Finding my way


I entered the house much after midnight because we decided to take a tour of the ‘U’ from the airport. My first impression out of the portals of the SLC airport was that of Dubai. The smell of dry air, the stretch of chapped lips and the strain of parched skin. As we drove, for long stretches of land, there were no trees—well, those that I could call trees from my DC vocabulary. Small shrubs, short bushes, undersized foliage, lots of boulders, dusty roads and wiped dividers. We drove on a hazy highway for sometime until we came to the city. I was quiet while my driver was effusive in welcoming, garrulous in making me feel at home and very defensive at each of my remarks; which kind of made me angry and sad at the same time. Well, I thought, there is no harm in agreeing that the roads were smaller, that the single homes (at least the ones that were passing by) were as tall as Mac Donalds, the gardens were half heartedly kept, the side walks had stones and boulders spilling out, the road side shrubs were stiff and spiky and… and … and.. .I felt I was in a village. An American village definitely--- with the Home Depots, Wall Greens and Walmarts very much visible but looking very out of place! As if someone had air lifted them from elsewhere and dropped them mistakenly into these slots.

Geography was geometry. Everything lay so many hundreds North South East or West of the Temple which was at 0,0. The roads had the over-washed look—the kind that linens have when bleached one too many times. I could not spot the dividers at times and kept wondering if the government cared less or people didn’t need them. Cars drove slowly and there were Stop Signs every 500ft. When I first came to the US what struck me the most (true for many of us) were the roads. Broad, blue, clean, outlined, stretched and deep green on both sides. Tonight I missed them terribly. But admitting that this was to be my dwelling for sometime, as we drove on, I kept my hopes up----that those tall green trees would appear from somewhere and I would be somewhat at home. But they never did. However something else that must have been following me all this while, right from the moment I alighted from the Delta flight, silently pleading with me to take a look at it (which I never did), now loomed before me---like an impatient child that could hide no longer. I was drawn to look up from the dusty roads. Against the darkened midnight sky, it stood darker and deeper. Stretching its broad arms for as far as the eye could see. Deep and silent, engulfing and ensconcing, picturesque and proud; as if teasing me, “Well, I know you don’t like the roads, but what do you think of me?” I had been quiet through the drive and now grew quieter. It was a different emotion---like that of being challenged and implored at the same time. I could not decide if I was to fall prey to this confrontation and defend my clean blue roads and tall green trees or simply mouth, “you shake me up”. I decided to choose neither. I needed time. And this was alien country.

We made our way home---yes home---some place that I would have to call home for God knew how long. I could sense the silent apprehension in my driver’s body language: that I should like the new house. He made sure he gave away nothing in our conversation. We climbed up the 2 and half flight of stairs and he asked me to open the door. I took a deep breath and turned the key in. All the lights had been left on. The remaining furniture that we had not sold in Maryland had been neatly laid out in the living and dining room. Two bedrooms were empty and the third one had 60 unopened boxes that my friends had painstakingly packed with me. I looked at one of them that someone dear had labeled. ‘Saris and Photos’, it said. I touched it and gave a deep sigh. This is home? For how long? Forever? Where is my family? Where are my friends? Where are those phone calls? Where is my lab? Where are those sleepovers over potato curry and watered rice? All a dream? I looked at the carpet---they said it was Berber. At 2 in the morning, it looked barbarous. Dirty, speckled with beige and brown, crusty under the feet with less than quarter inch of padding. I looked at the kitchen. God! Why did it have to be bang at the center of the living room? The first thing that your eyes feasted upon when you entered this home was the sink! Couldn’t they have structured it a little aside? How would I fry my onions without stinking up my guests? I was already tearing up. My night’s chauffeur took my hands and said, “Wookie, I know you can change this place with your magic touch”. I pushed past the optimistic tour guide and went to the balcony. It was a medium sized carpeted one. The air was quite hot at 2am but I decided to shed my tears outside rather than dirty the carpet any further. I leaned over the railing and faced another building---other sleepy homes stood right in front of me. Below me lay the dark empty swimming pool and tennis court. I felt it again. “Look up”, it said. I looked up hesitatingly fearing more disheartening images. I was surprised. Those expansive deep overwhelming arms had followed me all through the night? Right up to my new home? Above the roof of the building that I faced, the mountains rose steadily and strongly, dark and peaceful. They seemed to ask “And so….?”


Note: Beyond thin walls, intolerant downstairs neighbors, I wait for the kids to arrive. I wait for the carpets to look cleaner. I wait for the kitchen to produce delicious foods. I wait to make new colleagues. I wait for the hard water to turn softer. I wait for the mountains to transform from keeper to lover.