(From my diary: Jan 1, 2008)

My trip to India is almost over. I am waiting for going back to the groove once again (hopefully for the last time in my PhD career). As a norm I have had cold with a mild fever, and occasional problems with digestion (or rather, indigestion). At times I feel it’s really hard for me to cope with the virii thronging the Indian air. That’s like a typical NRI, isn’t it? (Well, I am not an NRI yet, but that label has already been stamped on my back). But let me tell you a secret: I was never good at getting over a weather change even before I left the country; so it has to be some problem with my immune system.

I did not want to start with my having a cold or a stomachache, but what can you do when you start writing with a running nose and a cramp in your stomach? I always wanted to write an article on homecoming, but it never took a shape. Lethargy: you might call it.

Well, first things first. I landed at Indira Gandhi National Airport (codenamed as DEL) on December 15. The immigration official (who was looking over my passport and making sure everything was in place) did not even bother to look at my face even though I said a “hi” when he took my papers and a “Thanks” when he allowed me enter my own country. Maybe he was too sleepy. Maybe he was overoworked. Who knows? But I, as others coming from “phoren”, was expecting a little more enthusiam. The sleepyhead poured water (ice?) all over!

The baggage claim area was a small place, yet I did not know where to find a cart and there was no sign telling me where I could find one (probably I had a little of the the people I had to deal with in last few years, who cannot act without being told what to do next). At last, I found a cart, and, thank God, all my bags were in place! I was all set to take a domestic flight to get to my final destination and the long journey of about twenty hours was about to end. There was no hassle in the customs checkpoint (read: there was no one in uniform asking for bribe to get past the point).

But it must be that all my stars were not in the right place: I missed the first air-bus which would take me to the domestic airport. There were hundreds of people outside the gate talking in different “phoren” accents why India is so far behind. I got to hear desi people from different ‘civilized’ countries lecture on how the things should be run here in India and how people should behave and maintain proper queue in the airports, railway stations theaters and every other public places. Having waited for about half an hour in the chilling cold of Delhi (others may not agree with the term “chilling”, but please keep in mind that I was in a not-so-chilly region before coming home), I asked a man in uniform when/ if the next bus is coming and he told me that it should be in another half an hour … if we are lucky. Well, it must be the other people’s luck combined together that made the bus come (although after 59 minutes; but that was OK!). But the fun was yet to begin.

No sooner had the driver parked the small bus near the airport gate, there was a big stampede of all those enlightened desi junta. Needless to say, there was no queue, and it was more like getting onto a Mumbai local train — harder you shove others easier you get on board. The huge number of bags made the situation worse. Soon there were jostling, verbal fights and calling one another names. “Welcome to India”, I whispered to a group of awestruck Belgians trying to get on the bus. The bus started slowly to take us to the domestic airport through the myriad of other vehicles blaring their horns in their highest pitch (FYI: it was 3 o’ clock in the morning).

After an hour or so the bus halted abruptly: some punk parked his car across the road blocking everyone’s path. When nobody came to get the damn car away, our driver gave the demonstration of how a five feet bus can be taken through a four feet opening. I was amazed (well, actually my mouth was totally dry and it was not because of cold). If I have enough money I will start a Nobel prize (or field medal, or academy award: I don’t care!) in driving, and this guy is going to be the first laureate. After dodging several cars, autorikshaws, bulls and dogs the bus dropped us near the domestic airport. We entered there getting ready for another journey.