Red, I thought would be a good name at first, but I grew
tired of it soon. I had almost a year in my dark closet to ponder and still I
could not settle on a good name.
Snow was still on the ground when I was brought up into the
light. My family moved around as they packed for another trip. I found myself
lugged to an airport, stuffed in a tiny, congested compartment for yet another
long journey across the ocean to India. Only mother and daughter accompanied me
on this trip.
Delhi-Gurgaon was the same as we had left it with honking
cars, cud chewing cows on the roads and warm air. A few days later, after our
bodies were adjusted to the new time zone, a group of us loaded up in a van and
drove up north into the Himalayas. We drove through farmland, small towns and
sprawling cities outside the Capital, up into the mountains. Through winding
roads we observed the dried up river beds, monkeys perched up on milestones and
the panoramic expanse of the majestic mountains, until we reached the bustling
valley city of Dehra Dun.
Equally bustling was the ancestral home we stayed in where
the extended family congregated all the days we were there. They shared stories
of distant and recent past, talked over each other and listened to absorb or
correct details. While the daughter in my family appeared lost, fascinated, and
beguiled with the lively and boisterous atmosphere, the mother and grandmother
listened with interest and nostalgia as they blinked away welled tears. Their
faces reflected reminiscence of younger years and older times, memories of
those gone but ever present in their hearts and a smile to a touching moment or
story that had been recounted several times through generations.
The drive back out of the valley, through the mountainous,
winding roads, across the towns and cities into Delhi sped by in blur. A vision
of this journey representing many journeys sat heavily on the passengers’
hearts. Even I reflected on my treks from the Swiss mountains to the snow and
lakes of Minnesota to this valley city in India. My life had just begun and I
had many miles in me yet. A whole world spread out before me to discover and
conquer.
Barely had I settled into the house in Gurgaon that we were
off again, this time in a smaller plane towards the port city of Mumbai. Another
family welcomed us there with warmth and vitality. Great-grandmother lighted up
with delight and found the energy to sit up, walk out and join the family as
they assembled in the sitting room. Four generations mingled, bonded, healed as
they shared stories separated by time and space. They played the card game
passed down generations, making more memories.
Mumbai visit also ended as fleetingly as Dehra Dun and
ultimately the entire vacation was over and we were back in Minnesota. Within a
week of returning to this side of the Pacific, we learned of
great-grandmother’s departure from this world. A sad goodbye but with closure
and passing down of memories spanning four generations.
I went back to my nook, empty, sagging and reflecting on my
life’s journey.
to be continued...
