Sometimes it is good to remember your beginnings. It is fun to look back in time and remember the emotions, the passion, the excitement knowing you have just made a huge change in your life. I wrote this short (very short) story a few years ago about the beginning of my two-year staff commitment here. (Actually it is somewhat of a "first chapter" to a book I have been wanting to write about my crazy Indian life. But that's another passion for another day). Anyway, we all know my two-year commitment here turned into three years. Now my commitment to this Biblical Studies course is coming to a close and for that I am again full of emotions, excitement, and yes, even passion. Ending something is always emotional; I am excited for what the future holds and for soon coming back to the U.S. with my beloved husband; I am full of a newfound passion to study the Bible at my own pace and in my own home for no other purpose but to study the Bible. No more stressing out about teachings, staff meetings or small groups.
Sometimes it is good to remember your beginnings.
The precise moment my foot hit the ground outside just past the glass doors, I felt the heat. It was like someone immediately threw a bucket of hot pudding at my face and it quickly dripped down, covering my whole body in one moment. Inevitably, my glasses became instantly fogged and I could not see a thing. I worried I wouldn’t be able to see him, so I took my specs off, but immediately realized the reason I wore them in the first place. Glasses on or off, I could not see a thing. There were literally hundreds of Indians lined up in front of me shouting and calling out names. I thought that I would never find the one Indian man I was looking for. Before those thoughts could fully complete themselves, and after I had only taken a handful of steps out of the Mumbai airport, I heard that very familiar voice call my name. A wonderful voice that I sometimes think was made only for the purpose of saying my name. I heard the voice for the first time in months, yet recognized it the moment I heard it. He was a little behind me, and as I turned around I saw him and an electric current of pure joy ran through my body, beginning its journey from my heart.
He was even more handsome than I remembered, standing there in the sticky heat wearing all black with a brown scarf. His favorite fashion faux-pax is wearing black with brown. I haven’t had the heart to tell him how much of a fashion criminal he was sometimes. Occasionally, he will even wear socks with sandals, but that is a different story set aside for a different time. His hair was much shorter than I had ever seen it, and I loved it that way! He is about one centimeter shorter than me, but it bothers neither of us and we rarely notice it. The good thing about dating someone who is approximately the same size as you is that his clothes fit you perfectly. Even our feet are the same size. Although, you cannot really say we ever dated. They don’t date in India. They basically go from strangers to husband and wife. One thing in this life I will never fully understand is arranged marriages.
Back to the story: as soon as he called my name and our eyes met, we ran to each other (I did most of the running). We embraced in a quick yet genuine and much needed hug. At that exact moment, all the feelings I had ignored for the past five months came flooding back into my head and my heart. I did not think it would be this good to see him again. I had somehow convinced myself that I did not love him anymore when I was at home, and I had been quite relieved to hear that I would only have to see him for one day after I arrived back in India before he would go down to Mysore for nine months.
The past year-and-a-half played through my mind at lightening speed, and I suddenly caught myself standing next to a man I was very much in love with. I kept telling him how good it was to see him again after so long. It took everything in me to hold me back from kissing him all over his face. Fortunately, we were in a country where PDA is not at all acceptable. Growing up in America with five brothers and a reluctance to touch anyone, I had developed a sort of illness which would come only when seeing couples in public holding hands, kissing, or canoodling. I hate PDA with a mighty passion, and had loved living in India because it is such taboo for anyone to publicly display their affection for all to see.
We made our way to where the taxi would pick us up, and it seemed almost like I was in a dream. Was it really this hot? Was I really back in India? Was I really standing next to him? Was I really committing the next two years of my life to this place? Little did I know that a lot more than two years was in store for me.
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