I miss

Lately, I've found myself feeling a little bit homesick for India.  So, I've made a list of all the things I miss.  Some of them might not make any sense to anyone but myself, but I included them anyway.

I miss the rain.

I miss hearing “Ok, ok”

I miss masala dosa.

I miss the sound of rickshaw horns.

I miss the children waving on the sides of the streets.

I miss the walk from Visthar to Lulu’s grocery store.

I miss having tea breaks twice a day.

I miss the clotheslines.

I miss the bangles that lightly jingle from delicate wrists.

I miss Julie the cat.

I miss walking around barefooted.

I miss the colors.

I miss sleeping in a mosquito net.

I miss seeing women walking down the street in brightly colored saris.

I miss the loud music played on the streets.

I miss seeing goats on top of walls, and wondering how they got up there.

I miss the song that the water filter played.

I miss the collective groan that you would hear from everyone when the power went out.

I miss seeing cows in the middle of the streets.

I miss the families on motorcycles.

I miss hearing the call to prayer.

I miss the smiles of the people.

I miss hearing the greeting Nama Skara.

I miss the sound of the broom as the cleaning women swept the floors.

I miss the geckos.

I miss sitting in a circle on the floor of someone’s house while drinking tea, and listening to their stories.

I miss the colorful temples.

I miss the open fields.

I miss hearing the men who sell tea calling, "Chai, Chai, Chai."

I miss the bright flowers.

I miss laughing every time a platter of papaya was brought out for lunch.

I miss eating with my hands.

I miss washing my own dishes.

I miss Biju’s pigeons.

I (kind of) miss taking bucket showers.

I miss the sound of that obnoxious bird. Starting out slowly, then getting faster and louder, like some sort of alarm.

I miss the slamming of screen doors.

I miss the people, and their kindness.

I miss the red dirt roads.

I miss the trains.

I miss the unexpectedness of everything.

I miss running on “India time.” (8:00?  More like 8:30.)

I miss running from Dwayne, that mangy mutt.

I miss the cookies served with tea.

I miss sitting on the rooftop, staring out into the fields.

I miss sitting and talking about social justice while drinking black tea until after midnight in Wayanad.

I miss parle g’s.

I miss how the trashcans were called dustbins, and were often labeled “use me”.

I miss walls with phrases like “Stick no Bills” or “No Urinating Here” painted on them.

I miss the tiny metal cups with no handles.
I miss watching weekly documentaries. 

I miss Ricky the dog, and how he waited for us at the gate.

I miss our "candle of social justice" (even if it was cheesy) 

I miss my SJPD family.