dear india.
part of me wants to close your cover. i’m ready for the next book and to move past my time with you… i don’t want to tell your stories nor try to figure out how you changed me. i’m ready to write your conclusion and put your numbered book on the shelf with the rest of them. i’ll pick you up again someday, when i’m ready to read you again. but not until then.
then part of me is afraid to finish you. i’m beginning to forget what your soap smelled like in the kitchen, the freshness of your morning, and they way your people made me smile. i’ve lost the stillness i found in your mountains and the reflection which came so easy under your stars. i cannot seem to find the purpose and simplicity i had with you and i wonder how things got so complicated so fast since we parted.
i wonder if you miss my presence on your soil, if you even remember my curls amongst your dark hair. did you see me while i was there? did i make a difference in your land? you probably don’t even realize i’m gone… with one billion other people to keep track of, i’d forget me too. but i haven’t forgotten you. i could never forget you.
sometimes, i see you here. i went to an indian emporium the other day, and it was like i was with you again. the namkeen on the dusty shelves and the colored masalas all aligned in a row. i wondered down the aisles for awhile just smiling to myself. i bet a lot of your adopted children can be found here… trying to catch a scent of your perfume, hold your hand for a moment, remember what it was like living under your care. but then i closed the door to my air conditioned car and crossed you off on my ‘to do’ list.
life here is different, i don’t think you’d like it. yes, you’d love the gadgets and toys, the space and opportunity. but you’d miss your afternoon chai. you’d want to actually know your neighbor and wouldn’t understand why we don’t have time for dinner as a family. you wouldn’t see why everyone needs their own space and even with a closet full of clothes how there still could be nothing to wear. a lot of things here wouldn’t make sense to you. but it’s okay, sometimes i don’t understand either.
tonight, in my world, i cannot sleep, so i thought maybe we could have a dream date in yours. i’ll meet you as the sun rises and paints the most brilliant color of orange across the sky. we can go for a walk with laura in the morning and eat breakfast with ivy and gretchen in the kitchen. i’ll sit on the porch, admiring your himalayan peaks and wonder if a more beautiful view is to be had. maybe we can walk down the hill to the bazaar or hike the eyebrow trail even if we get lost. every person we pass, we’ll greet with a friendly ‘nameste’ and respectfully tip of our heads. life won’t be perfect, there will still be lots of problems. but we won’t forget why we’re here, we’d remember why we’ve come.
i know you’re busy with your own children but please give them my love and tell them they’re in my prayers. as one outside of your family, i won’t expect a reply. i just wanted to thank you again for my time with you and for taking your time with me.
until we meet again.
.jill
