When my father first told that I'd have to leave for India after my 10th ,I didn't believe him. Ofcourse,I had known it all my life ..but somehow I just wasn't ready for this.
No amount of tears or starvation would change the decision. But I was going to try anyway...and thankfully my Mum began to get worried.
“I think our daughter is going to starve herself to death.”
“Oh..don't worry.She'll come when she's hungry.”
That evening my father brought home Tandoori..CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT! TANDOORI FRIED CHICKEN! No I am not going to give up that easily.
Ok, maybe I'll just take a peep.
There, I saw my mother tearing away the juicy fried flesh from a bone of poor dead chicken.
..gasp.....YOU TOO MUMMY!!
I slammed the door shut,and my groaning stomach lulled me into sleep.But not for long .I was 2 a.m. I can bet Mummy left some over for me.How could she not..she's a Mummy after all.
I slipped as quietly as I could into the kitchen. My mouth was already watering..slurp Tandooori..wait till I get my hands on ya..
OK Fridge..' oopen sesame'...............
Noooooooo...the fridge was almost empty. Course it would be, we would be leaving in a day. But ..but where's my tandoori....grumble..grumble..Great! There goes my stomach again!
The only thing that saw my despicable state that day was an apple.
D-day finally arrived. Last calls to my best pals were finally made. I didn't have much time to think. Everything was happening too fast..sigh even the street lights looked as if they were waving at me.
At the airport, my friend was waiting to see me off. She gifted me a mug and then a warm hug
“So this is it eh? I'm finally going.”
Lo and behold there stood before me the majestic Air India .The Maharaja mascot with his twirling mustache gave me a smirk. I fastened my seat belt and watched on like a deaf mute as the air-hostess instructed how to pull out the oxygen mask in case we crash landed..an idea that seemed alluring then..She then pointed to the four emergency exits... ah..EXIT is it still possible?
Four hours later I could see the tops of coconut trees swaying like a dance and before long I would be stepping on the red mud of Kerala.
Strange. I am slowly being molded into this mud. My feet feel firm on this ground. It's been seven years now. I can now live without Odomos, I can hear the music of my mother tongue and finally, can understand any local joke and laugh my heart out. I've learnt to go with the flow and yet be the stone that impedes it.
What else can I say....”I'm lovin it.”