Friday, May 11, 2012
One day after I finally get to go back to India for a visit , I will wake up at around nine and think about how waking up in India is different from waking up in the US. It is not some emotional sap, it just is. You know it. It is a fact. I will get dressed and ask my brother how to get to Janpath, cause frankly I have forgotten how to. I will then board whatever bus number (I am thinking 522) he tells me to (I also can't drive in Delhi cause I have never driven in India) and get off near the last stop on K.G Marg, and nudge my way through the by-lane that houses several halwais and second hand book sellers to emerge in what is Janpath , The people's lane. I will promptly cross the road jump the divider, cross the road again and reach the busting market where every college kid in the city gets their clothes from. I will squeeze my way through the crowd, all the youngsters yelling "Bhaiyya, yeh to chori hai" and the shopkeepers saying "Boni nahi hui, to kum kaise kar sakte hai" and walk to the guy I used to go to when I was a broke college kid and ask him how much for a pair of jeans. Then when he tells me the price, the enormity of the truth of how long I have been away will hit me like a lightning bolt and I will fall down on the ground laughing, like a crazy person.