Now that I (finally!) got my visa, I don’t have to rein in my excitement anymore. I can let it to rule my life for the next several weeks. I can even start packing!
I don’t know what I’m most excited about though. Is it experiencing the agony and splendor of a month long travel with D once again? Or seeing the majesty of Taj Mahal? Or getting deep into different cultures? Or trekking in the Himalayas? Or joining in the communal breaking of bread at the Golden Temple? Maybe it is the idea of being able to get away and escape to another word. Or the thrill of actually visiting the country that I fell in love with through the pages of Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children:
The monster in the streets has begun to roar, while in Delhi a wiry man is saying, “…At the stroke of the midnight hour, while world sleeps, India awakens to life and freedom…” And beneath the roar of the monster there are two more yells, cries, bellows, the howls of children arriving in the world, their unavailing protests mingling with the din of independence which hangs saffron and green in the night sky—“A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new; when an age ends; and when the soul of a nation long suppressed finds utterance…”