As I looked out at the sun setting across the Arabian Sea from my aunt’s luxurious apartment I noticed a huge, animated crowd in the street below. “Sharukh Khan’s bungalow is next door,” my aunt explained, “they are waiting for him to come out into the balcony.” Whether the King Khan was actually home or not seemed to be of little concern to the fans below, as they climbed over each others shoulders to get a better glimpse. Having done a Beverly Hills tour myself and being thrilled at seeing Drew Barrymore’s shiny red BMW in her driveway I was in no place to pass judgement and yet there was no denying that I was. Growing up in a middle class household in India I was in awe when my Wrigleys chewing, deodorant wearing, mineral water drinking America born cousins visited us. I found their complaints about noisy streets and dirty toilets and persistent bouts of diarrhea and vomiting both amusing and confounding. Coming back to India after a long absence it was a bit surreal to now be that outsider, that foreigner. “Just have the pani puri, what is the worst that can happen,” I remember telling my cousin years ago. A week before, after two days of launching my guts out through my throat and my tonsils out of my ass I found out that what can happen is actually quite awful. Having to prioritize whether to puke first or shit first and then realizing that I really didn’t have the time to decide because both orifices had already started expunging was not a very classy experience. My cousin’s wedding on a serene beach a few kilometers from our ancestral home along the Konkan coast; now that was classy. A white canopy lit with radiant blue lights glowed against the backdrop of a darkening sky, Koranic verses wafted through the air and relatives from all over the world showered the newly weds with blessings. And if that wasn’t enough my cousin who had planned every detail meticulously pulled out some white doves from a box behind the stage and set them free. What she had not planned for was that after hours of being cooped up in a box the doves were terribly confused about what to do when set free. One of them flew into the canopy a few times and then started hopping around the stage. A stray dog who had lingered around to watch the proceedings sensed the opportunity, leapt at the hapless bird and attempted to take a chomp out of it. My uncle, having grown up in the rowdy streets of central Bombay, and always ready for a fight took up the challenge. Yanking a chair from the stage, he proceeded to mercilessly slam the dog with it, sending it whimpering along the beach. Surreal. Dogs, even more than cows and cats seem to be present everywhere in India. For large parts of the day, they just lie around in the shade seemingly without a care, but right around midnight when you are finally about to fall asleep, something in them awakens and all you hear for hours is their incessant barking interspersed with an occasional whimper. Not quite sure whether all the fuss is about controlling territories or the rights to copulation but the arguments last right through the night. The early morning isn’t any quieter. First the roosters start off with their crowing; it doesn’t matter whether you are in the middle of the city or out on a beach resort, there will always be a rooster somewhere in the neighborhood. Then its the crows cawing and sparrows squawking and then eventually the traffic begins, with scooters and rickshaws and cars honking incessantly and as far as I could tell without reason. On our second or third day in Pune, Bilal came rushing out of the bedroom where he was sleeping, “Baba, there is something flying over my bed.” Assuming it was a fly or a mosquito I went in boldly to swat it out, but did an almost lightning fast about turn when I saw a huge bat flapping its giant wings over the bed. Slamming the door behind me I summoned my Mom’s servant and asked her to get rid of the bat. Not very chivalrous I know, but c’mon it was a bat and I am an NRI. “No worries,” she said “if it came in, it will find its way out, Inshallah.” This ho-jaiga (it-will-happen) attitude is still very much alive in India. After spending the first few days hanging out of the balcony trying to access some free Wifi, Anjum eventually forced me to go get a SIM card with 3G access. Easy enough I thought, go to the little Vodaphone store that I had seen across the street and pronto we’ll be connected to the world. After filling a few forms and providing copies of my mom’s electricity bills and passport photos and repeated assurances of “ho-jaiga”, it took a good three days to finally get a working phone. A phone that could get on to Facebook just fine but couldn’t make phone calls because I wasn’t explicit about my need to make calls when I bought the data plan for the phone. Obviously I didn’t realize this until I actually had to make an urgent call and a voicemail of a lady with a beautiful sonorous voice informed me in three languages that I could not make calls from my phone. Urgency is a concept still alien to India. Patience on the other hand is the key. A task that should take fifteen minutes usually takes two to three frustratingly long hours. Another thing that I found frustrating was finding the way to someones house. GPS doesn’t work because nobody has a straight forward street address (e.g. the house by the green fence behind the remand home) so you have to ask people on the road for directions. Invariably the guidance they give will be “Go straight.” “What do you mean go straight, there is a freakin’ fork in the road.” “Yes, yes. Go straight.” Eventually though you do reach the place. And when you get there, whether its a one room apartment that also serves as a store front, or a hut in a village, or a beautiful house by the sea, or a million dollar apartment in Bombay, what gets you, always, and tugs at every emotional strand in your body is the generous hospitality, the sense of belonging and love that completely envelopes and engulfs you and makes you realize that you are finally back home. Our last trip to India was fourteen years ago but I reckon our next one will be a lot sooner. Ho jaiga.