Growing up in Z. in a joint family has left an indelible feeling of what a home should be. A home must have activity and food and chatter and noise. Sometimes the idea of a perfect time for me is a Sunday morning back in Kitwe. I'd wake up to find my mum and kaki frying thikhi puris and brewing chai in the kitchen. Sunlight would flood our orange dining room and some sort of bhajan would be playing in the kitchen/dining wing, while the scent of fresh puris and agarbati from the Devasan wafted throughout the house. My dad and kaka would be watching the news or maybe golf in our den while perusing the Sunday paper. Malaika, Zechano and Fella would be heard scurrying around the house, their tails wagging furiously, happy that I'm finally awake and Popitoo would be sitting atop the kitchen door's burglar bars amused at all he saw below. If I could add a bit of fantasy to this memory, Nisha, Amit and Dipen would all be there at the same time and would be straggling in from their bedrooms after a hard night of partying. Then we'd all settle down around our oblong-shaped dining table and munch on garam puris, sip on chai and banter back and forth.
If only life continued to be so. However, staying in Rolla with my folks and experiencing a life similar to what we left behind has been good.
And what has made this weekend even more delightful was seeing Raakhee from Z., after five years. It was good fun to see her and catch up on people and things going on back home. Even better was seeing how we've grown up as we debated the death penalty and Bush. There just is something about people from Z. there will always be that bond or connection there.
Posted by Jigsha at 11/24/2003 01:57:00 PM | link to entry |