Sunday night, after our exhausting but oh-so-fun afternoon with the kids in the dalit village, we went to Achen’s for a sort of goodbye dinner. We ate an amazing meal (as is always the case at Achen’s), after which we just talked and shared and laughed together.
Brandon had brought over his new tablas, and Binu, Achen’s son, who has a small amount of experience playing these drums, tried to teach Brandon the basics. Once Brandon had it down, Binu got out his guitar, and we all played music and sang late into the night.
As we were saying a difficult goodbye, Achen expressed that he and Kochamma felt blessed that they have not only been able to reunite with a daughter but have also now met and grown to love a new son. It meant the world to me to hear that, even after all of the time that has passed and all of the volunteers that have come and gone since it was my turn, Achen and Kochamma think of me – and now us – in that loving way. They were my family for that one year, and they will be a part of my family forever.
On Monday, we had a few loose ends to tie up. In the morning we headed into town on the bus to find a restaurant serving masala dosa. This was always my absolute favorite meal during my stay here five years ago, and, although you can sometimes get it at any hour of the day, it is a breakfast specialty. I’d been talking about it since the moment we arrived in Delhi, but, as it is really a South Indian dish, I’d waited to give Brandon the chance to try it. He liked it but not nearly as much as I do. Still, I think he wouldn’t mind if I were ever able to figure out how to make it at home!
Full and happy (as usual in Kerala), we stopped by some bakeries for take-home snacks like banana chips (no one makes them like the Indians) and Tiger Cookies (you can’t get them at home)! We packed our bags – one full of mostly dirty clothes and one full of our souvenirs and, of course, all those snacks. I hope we don’t get stopped at Customs in Miami!
We also took a drive to Cherai Beach. About a 30-minute taxi ride away, this wasn’t a place I ever visited often, but I probably went four or five times during my year here. It is a quiet beach, with just a few hotels and snack stands that mostly cater to Indians out for the day or taking a weekend away. I just wanted Brandon to see it because it’s a place where I have some special memories, like watching children flying kites with their dads on lazy afternoons; joining with locals on Christmas Eve to honor the one-year anniversary of the 2004 tsunami, which, luckily, did not strike this area directly but certainly did have an indirect, but profound, impact; and watching the sun set beneath the horizon the night before my parents had to go home.
So Brandon and I just walked and watched the waves of the Arabian Sea as they hit the shore.
Later that evening, we went over to Varghese John and Jyothi’s house for one more goodbye dinner. Varghese John was the principal of the college while I was volunteering there; he oversaw the projects I did and helped me adjust to become involved in the college life as much as he could. His wife, Jyothi, was a chemistry professor at the college back then and is now head of the chemistry department there. She and I had always taken to each other, and she used to look out for me the same way a mother would look out for her own child. I was always a welcomed guest in their home, and now I would get the chance to go back there with Brandon.
They made a wonderful dinner for us. We’ve had nothing but good meals here, but I can’t say enough times that the best meals are made in Indian homes. But more than the food, Brandon and I once again enjoyed the wonderful company of our Indian family.
As the night drew closer and closer to its end, we wished for time to move more and more slowly. But the time did come for us to part, and we did, with hopes of returning again someday.
Yesterday morning, we counted out the last of our rupees to pay for our room at Chacko Homes, then headed to the airport in Kochi. We had a flight at 11 that got us into Mumbai around one in the afternoon. Tuesday has only just turned into Wednesday, so, if you do the math, you’ll see that we’ve already been in Mumbai’s airport for 11 hours. We spent the first few hours in a little restaurant (apparently the airport’s only one), eating periodically but mostly playing cards. We then spent the next few hours sitting on the sidewalk outside the international terminal, not wanting to go in because we were warned that there is no water or food inside at all. Now that we are in, we see that this is true. Outside, there wasn’t much, but at least we had some snack stands. But the need for a chair finally outweighed the need to be near food and water, so here we are, waiting for Lufthasa’s desk to open so we can check in. It should be happening any time now. We have a three a.m. flight, so we are down to just three hours out of the 14 we will have spent here. Brandon has come down with a cold and is sleeping soundly in a hard, plastic chair, waking up with a miserable look in his eyes every time someone bumps him into consciousness. It’s hard to think that, after 14 hours in this airport from hell, we still have some 20 hours to fly.
But we will get there, and then I know we will miss all of the things that, at midnight on Day 22 of our Indian adventure, are driving us insane – the noise, the smells, the way they try to fit 20 people in a space meant for 10. At this moment, our cultural tolerance is wearing thin, and we just want to be home. But I bet our bags won’t even be unpacked before we wish we were back in India.
The Lufthansa desk is open, and Brandon is awake. Time to fly home...
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