Homeward Bound!

“I’m sitting at the railway station, got a ticket for my destination… hmmm
For going I’m a homeward bound…Ho-o-omeward bound ….”

I’ve forgotten the words to the old Simon and Garfunkel hit but the tune and the sentiment resonate – deep – as I sit at the promised to soon be renovated Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi. Something about sitting on my suitcase, holding my guitar and other stuff in my hand, and I don’t really care cos I am homeward bound.

So this is probably the 5th or 6th trip I am making from Delhi to Chicago in 30 months. And yet the sentiment holds. I don’t really know why. I am leaving a pleasant sunny climate for a freezing cold place. I will go home to a house that has sat empty with the heat turned off since I was last there in May. The garden I installed with such anticipation will be overrun by weeds. There will be no chauffeur, there will be no maids – I will have to fend for myself. So what is it about going home that fills me with such optimism and anticipation?

Surely, it isn’t the Delhi Airport – On my way over I was talking to my cousin Bana – I was giving her a yard by yard traffic report – telling her about how I was going to have to fight my way into the airport – past the people with the big NRI-sized suitcases and the throngs of weeping relatives. I told her I thought these people came to see their relatives off in buses. Even as I said it I thought I was being a little unreasonable. But then I saw this green bus in front of me. And another one in front of it. And what do you know – there were busloads of villagers climbing out – several were working their way into the airport !!

I managed to find a fast path in – don’t ask how, I will never be able to recall all the steps – but before I knew it – between my suitcase and my feet wide apart stance I was covering a wide area of the entry way and had become difficult to go past – imagine me – blocking all the high octane NRI sized suitcase wallahs out, elbowing and edging with the best of them.

I entered the airport and made a beeline for the baggage screening machine. This time I only waited till the 3rd guy shoved his bags onto the conveyor out of line – before asking the attendant ‘exactly which queuing algorithm was being followed here’ – I’ve been grumpy lately – am tired of people taking advantage of my good will – I suspect the long dormant asli original Indian Hema – the one that got snuffed out by the polite refinement of pardes - is getting ready to emerge. Needless to say – my bag made it in next.

I checked in – and made my way up to the lounge that American Airlines uses – as usual more people there than chairs - some smoking. I decided the lounge invite was not worth the paper it was printed on and made my way through immigration and security instead. Miraculously empty. First time I’ve strolled through both at Delhi – no waiting no fuss.

I try to spend some money in the shops. For some reason I cannot. I am tired of the same old marble plates, ganesh statues and jewelry. I wonder if this is again my basic bania instinct kicking in – or just the asli Hema emerging.

I find a seat in the waiting hall and look around. The mosquitoes are out in force this evening. Is malaria inevitable ? I’ve been bitten more in the last 6 months than I’ve been my whole life.

There are a lot of kids at the airport.. and mothers. Lots of foreigners too. I try to sit there minding my own business – but that is not to be. People walking up to me and asking if the seat is taken – uh the one I am sitting in ?

So I pull out my laptop and start to write this blog. The crowds are getting thicker. There is a very long line for the AA flight. I wonder if I will get upgraded to first. Thank God I was able to get a seat in Business class. I still shudder to think of the Thanksgiving trip 2 years ago – I got the last seat on the airplane – literally. It was in coach - the middle seat in the last row – adjacent to the bathrooms, despite being willing to pay for business class. 15 hours in the middle seat next to the bathroom. Shudder shudder – American Hema very much here and present.

I am sitting on an end seat. There is a flight to SGP leaving from the gate on my left. There is my flight leaving from the gate to my right. People have queued up on both sides. In a strange twist the 2 queues run the length of the hall and cross somewhere in the middle. So you have to cut through the SGP line to get to the AA line. This is just like the crowd at the Sikandarpur intersection in Gurgaon – traffic coming to a standstill in the junction as cars try to traverse an X.

It is midnight now – and I am fighting to stay awake. A tiny part of me wonders how I will ever make it to the plane – there are so many people in front of me and the line looks like it is moving in a circle. Another part says just go to sleep. And the guju says you’re traveling premium class, your bags are checked in – they will come look for you. Who knows ?

So I am back to my question – what is it about going home ? As a matter of fact where is home ? San Diego –the place I want to live in when I am ready to die ? Stormville – the place in the middle of the jungle where I keep most of my worldly belongings ? My parents home in Kandivali? The place I rent in Gurgaon where Salyani keeps all her worldly belongings ? The Grand Hyatt in Mumbai where I spend several nights each week ? Marina del Rey, CA ? Toledo, Oh ? Memphis Tn ? Rochester, NY where I should have made my home ? Bandra where I spent the first 20+ years of my life ? The airport where I spend a good part of my life ? And I stumble upon it. … Home is where I am.

So why am I so excited about going home ? I don’t know. I just know I am willing to put up with whatever it takes – crowded Delhi airport, unruly passengers, an oversold flight, al the work that will pile up – to get home. I haven't a clue. All I know is that I am homeward bound and there's a song in my heart and a lightness in my step that I haven't felt since the last time.