Back in Pune...with a heavy heart

I expected that my first post this week would be all about my trip to Mumbai (duh). But tonight, telling lighthearted stories about riding a scooter through the rain, the complete absence of mosquitoes and how my friend B makes me do my impression of my mother-in-law cooking for everyone I meet just doesn't seem right.

Because tonight, I suddenly feel so far from home.

Yes, I have been aware the entire time that I'm on the other side of the world from my home. And yes, I've had days where I felt a little homesick. I even had one day where I was thisclose to changing my ticket and hopping a train to the airport without even telling anyone. But that was nothing I couldn't handle. Minor sadness.

Tonight, I feel like I am so far removed from everything I hold dear. The distance between me and my friends and family and home and all things comfortable seems to big as to be almost insurmountable. And it leaves an aching hole inside me.

While in Thane (outside Mumbai) with hubby's aunt and her family, during one of our routine twice daily phone conversations, hubby said "I have some bad news." My sister's cat had become very ill, which was not unusual for her. She's been through some major health issues, which comes with the territory when you're the feline equivalent of a geriatric I guess. But this time was different. They thought she might have to be put down.

I was suddenly thankful for the fact that hubby's other aunt lives in the U.S. because that meant the aunt I was staying with would have an easy way to make an international call. I called home and talked to my mom who filled me in on the details. Kali had cancer. Because that disease hasn't hurt me and my family enough, it now has to take our pets too? Cancer, 4, Taylor household, 0.

They didn't know for sure yet whether or not she would have to be put down, so I tried to put it aside and spend my energy hoping it was not as serious as they originally thought. I heard nothing more about it, and came back to Pune this evening. As quickly as I could, I got online to catch up on emails and the like, part of my ploy to feel less disconnected while I'm here. And there it was, staring at me from Facebook...my sister saying she had to put her cat to sleep.

This may sound trivial, especially to those who have never had a pet. But my sister had that cat for something like 15 years. That's nearly half her life. They've been through everything together, incredibly difficult things. And Kali has always been a constant source of support for her. For everyone, really. She was the type that could tell when you were sad and would come to cuddle with you to comfort you. There were times when she really didn't seem to like me much (I did, after all, bring another cat into her domain and make her share) but if I ever cried about anything, she would find her way to me from anywhere in the house within minutes. She was a crotchety old lady the last few years, but she was still loved by everyone and we knew she loved us.

I know my big sister's heart is broken right now. Talking to her over the phone when I can finally manage to steal my father-in-law's cell phone (the only way to make international calls) seems woefully inadequate. Because it IS inadequate. I should be there beside her, holding her, supporting her. I know she would do the same for me if the situation were reversed. In fact she already has done the same for me. Way back when my dog was killed by a car, when Kali was still just a kitten, her support meant the world to me and I still remember it to this day. That I can't do that for her is a horrible feeling.

So sitting here tonight, feeling so far away from my family, makes me think about how things must be for my husband living in the U.S. thousands of miles away from his home and family. Like me, it probably feels like no big deal most of the time. But at the thought that something could happen and he wouldn't be here...I wonder what that does to him. He isn't one to talk about these things, or even think about them, really. He's a happy-go-lucky never bothered by anything kind of guy. But he's human.

I traveled to and from Mumbai with hubby's grandfather, Dadaji. Now Dadaji is possibly the most awesome person you could ever meet. He's 87 years old, short and rail thin, and missing all of this teeth. Yet his smile could stop traffic, and he's always smiling. He was a Freedom Fighter back in the day, and for that he gets to travel India's railways completely free of charge. He takes full advantage of this, traveling all over the country on his own and doing crazy things, like climbing mountains, that most people half his age couldn't do. But eventually even the toughest get weak.

I had been noticing since I arrived in India that he seems more frail now. When he goes to stand up, he has to lean on things now and it takes him some time to find his balance. He occasionally stumbles. I should probably explain that this is a man who can sit on the floor in the lotus position for ages no problem, and has always been ridiculously graceful and spry. So this, to me, is cause for concern. Then today, as we went to board the train, a crowd suddenly pressed for the door, knocking into Dadaji. He fell backwards, luckily into me, and I held him up until the crowd moved on. Only then was he able to regain his balance. While on the train, every time he stood up, someone would appear from nowhere and slam into him. Twice he nearly busted his ass, and several times he just barely managed to grab the back of a seat to keep him upright.

In light of that, and in light of how I'm feeling about being so far from my family, I feel a huge amount of concern for my husband as well as his family. I'm far from my family for two months. He's far from his family all of the time. I always thought my mother-in-law was a drama queen to cry every time he leaves (or even when she just remembers times when he's left), but I'm starting to understand. "Home is where the heart is" is an expression for a reason.