I'm almost back at the white wooden house. It's 4am and I'm sitting in bed in a hotel somewhere in Jamaica, New York eating left over Chinese and blogging and hoping to get on a flight to Austin later today.
I'm not complaining. I hate not seeing Jo and the kids for another whole day. It took Vasco Do Gama 23 months to sail from Portugal around Africa to Calicut. And Columbus about 35 days to get from Spain to what he thought was India but turned out to be modern day Bahamas. The capable pilots of Etihad did that in about a day and the 787 Dreamliner, even in cattle car class, was a good deal more comfortable than the Pinta. And that final hop from New York to Austin - at the speed of the Pony Express, it would take me about 10 days of riding day and night at full gallop.
So after dropping off the kids and Jo at London for their trip back to Austin, I left for India. On that flight I had one of those small world moments. Four year ago when we lived in an apartment in Hyderabad, there was a Hyderabadi man, Asif Mirza, who owned an apartment on the top floor with his English wife. When they visited from abroad, Savitri, our maid, insisted that we meet them because "hamara memsahib" (Jo) is also from "London". The lady sitting next to me on the Abu Dhabi - Hyderabad flight was that English wife. Her husband had died a couple of years ago and she was returning to take care of his property. She recognized me.
I too was in Hyderabad for a similar reason - to take care of my dad's property. But visiting Hyderabad is always fun. I met friends, went to the Secunderabad Club, attended parties where I didn't know the host, and ate more food in ten days than I should eat in a month. On the holiest of the Dusshera days, Sharath, Sahiti and I went to Key's High School in Secunderabad to see the Poojo. Things have gotten grander in four decades but the scene inside was as I remember it as a child. A huge dusty pile of shoes and sandals outside. Bangalis of all ages and sizes dressed up. Drummers working themselves to a frenzy. The sweet smell of incense and burning ghee. And Durga standing on her lion as it shreds Mahisasur, the demon and his alternate form, the poor buffalo, while Durga pierces his heart with one of her ten weapons held in her ten arms. She is a mixture of violent ferocity and divine serenity - the original diva.
Next morning is Bijoy Doshomi, the 10th day - the day for new beginnings. As a child I remember everyone at home getting new clothes. Because we wore uniforms to school, we didn't really need a lot of regular clothes. Often this was the only time my dad got us new clothes - which in the late 70's meant a dress shirt with huge collars and a nice pair of bell bottoms that flared out to completely hide my shoes. This year, Sahiti bought new clothes for Sharath and me. Very nice but not bell bottoms.
On the weekend I went to Delhi. Here we are at Arjun's home where I used to stay in Delhi back when there were no direct international flights to Hyderabad. Coincidentally and not noticed till later, Arjun's photo on the shelf is smiling with us. In the next photo I'm with Surjeet Aunty, Arjun's mother and Simran's grandma. at a Chinese restaurant in the M-Block market where I met the whole family for lunch.
Over an excellent lunch (thanks for a great selection, Shaunak) Guri Uncle asked me very seriously "Arun, are you spiritual?". I thought through my answer rather carefully. I am speaking to a man who lost his only son in a freak cycling accident ten years ago. Is this going to lead to questions about Arjun's spirit? Finally I say guardedly "Guri Uncle, I'm an atheist".
"So you don't believe in God", he replies. I nod.
"But you are still spiritual", he continues.
"There is spirit in beer and vodka and gin" and he points to our drinks.
I should never take him seriously.
I make some progress with my dad's stuff in Hyderabad. While going through some old photos in my free time I found this photo of my dad from his birthday in December 2012. Miguel had shown up one day at home with very short hair. My dad said that he wanted his hair short too. I gave him a close haircut and trimmed back his normally bushy mustache. It was his last birthday.
While I am traveling, Jo and Vivian and Evan are settling back into a normal school week in Austin. Except that they are all in bed by 7pm and awake at 5am. They are in full swing with soccer and Taekwondo and dance and drama and went to the Thinkery for Magellan's Family Fun Day - here's a photo of the Mad Science lady doing something with Vivian and friends.
Crazy is apparently glad to have them back home. Jo sent me a photo of a decapitated mouse at the front door and a mouse head that was puked up later. I won't post the photo here but my wife should become a war photographer.
Can't wait to see all the crazies back at the white wooden house. As soon as Jet Blue gets those ponies saddled.
I'm not complaining. I hate not seeing Jo and the kids for another whole day. It took Vasco Do Gama 23 months to sail from Portugal around Africa to Calicut. And Columbus about 35 days to get from Spain to what he thought was India but turned out to be modern day Bahamas. The capable pilots of Etihad did that in about a day and the 787 Dreamliner, even in cattle car class, was a good deal more comfortable than the Pinta. And that final hop from New York to Austin - at the speed of the Pony Express, it would take me about 10 days of riding day and night at full gallop.
So after dropping off the kids and Jo at London for their trip back to Austin, I left for India. On that flight I had one of those small world moments. Four year ago when we lived in an apartment in Hyderabad, there was a Hyderabadi man, Asif Mirza, who owned an apartment on the top floor with his English wife. When they visited from abroad, Savitri, our maid, insisted that we meet them because "hamara memsahib" (Jo) is also from "London". The lady sitting next to me on the Abu Dhabi - Hyderabad flight was that English wife. Her husband had died a couple of years ago and she was returning to take care of his property. She recognized me.
I too was in Hyderabad for a similar reason - to take care of my dad's property. But visiting Hyderabad is always fun. I met friends, went to the Secunderabad Club, attended parties where I didn't know the host, and ate more food in ten days than I should eat in a month. On the holiest of the Dusshera days, Sharath, Sahiti and I went to Key's High School in Secunderabad to see the Poojo. Things have gotten grander in four decades but the scene inside was as I remember it as a child. A huge dusty pile of shoes and sandals outside. Bangalis of all ages and sizes dressed up. Drummers working themselves to a frenzy. The sweet smell of incense and burning ghee. And Durga standing on her lion as it shreds Mahisasur, the demon and his alternate form, the poor buffalo, while Durga pierces his heart with one of her ten weapons held in her ten arms. She is a mixture of violent ferocity and divine serenity - the original diva.
Next morning is Bijoy Doshomi, the 10th day - the day for new beginnings. As a child I remember everyone at home getting new clothes. Because we wore uniforms to school, we didn't really need a lot of regular clothes. Often this was the only time my dad got us new clothes - which in the late 70's meant a dress shirt with huge collars and a nice pair of bell bottoms that flared out to completely hide my shoes. This year, Sahiti bought new clothes for Sharath and me. Very nice but not bell bottoms.
On the weekend I went to Delhi. Here we are at Arjun's home where I used to stay in Delhi back when there were no direct international flights to Hyderabad. Coincidentally and not noticed till later, Arjun's photo on the shelf is smiling with us. In the next photo I'm with Surjeet Aunty, Arjun's mother and Simran's grandma. at a Chinese restaurant in the M-Block market where I met the whole family for lunch.
Over an excellent lunch (thanks for a great selection, Shaunak) Guri Uncle asked me very seriously "Arun, are you spiritual?". I thought through my answer rather carefully. I am speaking to a man who lost his only son in a freak cycling accident ten years ago. Is this going to lead to questions about Arjun's spirit? Finally I say guardedly "Guri Uncle, I'm an atheist".
"So you don't believe in God", he replies. I nod.
"But you are still spiritual", he continues.
"There is spirit in beer and vodka and gin" and he points to our drinks.
I should never take him seriously.
I make some progress with my dad's stuff in Hyderabad. While going through some old photos in my free time I found this photo of my dad from his birthday in December 2012. Miguel had shown up one day at home with very short hair. My dad said that he wanted his hair short too. I gave him a close haircut and trimmed back his normally bushy mustache. It was his last birthday.
While I am traveling, Jo and Vivian and Evan are settling back into a normal school week in Austin. Except that they are all in bed by 7pm and awake at 5am. They are in full swing with soccer and Taekwondo and dance and drama and went to the Thinkery for Magellan's Family Fun Day - here's a photo of the Mad Science lady doing something with Vivian and friends.
Crazy is apparently glad to have them back home. Jo sent me a photo of a decapitated mouse at the front door and a mouse head that was puked up later. I won't post the photo here but my wife should become a war photographer.
Can't wait to see all the crazies back at the white wooden house. As soon as Jet Blue gets those ponies saddled.
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