A Visit

Summer classes are in full swing, but I’ve been having a hard time getting back into that workaholic mode that characterized the fall and spring semesters. There is time every morning to go through my elaborate morning routine that I consider to be my “me time” before I start classwork. And each day I try to go outside to soak in the sunshine and the few oases of greenery that are close by.

The luscious yard of a home in New Jersey

Yet for three days last week, I did none of these things. My morning routine went out the window, as did the chance to do any classwork. Instead, I spent it wrapped in the love and joy of family as a beloved aunt, uncle and cousin came to visit. My brother also made time to take a whirlwind trip from Boston so we could all be together.

My cousin spent a night at my place and my aunt asked me if she was the first visitor to stay with me. I told her no. The bf has visited, as has a close friend and my parents. But as much as I loved all of these previous guests, there was something different about this visit.

Objectively, we didn’t do as much of the typical sightseeing than I have done with any of my other visitors. Most of our time together was spent sitting and chatting while moving from one location to another. We went to the public library, went inside and then quickly left and sat outside in Bryant Park right behind it. We walked to Rockefeller Center, looked up at the ceiling and then found a table to sit and talk. Other times we went to the mall.

After the first hour at the mall, my usual habit of comparing how I was spending time with them with an imagined ideal trip full of cultural exploration crept up again. Being in a mall did not seem cultural or like exploration and I started thinking I was failing at being host.

For once though, I was able to put those thoughts aside. This visit was not about me or what anyone else thought was the right or wrong way to travel. This trip was about my aunt and her family--about our family--as we come together to heal from what has been a difficult year for all of us.

But it was the difficulty brought on by this year that filled me with love and led me, for the first time, to completely stop thinking about myself. I immersed in thinking about spending time with my family and making each moment count to bring them even the smallest bit of happiness.

This visit was my favorite of the year because of this love.

My cousin making us dinner

And so we spent our time together doing things that made them happy. This meant going shopping in stores that aren’t accessible for them, though they seemed ordinary to my brother and me. It meant spending an evening with some of my uncle’s family who has created a pocket of Indianness within the Americanness of New York City. They were unabashedly loud and though the Finn in me rebelled against the noise, the Indian in me was thrilled. I was force fed more than I wanted to eat (saved by my aunt and cousin who sympathetically took some of the food from my plate). We played carom on a carom board that was tall enough to reach my waist and reminded me of my nani's house where we would spend lazy afternoons playing carom with my cousins.

And thus, for us visiting places meant going there and immediately finding a seat where we could pull out the chai and biscuits my aunt made sure to carry with us. We spoke exclusively in Hindi so by the end of the three days, it felt strange to speak in English. My cousin ate a bagel for the first time, became an expert at swiping into the metro station and insisted on carrying the umbrella over both of our heads in a downpour even though she was shorter than me, resulting in both of us getting soaked on one half of our bodies.

In the stress of work and school, it has been easy to become absorbed in myself. But their visit, and this year, have taught me that true joy comes from the people in our lives and in loving them fiercely. The work and stress can wait.