Admittedly, getting to India was challenging. We had to navigate forms demanding to know if we have family in Pakistan, living or dead. Ultimately, the visas arrived recently after a few months of nervousness.
Without sharing the Partition of 1947 -- where India and Pakistan abruptly split into two nations -- this story is incomplete. "Abrupt" here means that there was a plan...implemented haphazardly. Millions of people fled for their lives, to one country or the other, and many lost their lives as well. As a consequence, India and Pakistan, officially, are unconvinced of the other's goodwill, a tension that has only grown since the 2008 attacks in Mumbai.
Such a tension is not that easy to resolve. Throughout the trip, I wrestled with being "fair" to India, acknowledging its great achievements while recognizing the country has improvements to make. As a tourist, there is also the simple matter of trying to have fun.
Surprisingly, my main city within India was an excellent template for exploration. Nestled in Malabar Hills, a lush and wealthy neighborhood, is a curious house, hidden by a closed gate, and even a parked, empty ambulance. Why would we -- as visitors to India-- come to this secluded spot? Knowing that we are in the city of Bollywood?
1) A few notes on routine
2) A chronological telling of major events with opinions
3) Some thoughts on food in Mumbai
4) Little descriptions on interesting animal experiences
5) The two final chapters of India
6) Reflection on what it all meant
A busy beehive served as my station for activity. Tremendous opportunities abound with some unusual constraints from a megacity, shaping my schedule. Often days were spent within a particular 'area' of Mumbai, or we angled for another area of the city.
When not traveling, within the city or otherwise, I held a routine of studying Urdu everyday on the Mango Languages App (example screen shown). When the Urdu lessons fell one by one, I made my way to the Hindi class; despite featuring different accents, many of the words are shared, teaching me in another order.
Within my sister's apartment complex, for example, was a decent-sized, well-used gym where you were asked to bring outside shoes. Every time, I slipped my slippers off, switched my footwear, and worked out. Somehow, this rhythm stuck, even when I traveled away from Mumbai. (Thank you, hotel gyms.) I would work out for around 40 minutes 4 times a week on average, sometimes going above.
Much of life went on within the apartment itself. In fact, a certain initiative continued throughout my entire trip: reading books off my sister's shelf. Many of them were on foreign policy or contained writings by the famed author Hasan Sadat Manto (someone well known for writing about Partition).
Some tasks mostly went on as planned, despite the travel. I fielded a graduate school interview over Zoom at night, was ghosted on another interview, and stayed up until past midnight for a third. All in the midst of jetlag and intra-India travel. Toastmasters did not get lost in the shuffle thanks to the timing falling on Tuesday morning. However, the Jodhpur/Udaipur, Golden Triangle, and Chennai trips naturally provided me ample cause to take breaks. A few new tasks cropped up: such as emptying dehumidifiers every several hours to protect my sister's fabric and lodging from Mumbai's air.
Amsterdam was chilly, cloudy, gloomy -- the way I like it. Schipol airport, the third busiest European airport, was certainly an adjustment. My parents insisted on going to the travelers' lounge while I recognized that the processes here were awkward. I took the transport provided for mobility limited people and noticed how slow the process was. The airport visit significantly improved when I got a wheelchair attendant. A friendly, helpful Dutch person with some hair dyed red; they took us to the gate and told us more about the airport. This surprise really elevated the experience for me.
A straightforward time was not in the cards, though. At the gate, we learned about a 2 hr plane delay and gate change, and stopped by the lounge for an hour. Then ushered over to the new gate where KLM forgot the pre-boarding again. Thankfully, this was our second flight of TWO -- exceedingly rare for this kind of distance. Put at a bit of ease, I did sleep on the plane, but had to use the cheap earbuds given while awake. There was this incredible 2023 movie called Monster directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda...dampened by the poor audio quality.
Sometime in the early morning, touchdown in Mumbai, a posh airport supported by oligarch money. Despite some waiting, we did not need Nadia's help outright or to pull out our documents explaining the nature of our stay. (Given our visa challenges, very much not a guarantee.) Immigration and customs permitted us through without much trouble. Crows also found fascination with airport lights.
When a little cough escaped from me, my sister felt concerned. To me, it was just a cough, but I oped to take some Nyquil and sleep. One day's journey across THE ENTIRE WORLD had also taken a little toll. I needed to be rested, though. For there was a perfect excuse for me to investigate India -- this land from which my ancestors hailed.
When I woke up, my sister was there. (Good time to mention that my room for sleeping ended up being shared space for her clothes.) I shook myself awake at around 10:50something. Our only plan for today was to take it easy. However, my burgeoning mass of hair wished to be cut free. This haircut in India had been in my plans for months. In fact, this apartment complex had its own little salon. A lot of hair got lopped off, and a little shave rendered me fairly clean.
After that, my parents ordered some food from Punjabi Grill, a mainstay of our time in Mumbai. Pretty tasty though we did run out fairly fast. Following a little more rest, we went to some grocery stores. There was Nature's Basket, a grocery store recommended by our host, and a couple other restaurants. As the sun receded, I lied down to rest around 7 PM. My next time waking up was after the day had changed over. At least, jetlag was not preventing me from sleeping during the approximate right time of day.
Heading to South Mumbai for the first time took an hour due to traffic, across bridges overlooking water and smog across the skyline. We passed by tree-lined streets with striking buildings, as shown below. Our first destination was the Taj Hotel, a 5 star hotel and also the site of the 2008 attacks. Though the hotel is perfectly calm now, you can tell how strict the security is.
From here, we set out for Jia, a Chinese restaurant, stepping across busy roads. Having noticed the restaurant sign first, I felt a little proud. I then pushed my limits and walked in the sun and posed for pictures with the Gateway to India.
Such a tourist spot did drain my nerves a bit. I ended up waiting for my parents and sister in a coffeeshop, regaining my vitality. My little coughing habit came back during this outing and then eased up in the venting. Back in the apartment, I ate some bhindi (fried okra) for a calm dinner.Writing about my trip in that moment -- as it does now -- gave me a blunt tool to get over my troubles.
Such reflection came in handy. After all, I found myself back at the Taj Hotel and the Gateway to India just a little while later. This second time, as something of a guide.
The Punjabi festival called Lohri was one of our first cultural celebrations in India. I mustered up the energy to head down to the grassy square across from our building. Samosas, a fizzy drink called Lahori Zeera, and masala chai were all ours for the taking. After the bonfire was set ablaze, intense percussion played out. I enjoyed this requiem for a fulfilling day.
Mughal e Azam -- "the Great Mughal" in English -- is a musical about Emperor Akbar, head of the Mughals, a Muslim empire that ruled over much of North India for centuries. Within India, there is a push to sidestep the influences from the Mughals. (See
current year blockbuster Chhaava.) Mumbai is especially strange because it is in the state of Maharashtra where the Mughals were fended off by Hindu warriors. To see this performance, with Islam at the center, was a real treat. Within the luxurious Ambani Cultural Center, the play was carried by elaborate setups echoing Mughal architecture, fabulous Mughal fashion, and intricate songs matched by sublime choreography. All of this experience conveyed through poetic Urdu (from what my parents tell me). Unfortunately, this posed a challenge, as the subtitles were unfortunately red font on black background.
I was learning the whole time, though! Isn't that the real reason we go to art? Needless to say, incredible experience that reminded me to continue studying Urdu and Hindi.
When the curtain collapsed loudly for the final time, I was shook. With the cast before us, a sense of admiration swept across the room. Not simply moving, Mughal-e-Azam shone with an aura of a better, more hopeful India.
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Originally,
this day off was going to be dedicated to a trip to Kerala or Goa. Instead, we
found ourselves traveling all over South Mumbai all together. A thirty minute drive into
the heart of South Mumbai, across the Sea Link, took us to the immensely lush
Malabar Hills. It was tricky finding the Jinnah House though. Clearly, as I mentioned earlier, this place was hidden away.
Our next stop was the Victoria
Terminus, one of the great architectural marvels of Mumbai. Rideshare driver said that there’s a fine for going inside
without a ticket. In light of such news, we took pictures across from the Terminus in front of the BMC
government building, including several selfies. (BMC is essentially the municipal branch and they are behind a lot of Mumbai's torn up roads in the name of "repairs.") The sun was beating down hard with my body hinting at creeping fatigue.
Mom and I headed to the BMC building. Meanwhile, my sister and father went to the FFRO office, some several minutes walk away. Essentially, dad had just misplaced his passport, (extremely rare for him) including a few days prior and needed an exit permit to travel within India. Fortunately, my sister knew the proper procedure to resolve this situation.
Thanks to mom's ingenuity, the two of us were permitted in by the officer for a couple selfies. Within was a beautiful British gothic style with winged lions. Ordinarily, the British are not to be praised. I'll let it slide this one time. After that, I sat outside, with the officer asking some people to move for me, and I read my book.
During this, big sis asked me to find a restaurant near the Kala Goda statue/festival. Punjab Grill sat right by the statue, and we had ordered food from there early in the trip. I reserved us seats, feeling proud.
We met up to get a taxi. One driver wanted 200 rupees, and nearly drove off with me in the car...so I had to get out of a moving car. We landed in the 100 rupee taxi, involving 100% less jumping out.
My place chosen was luxurious by Indian
standards, even with a second floor and full AC. They were still opening up
when we were let in. Our orders took a little
time but we got some great items. Mom looked disappointed when I ordered
chicken malai tikka (because it’s not spicy but I carried on). Dad got chicken
tikka, and mom got mutton biryani. The mutton biryani was immensely spicy yet
flavorful. My malai tikka had its own soothing flavor and paired well with the gentle
mint chutney. Our three dishes proved satisfying, and we got the build.
Our food was tasty, and sat squarely by the Kalagoda Arts Festival sign. Many stalls lined up. Before we got too far, my older sister's colleague accompanied us. She was very friendly to meet and had a wealth of anecdotes about India, from Lucknow to Mumbai. Many stalls lined up from across India, like Bengal, and Odisha (yes, friend F was told about this), and even Kashmir (maybe Ladakh). I had to sit down a little while on the steps, feeling dizzy even after taking water. The festival started to get a little tough for me, though we did complete our return trip back through. Sister's colleague had to head out for something else and we looked for the last aspect.
Our next trip to South Mumbai took us to Crawford Market (skipped over previously). The outside is not especially well-kept while the inside is a veritable true bazaar. There were stores selling mostly dried fruits, nuts, spices, and chocolate. ...Somehow, chocolate may not be the most appropriate choice for us given the heat. Given that you know melting issue.
This one store, A-1, had chips, cashews,
beautifully pungent garam masala (trust me this is a good thing), and lots. It was a great place for various goods that also offers delivery. After walking around, I was
deprived of a chance to sit down before heading out.
There was the stunning Juma Mosque
nearby. I chanced upon this mosque Getting there required passing by TWO checkpoints: the sari store and
optics store. Both gave me a chance to sit down and collect my threat. In the sari store, I learned
how cotton is largely sourced from Rajasthan (even for Pakistani made shirts) and silk
from Varanasi (formerly Benares). Actually, there were some Karachi made shirts in the
store, rather interesting. 
After this, we went to the optics store where they did not understand my glasses prescription. Parents had me try a few frames, but felt confused. This frame selection process is always stressful for me. Stepping outside, I noticed there were
several other optics shows in that same area.
Now, we were truly right by the Juma Mosque, in the midst of a bustling Muslim neighborhood. Here was a chance to eye
the Mosque's beauty emanating from a eggshell white exterior. I saw a raptor perch on the mosque, drawing emphasis back to the historic building.
Before we called the day quits, there was still Noor Mohammadi, a century old restaurant serving Mughlai (Mughal-style) food. Mughlai is also a good description of Pakistani-type food.
Though the restaurant was hardly pretty, the service was immensely prompt. We got an affair of food – for me green (Hariyali) chicken tikka, dad regular chicken tikka, and mom got haleem (a meat stew prepared with blended lentils). All three dishes were
quite flavorful and brought out quickly. Unfortunately, the bathroom was in a dark, narrow alley with a hole-in-the-ground toliet. Still, it was a great food
experience, and this restaurant does deliver. Having hit 3 pm, we could call this day's outing complete.
Despite being besieged by jetlag, J met with my sisters and I at the ultra-hip American-esque Boojee Cafe. Unfortunately, I overlooked the existence of TWO instances and sent J to the wrong one. Luckily, they were only ten min apart. We rushed in, saw him hanging out on the top floor (a little cramped for a tall guy like him), and joined up. Apologies came first but we did apologize profusely to my friend. Though my sisters have met him, this was a good chance for us to catch up, have a heart to heart chat. My unease melted away with this nice company.
The next day, I attended Toastmasters, in the midst of a travel outbreak for myself, and presented my pigeon story written back in Jodphur/Udaipur. Got some silliness out of the system.
Just a couple hours later, my little sister and I went to South Mumbai to meet up with J. (I'd been to the area before and felt responsibility to act as a guide.) Fortunately, there was only ONE Taj Palace (I checked) and we wandered around, finding some shops and hallways previously unknown. It's still a gorgeous 5 star hotel! Shocker, I know.
There was a little hiccup though. The restaurant Souk, a Mediterranean place at the top, was closed for the next maybe half an hour. Our party headed outside to the 'square' between the Taj Palace and the Gateway to India. Sun beat down intensely yet I felt strangely in control of my energy. (Somehow, my muscles were playing cool, which really is weird.)
Unlike my first time here, the Gateway was not as packed. Perhaps because it was a weekday. With the added solar pressure, I was grateful honestly. J asked me to explain the history of the Gateway. Unfortunately, not knowing the real history, I made up a story about how it's a Gateway and....exists. He made a quick discovery that this Gateway is only about a century old, a little surprising.
Near the Gateway to India, I resting a little bit, sitting down and recollecting energy. During this brief stasis, my friend
pointed out a bird on the statue! To my shock and delight, it is a
raptor. Not just any raptor, but a Steppe Eagle -- which I'd learned
about at the Monsoon Palace back in Udaipur (my first mini-trip).
Inspired by this momentous occasion, I wrote the following poem:
How
high flies the mighty steppe eagle
for it is not a flying beagle
except when perched atop a metal statue
allowing a rare glimpse that shows you
this raptor sticks to India, like glue
There were also various vendors in this part of town. J was on a furious mission to get ten sunglasses for 100 rupees. At least two different vendors sat in our approximate area. Though his haggling did not work, he headed back to secure the ten sunglasses (for 100 rupees each) and my sis and I went to get our seats.
Now at Souk, we met up and ate. In this case, I found the lamb kebabs a little underdone; tasty, but pricy. Here the great company is what made the meal sing, along with a great view of the harbor. During lunch, I noticed the eagles flying high above from the
restaurant. The waitstaff actually used the term "Eagle", proving my hunch was right.
At this point, my sister, still revising her time cycle, asked if we could head home. I convinced her for one last stop -- at the Victoria Terminus -- and assured it would be 5 minutes. Somehow, we managed at the back end of the Terminus and in a tricky situation. One person offered to show us the other side, but it seemed a little sketch. J handled the person by calmly offering "no thank you". After this, we split up for the afternoon, promising to meet up later at my temporary home.
Being an eternally gracious fellow, J visited and stopped by for around an hour. Sister 1 was working (supporting our stay), and Sister 2 was getting well-deserved rest. Which means, it was my parents, J, and I.
My mom and dad congratulated him on finishing up the Ph.D., with my dad going full professor mode. Asking J all sorts of questions about his methodology and conclusions. I really enjoyed having my friend over. This last visit was a simple gesture.
Still a truly warm moment of human connection. Having someone visiting and spending time at the apartment was a great experience. Especially since I often feel that inviting people over is tremendously hard. Friends like J don't appear often. (Naturally, he got rapturous reviews from my family.)
Mumbai was an exceptionally memorable time, making my selection for this blog challenging. Maybe that is how I finished this blog a full month after coming back. So badly do I want to capture every aspect, of shopping, of cuisines, of concerts, and more. If you find something missing, feel free to just ask me about it! There's multitudes not mentioned here, and that's for the sake of not writing a novel.
To give you the grace of guessing, the collages are provided BEFORE a blurb for each dish. Collage 1 centers non-Indian food and Collage 2 is Desi food focused. On top of these several dishes, I ate bhindi (fried okra), aloo paratha (bread stuffed with potato), daal (lentils), and more. To be honest, though, I wish I'd eaten more vegetarian food!
Spanish food including Seabass (shown) from La Loca Maria in Bandra West;
Chinese food from Jia restaurant in Colaba (South Mumbai);
Persian food including lamb koobideh and berry rice (shown) from Cafe Mommyjoon in Bandra West;
and Japanese-Korean fusion chicken bowl called "Fiery Tiger" from Tiger Yaki in Bandra West.
Clockwise, Image 2:
Green Day at Lollapalooza India came real close to our departure in March. The band did an excellent job of balancing 30th anniversary of the album Dookie with the 20th anniversary of album American Idiot. This was, however, not entirely planned either.
My older sister handed me off her Day 2 pass to Lolla and gave me a rare blessing to travel solo. I had a great time but did notice my bias towards the 90s material. American Idiot is a fun album, but Dookie holds up better for me in 2025. They also played "Dilemma", an undeniable gem among their most recent material. They played my favorite song "Brain Stew", ensuring a memorable evening. (Except for trying to leave the concert. See my Access post for a few issues.)
An Ode to Animal Friends
Even in winter, Mumbai is tremendously hospitable in climate, temperatures rarely dipping below 21 °C (70 °F). Not only does this help us humanfolk, it creates good conditions to meet animal folk. Granted, I did not have a chance for an amazing animal companionship (despite my wishes). Generally stuck to myself. Still saw some neat animals.
There are numerous stray dogs resting in the streets at all hours, rarely looking up even as a car or person moved right by or over. Pigeons, crows are the most common animals asides from them. Occasionally, humans walking their pet dogs would crop up, especially in my area of Mumbai.
A few short tales of comradery follow.
Outside the urban hip coffeeshop Subko, located in Mumbai's favorite suburb of Bandra West, there was a cat that paid me no heed. Green collar suggested this cat was well taken care of.
Some cats lived in the neighborhood complex. I could never quite tell which were strays and which were informally taken as pets -- domesticated strays. This led to a certain reticence of mine when it came to the cats. I came to realize that some minded human presence far less than others, like the below cat. 
My sister once warned me that the pool in her apartment complex is not up to American standards. This pool is right in front of the building housing the gym. Walking by the pool was an integral part of my routine (thanks to the gym). Once, I noticed something and stopped to capture a few interlopers dipping their bodies. Henceforth, this was the pigeon bath to me.
Now, my sister's comments actually had little to do with wet feathers; instead, it was apparently about how the edges are a little rough. It took me ages (relatively) to enter the pool. It was during my first final chapter (read on for more). Turns out, no, even these edges are smooth, and the tiles glanced at overhead shimmer in beautiful iridescent colors through the water. The pigeons were onto something!
One animal denizen stood out for regularity. This charming crow came to my sister's balcony apparently at least a few times a week. Here in India, crows have a deeper, lower cry than the American ones I know best. These birds have a charm to them universally with their unique patterns that seem human-like.
Outside the apartment, heat and humidity sandwich together to create an oppressive atmosphere, with the heat index approaching 38 °C (100 °F).
Every time, we passed through South Mumbai, the Haji Ali Dargah had been in the distance, beckoning my eyes closer. Maybe today, our "final" day (foreshadowing) I could finally go there. Haji Ali is a historic mausoleum for a Sufi Muslim saint that sits in the sea, connected to mainland by a walkway. However, the sea height dictates whether Haji Ali is available for visit.
Looked at the tide charts of Mumbai, and tried to find more information. I searched around, found an article explaining that the walkway was 5 meters up, above the day's high tide. Yet, I had already waited for the tide to start dipping. Changed into pants and managed to manifest mom coming with me
too. A pretty mosque, blue-capped, was visible on the way.
Now, around 3:30 pm, we headed off to Haji Ali and arrived at the bridge across water. The walkway to the Haji Ali was convoluted, though arguably short as the bird flies. Path had a serpentine shape, leading through people and alongside debris. Still, it was only ten minutes even with the vendors on the
way within a tunnel. Mom tried to get me to buy sunglasses but I wanted to proceed.
After all my research, the tide was pretty
low and nowhere near a concern. You can see for yourself the lack of issue!
Despite all these efforts to plan for density, it seemed that the heat kept crowds down. Certainly busy, tinged with people, probably only 30% occupancy of the walkway. (Light for a major tourist attraction like this.) Eagles swirled around above, as crows cawed closer to the path.
Before us, a main gate stood high; though not well maintained, my curiosity was aroused. People walking out assured us that the inside was worth the visit, even if the gate was a little downtrodden.
Mom held onto my shoes and sent me onto the Dargah proper. Essentially, a shrine with a series of colorful fabrics stacked on top. At the fence, I offered a quick prayer for my family's good fortunes. Walking to the side, following a little searching, I find my mom holding my shoes by the mosque entrance (below image). She comments on its beauty and now recommends I go inside.
Now tired, I was happy when we seated ourselves in a taxi. We got routed through busy traffic in town, but it gave a new view. Next, we zoom by a pretty temple I cannot get a picture of from my position. (Car windows are challenging for photography.) Mom has us stop over for something small before we get home too. In total, this was a 2 hour trip to and from the Haji Ali, alleviating all times passing along the Sea Link highway.
From the wheelchair waiting area, I kept an eye on the counter diagonally from me. At some point, despite my intentions of vigilance, my phone came out, after 20 minutes of radio silence. Of course, using family groupchat is the main reason, but I was also just nervous with this wait. Soon enough, KLM staff tells us we cannot board the flight. We are given the hot potato of "visa expired," which perfectly synced with the unexplained fluttering in my stomach.
12:03 AM, the rest of my party was being sent to customer service -- they say talk to immigration for boarding pass, but a boarding pass is needed to see immigration.
12:22 AM, airport manager talks to my family and yet this cycle is not broken.
1:01 AM, my older sister, summoned because of our situation, arrives. Flight in less than 2 hours, not that it matters.
Prepaid taxi carries the four of us back to my older sister's place. Arrived around 2:30 AM, adrenaline coursing through. As of midnight, I had already made peace with our possibly not making the flight. Intellectual side was unperturbed. Yet, frustration came easily, like how I had to follow long at a distance, waiting for a wheelchair that never came. Fell asleep after an hour.
Being told your visa expired is embarrassing, stifling. We thought every rule was properly followed, every appropriate person contacted. Yet, foiled by arbitrary visa rules. Younger sister quickly prepares our exit permit applications with our documents, kicking off a waiting game. At least our trip was prolonged at my big sister's place, presenting more family time than expected.
Fortunately, the office reopened this particular Saturday and reviewed our case. We had to wait for the applications to process. In fact, we ended up going to a mall, with mom looking for ittar again. There was a Ramadan special deal, probably what got us in there at first. She had me sniff a few fragrances before deciding on a few. Perusing the upper floors, mom got really excited by this teal kurta; surprisingly it has a snug fit, and a manageable amount of shininess.
My closing action was returning to Subko, for an Indian hot cocoa (sourced from southern India), before leaving. This simple trip, nearly, felt excessive. But this was the last chance for my little sister to visit a favorite haunt of our older sister. It's a sibling thing. We also shared a tasty pain au chocolat (apparently called a regular croissant by the staff). Honestly, a pretty relaxing way to bring the temperature down (only metaphorically).
Another round of trying to leave India. Nerves are high, given our dramatic halting in the airport. Around 9 pm, I ate some pretty good chicken-and-beet curry (with a powerful maroon color) and freshly baked naan.
This last stretch would be too hard to read 70 pages left in Bridge on the Drina. (A dense read, extending over centuries with small 20th century font.) So, what if this book from big sister's shelf came to....my bookshelf at home? Well, permission was granted, providing me a little memento.
On the way to the airport, arriving close to 10:30, I noticed this strange orange moon. My eerie confidence allowed me to see this not as an ill omen, but a sign of excitement. In this last car ride, there was this one final blurry photograph. 
This time, our return was shockingly simple. 11 PM, in line; 11:30, get boarding pass; 11:51, immigration completed. (Big sis got home by this point; contrast this to the first final chapter.) Simply provided passport, boarding pass, and exit permit, and we were allowed through without any questions. My wheelchair assistance helped a bit. By contrast, younger sister got a couple questions (like where is our dad). One final surprise in Mumbai denies us access to the nicer travel lounges, placing us at, in fact, McDonalds. Now upon the plane, with no incidents to note, one massive travel day.
How long? 28 hours return trip (thanks to Seattle entering the mix). 
On Flight 1, the first eight+ hours, I saw several films, including classic animated work Iron Giant! Did a little bit of blog writing, poem writing, read some Drina, all that jazz. A fairly peaceful time, except for not being able to charge my laptop (this airline only has USB ports for some reason).
As the plane inched lower, I caught a couple delightful images of Amsterdam, windmills in the distant blue. Not my main stop, sadly. These images are dedicated to a friend (they know who they are) who likes the Netherlands.
Unfortunately, Amsterdam airport (Schipol) was a massive headache, despite our positive time coming through the first round. 2 hours to get wheelchair aid (more like a buggy/cart and some walking) to get to my gate. We barely got there on time for the boarding. This all feels a little unfair when the assistance usually moves me along faster. This is just unprecedented! Making my way onto Flight 2 felt like such an entire relief at this point.
Surprisingly, the change from KLM to Delta brought with it an electrical outlet for my battery-besieged computer. The movie selection shifted considerably as well. Among a few films, I finally watched Before Sunrise, a 1995 romance film, that was painfully insight-filled. Lines like "I thought Americans only spoke one language", ringing rather humorously to me (after studying Urdu and Hindi). There was also a scene in Vienna that echoed my own visit back in 2022. Despite my stubbornness, I was won over by this wonderful film.
While on Flight 1 tiredness seemed to naturally assist in rest, Flight 2 called for a little melatonin and napping in the middle of this film streak. During the flight, I took some time to play on my laptop, work more on my Amritsar post, and integrate my thoughts together.
However, our touchdown in Seattle around 12:40 pm was marred by a quick turnover. If we faced pretty much any immigration issues, we would have to wait for another plane. A third flight was already enough delay! However, with the wheelchair porter, we were exceptionally quick. Got our suitcases, though there was some confusion where the porter accidentally contradicted TSA. (The agent was stern and made us follow process properly, but at the appropriate level and still ushered us through.) With our pre-TSA check passes, we zipped through immigration, taking only 5 minutes.
Around 1:15 pm on the train towards our gate, arriving to gate at 1:20 or so. While my mom and sis go to the lounge, I watch over our stuff. My intention was finalizing the Amritsar post, with my writing from Flight 2. However, my friend, called T here, was simply too enjoyable to talk to. They derailed my plan! (Also maybe a sign to just take a little more time on the post.) Efficient pre-boarding procedure also means we start lining up around 1:50 pm, and get on the plane with take off not long after.
Our terminal flight, from Seattle to Portland, was only a half hour. Read more of Drina on the plane -- my little slice of India in hand. That is why we were not as worried about a connecting flight through SEA airport. Through the window, I captured some beautiful shots of my other homeland, dense greenery abound. A remarkable view of Mt Hood, the mighty peak of Oregon, cropped up, but I was a little too far for a clear shot. We were incredibly close to being done with the 28 hr travel.
We landed in Portland, excited to go home, experience individuality. But I so terribly missed a full house with my older sister's hospitality, as my mind drifted back to should do. Soon I would be, again, without excuses to establish myself professionally. Around 7pm, ate a taco. An hour later? Fast asleep from the chronological despairs placed on my body.
Goodbye to Jodhpur and Udaipur; Jaipur, Fatehpur Sikri, Agra, and Delhi; Colva; Chennai; and Amritsar. Farewell to my encounters with J, F, and the S's. Au revoir to Mumbai. An incredible distance covered between my big sis and us. We were home.
With my inquisition, I wanted to avoid simply being intellectual. This inquiry opened up my openness to India as a whole, entering as someone of a 'new' generation. Temporarily pausing my American identity unlocked my immersion into Indian food and culture. While aloo paratha is great, just wonderful, there was something more to my excursion. Years after my grandparents passed on, I was able to imagine in better detail their lives by coming here.
Among my many activities, I pored over the book Crossing Over: Stories of Partition from India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, which big sister borrowed from the consulate for me. This compilation of short stories, with a self-explanatory theme, draws from writers living in present-day Bangladesh (a nation that split from Pakistan in the 1970s), India, and Pakistan. The turbulent, murky relationship of these three countries makes these stories surreal in premise yet grounded in drama. Hasan Sadat Manto, one of the most illustrious Urdu writers, found a dark comedy in the rapid shifting of borders during Partition. In writing by another author, one character traveled back across the border fifty years after being forced to move, and seeing their sister, still living in the area. I can only imagine the intensity of emotion from such a dramatic reunion.
They are both incredibly deserving of true admiration. My grandfather served as a diplomat, performed as a tremendous gardener, and acted as a proud figure in my life. My
grandmother read voraciously, including the esteemed Manto; cooked
incredible food from across the world like khao soi from Myanmar (a dumpling take on the dish from my trip shown here); and
showered
us with love. I wish I knew them better while they lived. Other friends seem to remember their grandparents with incredible clarity. My memories are fuzzier, omitting full scenes of both of my grandparents. Here in India I could try to piece the fragments together; they cannot be revived from the dead, but I can better imagine myself talking with them about their lived experiences. (Maybe that is why this post took one month to write.)
