A little extra tan

It’s always nice to not take a photo, not have a video, but to write a post instead. It’s especially nice when there is so much you have been wanting to write, but just haven’t gotten to. I leave India July 5^th. It was just a little bit ago when I came with my luggage all packed to live my life here in Mysore. Here I am now, still listening to the good old Atif Aslam songs that were with me when I was in Beaty Towers in 2007. I remember laying on the carpet, listening to him, Irina’s reading light on, reflecting and enjoying that moment.

What makes this moment absolutely note-worthy is that I have run out of water, and shampoo is currently in my hair- Good old pantene from Costco, and a relaxing American-like hot shower wanted, but um, the hot water tap is working, and the cold water isn’t. So, I now have to wait for the hot water in the bucket to cool down for me to enjoy this relaxing shower I have waited for all evening.

**Sorry, needed to wash my hair off with mildly burning water or I’d be dripping shampoo over my keyboard as well. In any way, I have come to realize that in India, there just isn’t enough time to blog.

I had wanted to compartmentalize my writing and to tame it. I had created different blogs for it, but I never got to it. Perhaps because I could not compartmentalize my thoughts – I wanted to cover all trains of thought in one post. I guess what I am trying to say is, though the incidents and the experiences have been extremely new, my voice has not changed. I may have matured or de-matured, but I remains essentially and solely me.

I will truly miss India. I have been called “Chaddi Chopra” here for wearing Priyanka-like shorts in the hostel in Hebbal. Why shorts? I fell while I was chasing the laundry aunty’s son in the hostel. Sumanne! Just like that. I actually had to get a tetanus shot and all the fancy dressing junk. It did give me an excuse to let my knee enjoy some air. I was a little scared to run again, so I have rested for the week.

I did, however, stop and watch some ferocious kannada volleyball. I then decided that the Mysore breeze has enticed me to play the game that I would cringe to play even with my close friends back in the US for fear of hurting my forearms. I saw no point in such a game. Ok, just one, and I guess it’s decently good – it’s about the most fun looking team sport. In any case, knee and hand injured, a somewhat foreign language in the playground, I still jumped in. I didn’t do too bad either.

While in India, I have had extreme amounts of American chopsuey with fried egg on top – which SHOULD really be in America as well. I also have had lots of chitranna. I have made lots of Annas and Thammas. I have seen many of my friends get engaged/get married—some even getting pregnant.

I now hear the orchestra of all the cold water taps running. Wait…

**Ok, so I have really begun to appreciate my tan. As I write this blog post, I can feel the color back in my skin. I feel sensual again. After all, it is only a matter of reviving your senses. It is a matter of realizing and reflecting on the fact that you have lived – and all of it matters. The scabs, the tummy to be lost, and the little extra tan. Remember also all the chilly chicken, all the bazaars, the Indian Pizzas, the omelette wraps, the Indian Taco Bell, old best friends reconnected, and new friends made, the CD wala, the cleaning aunties, the tailors, the shopkeepers, the autowalas, the metro, Chetan Bhagat books, the girls with the Delhi accent, the nonstop coffee and tea, the hardening hair (okay, maybe I won’t miss that), the Mysore smiles, Ooty, Bangalore, NDTV report… and still hamesha so so much more.