Yes, once again we make it to US, disregarding our moorings in India - movable and immovable assets, tax obligations, our bond with the social fabric. Everything takes a back seat for a family re-union. But this time, before departure we refrained from our customary reaffirmation from rooftop: *certainly* *our last visit*. It ill behoves us to resolve and flout it, visit after visit.
Initial enthusiasm runs high in the first fifteen days. But then everything has an expiry date. The monster *countdown*, waiting on its wings, takes charge thereafter, although you still have five and half more months to complete. In our case, we hold two things responsible for this situation: having to depend on our son or d-i-l for transport; and, second, difficulty in spending time. “Come what may, we shall overcome these,” my wife and I swore this time before we set out. Backed by decades of driving experience on the* might is right* Delhi and *bumper to bumper *Bangalore roads, we tackle the first hurdle by driving the car ourselves. The left-hand drive, gearless transmission, wiper pressing into service when you command turn-signal, having to match repeated speed-limit signs with your odometer needle, and the Sheriff’s car on the beat behind your back all the time, derail your determination. But a never-say-die duo that we are (with only occasional never-again retreats), we overcame this barrier. Now, we drive to the nearby Safeway, Walmart, or Indian stores, taking turns. But this does not happen everyday. We need other avenues to pass the time. So we walk across to the park nearby and meet a host of similar VIPs (Visiting Indian Parents). Yes, six or seven of us, senior citizens, squeeze on one side of the bench, and a matching number, our better halves, on the other, and spend an hour or two every evening. Since members come from all parts of India, the medium of communication is basically Hindi. But a liberal sprinkle of regional flavor is permitted. A Mumbaikar is allowed to say *ardha* for *aadha;* *bhaaj*i for *subzi; *or * apun* for *hum*. The Oriyya gentleman is at liberty to say *dutto baa*r to mean *do baar*, or the Tamil lady *channa* for *chana*, or *gaya tha* for *gayi thi*, or a Punjabi *changga* for *achha*, or the Keralite *gaana gaake* for *khaana khake*. The lady from Bangalore, not confident in Hindi, takes the floor in English with equal ease: ' I *sented* it to my friend’; or, "The *husband of a cow* was coming in front," to mean a bull. The agenda for discussions covers anything under the sun - gasoline prices, foreclosures on the housing front and Government’s rescue operations to resurrect them, banking sector taking a beat, or gay and lesbian marriages. Who says news is juicy only in India? Often the topic strays into the culinary delights of the different regions we come from. Unable to take any more of it being talked over and over again on vacant air, the men folk on one occasion insisted that these dishes should instead manifest themselves at a picnic. The result? On a Sunday noon we all met at the same park. There is no prior booking arrangement for space. So an advance party of three arrived at 6.30 in the morning to capture two of the cement table-cum-benches for the picnic. Two hours later another team came to relieve the first batch - a la the change of guard at Buckingham Palace. We had a delicious lunch, as a result of a healthy competition among ladies to excel the other in their respective dishes. Then followed photo sessions, songs in different languages, word-building games, riddles, and Bingo to cap it all. Now parents are returning to India one by one. Back home one couple plans to retrieve their desktop from the attic, repair it from the shop round the corner and brush up their knowledge of computer operations to stay in touch with the group. The other couple had brought with them the complete DVD set of Mahabharata to view while in US. Preoccupied with these evening meetings and updating sessions over the phone during the day, they now plan to watch the remaining 9-1/2 volumes back in India, having already viewed half of volume 1. A strange coincidence that the 7 or 8 fiction novels that we ourselves had brought from India too await human contact. We have shared email IDs and hope to exchange mail regularly. We are hopeful that this association doesn’t end like any other long-haul train travel in India where we meet people from all over the country, become friends and exchange addresses, but never get to contact them. Should that happen, we are still happy that we are making the most of our US visit right now, this moment. V.V. Sundaram Phoenix 25 October 2011
