Venting out

For some time now, I have been debating if we should move back to India...you know... reaching your insides for "how exactly do I feel" to reading posts about experiences of others who have moved back to taking a survey of things in India when I was there to reading Shobha Narayan's huge PDF. All done. Still confused.

Yeah.. I do know that we will eventually. Our parents. But then, I was scared about living in India and even more scared to no longer be the "special" persons we are when we visit for that one month in a year. We would be ordinary joes, know all the troubles our parents have, see the troubles in person, see random people hustle our parents in public transportations and in the heavy traffic. Here I am seething with rage at the woman who yelled at my dad when we tried to cross the road while she was driving her two wheeler. Her "Aaaaiii Aaaiii" and irritated expression made me want to slap her. How would I handle a regular dose of this?

But then, I read this. Nostalgic. I dont think I can create a memory like this for my kids if I stay here. Not with all the cousins. Not the mangoes or the bhel. Not the grandparents. Perhaps our friends can take the role of Aunts and Uncles..... but still, not the mangoes.

*sigh*

My dad fell down and cracked his knee. He makes a joke of it -- thats the person he has always been. Wrings my heart out to see him suffer but still smile to deceive us, to save us the worry. I wish I were with him.

I miss my parents.