Monday, January 5, 2015

I'm Going Back.

It's the only thought in my head when I see the wooden Kerala boat replica on my TV stand. Or the framed photograph of Kumkum next to my plants. My heart beat quickens. "I'm going back."

When I call Nirmal to catch up or receive a letter in the mail in his squiggly Bengali. When I fold my laundry and see the white tank tops and underwear that got stained green by the Sunshine kurtis. "I'm going back."

When it rains here and I listen to it beat on my chimney pipe, I close my eyes and hear the monsoon assaulting the corrugated fiberglass on the roof at No. 5. When I'm choosing an outfit in the morning and my eyes pass over the Indian dresses hanging in my closet. When I wear my rubber flats, purchased for Rs 100 from the outdoor market, to work and someone compliments them. When I cook and eat the Indian lemon rice that Meenakshi taught me how to cook.

I'm going back.

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