I listen in on conversations where I don’t always know the full context, where the places are or who the people are. Heck, sometimes I don’t even understand the language.  I’m the one clueless about the pop culture / sports/ national politics. All that I can take in stride; I’m quite comfortable observing away and I appreciate the perspective the experience offers me. The challenge of navigating, both physically and socially, a new place.

The most humbling aspect, which I wrestle with in a very real way while there, is the ultimate question. Could I return my husband’s sacrifice, and by default his family’s sacrifice?  Could I leave my family, my culture, my food, my ultimate comfort zone and live half way around the world? Could I send a child half way around the world? It would be shameful and dishonest to say that I could answer that question with a resounding “yes.” The truth is…I don’t know. I have doubts and fears as I’m sure Somanna and his family have had and probably occasionally still do. But confronting that question does not make the lesson lost.

I recognize that this is an enormous gift. So to my in laws, sweet Mavi and Mava, and the rest of the family, thank you. To my sweet Somanna, I say thank you. I only hope our visit, albeit brief, in some small, small way honored your gifts.

Because I am so very deeply honored by yours.

You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.
– Desmond Tutu

A Case of the Mondays.

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Bleh

Hrmph.  This weather, especially on a Monday, is just bleh.  There’s nothing nice about cold, dark, rainy days on a winter landscape.  You don’t get the feeling that the trees and plants are enjoying the rain as you do during the summer or spring.  The only people that enjoy this weather are hunters, because it makes everything quiet and suppresses odors, but it’s not hunting season.  So who’s happy?  No one.

So here I am wishing for someplace warm, sunny, with lapping waves and soft golden colored beaches and palm trees.  Lots of palm trees.  Oh, I don’t know… someplace like… Kappad beach, 20 km North of Kozhidoke (Calicut), Kerala.

Walk on the beach

(Looks like somebody has a case of the Mondays)

I am blogging from India…

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Shut.the.front.door!

It’s a pretty sweet view from the office in Somanna’s padres’ casa. I’m currently staring at a sun filled, blue sky framed by palm trees, coffee trees and some of my mother in law’s gorgeous roses. Not to mention there are some super adorable nephews running around being all boy like on the patio and a sweet baby who loves snuggles and kisses more than me, which is saying something.

Did I mention the temperature is a lovely 75-80 degrees?

It’s ok to be jealous. I’m a little jealous of me right now too.

We meant to get a blog post up (or two) before the holidays. But work insanity + holiday shopping + India madness kind of took over our lives. So we’ll see yall in the New Year with what’s hopefully to be our best blogging year yet!

Happy New Year from Incredible India!!!

English as a first language – FAIL

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I have failed the English language.

In the past month, I have:

  • sent Somanna an email where I typed “your” instead of “you’re.” He caught it first.
  • commented on Facebook and wrote “want” instead of “won’t.” For all to witness.
  • said “paining” instead of “hurting.” This I directly blame on Somanna. He always says that in a mocking Indian accent. Poor grammar is no laughing matter.
  • Finally, I had to ask Somanna how to spell daughter. Because yes. I couldn’t f#$%ing figure out how to spell it!!

Maybe I should enroll in the Derek Zoolander center for kids who can’t read good.

Is this what middle age feels like?

It blows.

Shopping Will Drive You to Drink

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Once upon a time, I enjoyed shopping. Specifically clothes shopping. For myself.

I *hate* it now.

I am so utterly brain-dead from my not quite two-hour excursion at the mall, yet I feel compelled to purge my soul of the endless frustrations of the quintessential American shopping experience. I am also fighting a serious post-shopping nap, which makes things like “typing” and “forming coherent paragraphs” seem equivalent to running a marathon. Luckily for both of us, on the eight day the Good Lord gave us wine to celebrate. Hallelujah and pass the bottle.

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