Our flight from Newark to London went off without a hitch. It took off a few minutes late but made up for it in the air. There were a couple crying babies as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then after a 2.5-hour layover in Heathrow, we were back on a plane.
Any flight I’ve been on whose final destination is India is generally well populated by characters. This flight was no exception. Continue reading On Ethnic Pride (or lack thereof)
Like some alien sci-fi clone, the smell was off.
For possibly the first time, I actually enjoyed myself when traveling to India this past January. Perhaps because we were finally back in Madras, where my father had grown up, after years of going to Bombay, where the language, cuisine and customs were unfamiliar to me, my father and my sister.
And now my sister and I were adults as well. My father took the opportunity to show us the campus where he attended undergrad, even his dorm, which we finally found after following many conflicting directions. The food was incredible and Madras filter coffee is hands-down the best coffee I’ve ever had anywhere. It’s still hot and uncomfortable and I got eaten alive by mosquitos, but I can’t remember another time I have wanted to remain longer for any reason other than for the family I see so rarely.