I can’t help but do the countdown math. There is this coming
weekend, I’m going back to Varanasi, there is the weekend after that, we are
going on a group trip to Agra, and then there is the weekend after that. And
that’s it, no more weekends.
I want to be really excited to go home, but as soon as I go
home there is so little time before I go back to school. And then there’s the
whole “living in the moment” thing.
Every day I get a little more comfortable speaking Urdu, and
every day I say something that makes absolutely no sense. Sometimes the
sentences come easily but more often than not I find myself running in circles
around the point I am trying to make, tripping over tenses, and butchering the
pronunciation with my American accent. It’s a shame that the words for “big,” “brown,”
“bad,” and “elderly person” all sound exactly the same when I say them.
Whenever my family tries to serve me more food (which
happens every single night) I react by blocking my plate with my hands and say
“Nahin, nahin, mein theek houn” (No, no, I’m okay), which if I remember
correctly is a normal polite response for “No I don’t want any more food” in
English. But every time I’ve said this, they’ve looked at each other and
laughed. About a week ago they decided to tell me that this was a very strange
response for me to give, because they were not asking me how I was, but instead
trying to serve me more food. I explained to them that “Mein theek houn” was me
saying no. They reasoned that “Meni kharab houn” (I am bad) should mean “yes”
if “Mein theek houn” means “no.” So whenever I’m around, if anyone wants to say
yes, they say “mein kharab houn.”
This past weekend I went to visit Varanasi where I spent
most of the year right after high school and before college, from September of
2012 to May of 2013. As usual, I hated
the train ride, but as soon as we got out of the station, I felt like I had
come back, maybe not home, but to a kind of home. As the rickshaw took us from the station to
Assi Ghat, I recognized the roads that I used to ride my bike down every day,
on my way to and from work. And from there the familiarity increased: the
street food stalls, the mango smoothie stands, the shops, the restaurants, the
temples. I still know Varanasi, and that’s a good feeling.
More importantly, I still know the people in Varanasi, and
they were the real reason I felt I needed to go back. Spending time with Dolly
Ji, my host parents, my host sister, Virendra Ji, Tom, Ajeet Ji, Manju Ji, and with the Guria
kids made my trip. Somehow, everything worked out extremely well, and I was
able to not only spend time with everyone I wanted to see, but also to show my
friends that travelled with me around a little bit. I feel thankful that
Varanasi has become a place that I can easily come back to, walk along the
ghats, get lost in the gullies, and spend time with people I love without it
seeming like the last time I was there was two years ago.
Other updates: The monsoon rains have begun—though they come
and go sporadically. Eid is quickly approaching, it will probably be on this
coming Tuesday. My family has assured me that they throw the best Eid in town.
I’ve done more and more exploring, the other day my language partner took me
shopping, she held my hand as she led me through the masses of Eid shoppers. She
helped me bargain down gifts for people at home, and a birthday present for my
host mom. The old city, the predominantly Muslim area, is crowded with people,
animals, clothing shops, book shops, every kind of shop, and is my favorite
place in Lucknow. Even when the shop keepers told us it was a fixed price, she
wouldn’t take “no bargaining” for an answer. I’m still running, watching
serials, eating mangos, loving my host family, learning Urdu, running, and
getting stared at.
Okay that’s it for now. Love from India,
Ada
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