Wrinkles

I turned “Goodbye” to “See you later” in hopes that I’ll have a chance to visit my family in Punjab later in the month. I knew in reality that I wouldn’t have time because Punjab was a whole day away from Gujarat. As I hugged my dadhi (grandmother) I looked at her in her red eyes that were quickly forming tears. I looked away because mine were doing the same. Right then and there I hated the fact that “See you later” actually meant, “See you in a few years”. My three year old cousin, Dilraj, who I had just met in the three days staying at her house, looked at us curiously as she wondered where I was going and why. I wondered, will she remember me in about 3 years? Probably not.
I made my way down the row of generations of family before I got into the car. There they all stood all waving me goodbye: cousins, grandchildren, uncles, aunts and the roots of the tree: my grandparents. Although I didn’t know my language at all and frankly, ashamed at that fact, I found ways to get to know them. For example, just from observation, I know that my grandmother was definitely the rule maker in the house. In other words, everyone kissed her ass for a share of the acres of land she owned. My cousin Amrik, although protective of his female pride, was all in all: a momma’s boy. His sister, Jeeti is one of the hardest working women I know. All day she cooked chapati, made chai, served food, washed dishes and tended to the buffalo. Only until the end of the day did she actually sit and have her meal. They all had stories to tell and I knew it by just looking at their faces. I wish I could have stayed longer to hear them even if I didn’t know exactly what they were saying.
As the car turned out of the village, the smell of cow dung and burning hay were not smells that totally repulsed me but had put a smirk on my face as I watched people starting a hard day’s work in the fields,under the Indian sun.