My trip to the Motherland started in the wee hours of the morning on Thursday Aug 27th. Having stayed up WAY past my bedtime the night before packing and repacking, I was surprised that I could even muster the energy to be cheerful. Emotions were raw around my family, as we all knew that I was going to be gone for six months. And I, while I was scared shitless about this ‘adventure’, had to put on this happy-go-lucky face even before the caffeine in my morning chai hit my system.
My itinerary was as follows: Gainesville, FL > Jacksonville, FL > Newark, NJ > Frankfurt, Germany > Mumbai, India > Bangalore, India.
Drove the 2hr drive to Jacksonville airport (we live in little ol’ Gainesville which doesn’t have a major airport), managed to check my humongous bags in time to Newark airport where I was to catch my international flights to desiland. All was well until time to check in my bags for international flights in Newark, NJ came. Apparently the Air India scales thought that my bags were over the limit. The fact that Continental Air (domestic airline in the US) thought that the bags were not overweight back in Florida didn’t matter. So, it was either: cough up an extra $100 for ‘baggage fees’ or else. Don’t ask how much coy flirting I did with Jay Patel (Air India Customer Service agent). Either way, the ‘baggage fee’ was waived or the scales righted themselves. AND I got exit-row window seats as a result of my talking skills. LOL.
Landed in Bangalore in the wee hours of the morning on Sat Aug 29th 2009. Wasn’t as jet-lagged as I thought I would be. Perhaps the fact that I was blessed with an exit row window seat and a few good hours of sleep on the plane might have had something to do with it. The flights across the oceans were uneventful. The clouds - beautiful. Got some beautiful shots of the sun rising and setting several times. God must have it so good!
It is when I landed in Mumbai that the ‘eventfulness’ started. Ha! I was blessed to have the kindness of a lady (whose name happened to be Kinjal Vyas! A good friend of mine shares this name!) who has travelled between the US and India via Mumbai enough times to know how to ‘navigate’ the Mumbai airport. This angel, as I prefer to call her, showed me the ropes.
So, the rule of thumb in Mumbai airport is: do not expect to see any information desks or people giving out info on where to go/what to do. Just do what the person in front of you is doing (and hope that they are not ticking off the immigration/customs officials!) We landed and were ushered into a long labyrinth of passageways. Upon reaching the ‘end’, we had to individually tag our hand luggage with Air India luggage tags (those little paper things with rubber-bands where we write our names/addresses and hope for the best when our luggage gets lost). Basically, anything in our hands – purses, rolly-polly bags, bottled water, etc needed to get tagged. I wasn’t sure why this was happening, and my jet-lagged brain wasn’t about to start questioning the ways of Indian Immigration. So taggage happened. (Don’t ask how I tagged my chunky neck-pillow!)
Because this is India, there were separate lines for Ladies and Gents. One Gent in particular decided to welcome me to India by slapping my butt as he made his way to the he-line. No, seriously. My withering stare back at him didn’t do much good. I mentally told myself to buy more kurtas (Indian loose-fitting tunic-like shirts) that would hopefully lessen the butt-slaps.
We went through the metal detectors and the perfunctory pat-down by the she-cop. Was told to dump out my water. (I thought I was being smart by asking the flight attendant on my flight for water so I wouldn’t have to buy any water at the airport!) And started the process of finding the connecting flight. ‘Started’ being the operative word. Like I said, no information desk or nothing on the TV-info screens telling us what gate to proceed to only meant one thing: start at one end of the terminal and ask each/every gate-agent: Is this the flight #602 to Bangalore? It took Kinjal (my flight-friend who was connecting to Ahmedabad) and I, about 25 minutes to find our gate. Not bad.
The rest of trip was uneventful. I had four hours in the middle of the night to kill. But too tired to do any exploring. Lugging my stuff all over the airport somehow didn’t seem appealing. So I sat. And watched. The terminal was a zoo. Literally. It felt like a market-place. Never mind that it was past midnight – everyone talked at the top of their voices. Children were running around. Babies were crying. Mothers were placating. Snoring was happening – don’t ask how, amidst the din. There were at least 15 languages being spoken. There were TONS of people (where were they all going??) At some point during this time, I said to myself, “Welcome to India”. In the midst of the chaos, I felt peace. Not sure why, but I was here. The land where my mother grew up. Where her mother did the same. Where my Brownness came from. I felt no kinship to anyone around me, but I simply knew that I was here.
My flight to Bangalore was eventually announced. Took off and landed. (They actually served little sandwiches and drinks – even though it was a 2am flight! Take that – you US flight carriers!) Went through immigration and customs (after being screened for swine flu – Bangalore is now the swine flu capital of India!) and got promptly picked up by my friend David’s brother and got inducted into the ways of Indian hospitality. The trip was over. The adventure was just beginning! Watch this space for more ‘eventfulness’.
