india

Lately I've been dreaming of India. Of sandalwood and saris and saffron. I've been dreaming of home.

There is something about traveling, about crossing oceans, that jolts you awake, that pulls you out of thought, that sustains you. There is something about traveling that opens up your heart and your mind and everything in between.

I am proud to call myself multiracial. To know that I come from America and hot dogs and baseball but that I also come from India and curry and cricket. I am proud that I have understood different religions, how they are miles apart and yet intensely similar, how God is always Love regardless. I am glad I have been able to connect through sight, because words end up not being all that important, language is not all that important, in the long run.

I am happy to know words like Namaste and Mataji and Lakshmi. I am happy to know the way these words feel in the back of your throat. I am happy to know their meaning.

I miss hot chai and fried dough, mathis, sitting on balconies at 4 AM because of jet lag and letting the spices run heavy through your body. I miss, oddly, cold showers and the way you fill buckets with water, because there's no other way. I miss talking to people on the street, with broken feet, with yellowed eyes, with torn t-shirts, people nonetheless, people with stories and heart and wisdom. I miss these things.

I will always dream of India, and my family there, and the things that are real and close to the heart, the things that cause me to dream and hope and love. I will always dream of my India.