So How Are You Really Doing?

It's been more than three months since we boarded that Emirates flight at JFK with one-way tickets to Bangalore. I remember sinking into a surprisingly spacious Economy class seat, my relief at having made our flight only slightly marred by the realization that I had forgotten some laundry in the dryer. Since we've gotten here, friends back in NJ have been eager to know how things are going and whether we're kicking ourselves yet for trading a perfectly good life in the US of A for a more unsettled existence in the country of our birth (ours, if not the kids'). And we have to tell them that the transition has been much easier than we imagined and that at a surface level, our lives have not changed dramatically. Dig deeper and you may uncover a few differences. One of us still goes to work while the other stays at home doing (or facilitating) sundry tasks to keep the household chugging. On the days that A. agrees to go to his playschool without creating a ruckus, I might be able to sneak in a morning yoga class at the clubhouse. Or I could possibly leave him with a grandparent visiting from Chennai which is a convenient train ride away. The girls come home and complain about assorted teachers and unfair practices in school. The seventh grader gets two hours worth of homework on most days while the fourth grader gets none. By 6 pm, they both disappear into the wilderness of the community to join the scores of other kids who are out playing. Their brother, of course, has been AWOL for quite some time by then, coming home only if the food and water reserves in his body dip too low. I look into the refrigerator for dinner inspiration and miraculously pull out some dishes of dal and sabji that Ramji, the resident cook of the neighborhood, had made in the morning. So that means I can go for a walk (or talk, as D. sneeringly calls it) with the other ladies in the complex. I might stop to buy some tomatoes at the makeshift vegetable stall outside the clubhouse. Having a vegetable vendor come inside the community is a new development and one that the residents are very excited about. Back home to heat up Ramji's concoctions and wait for the girls to come home from tennis lessons (no more driving them around in this world where most of the teachers come to where you are) and for A. to return to roost in a predictably cranky state. The kids' cousins across the street pop in to compare ipod contents, among other business of a pressing nature. B. comes home by about 9 pm making for a 12+ hour day for him. We settle down to dinner: Ramji's dal is too salty and he needs to tone down the garam masala in the sabji but at least I didn't have to make them.