Tea with Gandhi's Granddaughter

Tara was only 14 when her grandfather died, but when she spoke of him, you would never know that over 50 years had passed. Her stories of him and with him are so vivid and clearly hold great importance to her. She actually called herself the most illiterate of the family, because rather than study other people's interpretations of Gandhiji, she uses her memories of him to make sense of who he was and how he thought.

When talking about the separation, what Gandhi above all strived to achieve although he did not agree with partition ,
she shared that eventually he agreed that there was going to be more bloodshed without it. But then she spoke of the terrorism that was present in pre-independent India and how it ensued post-independence. The terror she spoke of, though, wasn't the terrorism we think of. It was the terror of going to sleep hungry, having hungry children, or the terror of being lonely.

I only had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Bhattercharjee for a short time, but her presence was generous and full of love. We all speak the same language, the language of heart.

back.

i'm back. it's the same, yet different.

year 4 brings more comfort than year 3, so where is all this discomfort coming from ?

i arrived 2 weeks ago to the deceivingly fabulous new indira gandhi airport. after waiting for an hour for my bags, i pushed my cart excitedly out the door of the airport. hot. humid. slippery. chaos. welcome back to india.

my house had seemingly stood still, my plants continued growing, and life had carried on without me for 3 months. the hole next to my house is still there, and the house across the street appears to be finished. my car sat waiting for me in the school parking lot, as did the broken side-view and a/c and the newly broken passenger side door and window.

i find it fascinating how different my school life and summer lives are, and moreover how seamless the transition might appear from the outside. i'm experiencing the emotional transition more than usual this year. or is it just that the mundane has hit hard or that i'm more cynical than ever? not sure. it only took 1 drive home to get the road rage back, an appointment-less salon to get the tears flowing, all the while the voice in my head saying 'why did you come back again?'

schools started monday and it was glorious. the reunions with friends have been extraordinary. life is comfortable, too comfortable? i'm looking forward to learning more about myself and delhi this year, try to leave the nah-saying behind and step out into every day as if it were my last (in new delhi).