Goodbye, Hello

Goodbyes are never easy, especially when I am involved. I have never experienced a goodbye that did not involve at least a couple tears. Leaving India was no exception. I cried when a group of people left at 4 AM, I cried the day before everyone left when we were driving to the temples with Ramesh and Baldev, and I cried the entire ride to the airport, and most of the first plane ride to Mumbai. The people around me most of thought I was psychotic. I am so bad at goodbyes because I get attached to places, memories, and friends really easily - which is pretty ironic considering I can never hold onto a romantic relationship for more than a month or two without getting bored. Go figure.

But leaving India was one of the hardest things I have ever experienced. Leaving Ann Arbor or White Plains is sad, but I always know they will be there when I get back. I also have email addresses and phone numbers of all my college and high school friends. The people I met in India do not have Internet, and they live nearly 7,000 miles from me. I may never see them again (even though my horoscope did say I would return to India in 1.5 years). Although I have phone numbers for a bunch of my Indian friends, that does not mean there are not astronomical international phone charges. I guess what makes it even harder is that if I do keep in phone contact with a couple of them (cough Naresh cough), still who knows if I will see him again? And isn't it worse to keep up contact without the possibility of meeting again? Or is that the point - to hope to meet again without any expectations? I don't know.

My month-long excursion in India was a learning process, and I would never give a second of it back. I loved nearly everyone I met there, and I believe almost everyone I met had something to offer or to teach me. Don't get me wrong, not every minute was perfect or wonderful. There were situations that were frustrating, and times where I wanted nothing more than to turn on some music, be by myself and eat a burger. But those times were few and far between. I know I will miss the nights I spent staring at the stars while listening to the chords of Louis' guitar, with everyone talking and laughing about whatever was on our minds. I made some best friends by the end of the month, and luckily some of them I will get the opportunity to see again. But there will never be a night-sky or a palace balcony like there was in Dhrangadhra. The nights we drove into town in Naresh's rickshaw to get ice cream, and the detours we took to his family's house or to walk in the gardens and smoke a cigarette are also some of my favorite memories. I hope to be able to remember the smell of smoke and cow shit mixed with frying panchea that surrounded the rickshaw as we would drive down the streets - but I can't know I will.

I wish you could just slow down time - video tape sound, smell, feelings, and thoughts - so that you could just go back in time and stay there for a while. The best part about that would be that you could come and go as you please. But everyone knows that life is not like that. Life would not be life without goodbyes, hellos, endings, or beginnings. And if things never ended, would anything be worthwhile? If I never had to leave Dhrangadhra, would I have been able to savour the experience as much as I did? Probably not. As much as I wish it didn't end, I would never know how much I loved India or the people I met within it if I hadn't been forced to leave. You never know how much you love something until it is gone. But thankfully, now I have a family in India and a family in Pennsylvania to add to my repertoire. And if I start missing my friends in Dhrangadhra, I just have to close my eyes and think back to that last day with the staff going from temple to temple - being tired, but never wanting it to end for fear that when it did end it would mean it was really time to go home. And I know I never wanted to go home.