A trip back to Blighty

For those of you that didn't see the relevant blog, I have just come back to India (and so am NOT in the UK anymore!) after a last-minute trip home to be at my grandpa's funeral.

It was strange to find myself back in Britain at a moment's notice. It still astounds me the way air travel morphs time and space; compressing and expanding it like a concertina. It magically folds away minutes and hours as whole continents appear and vanish outside your window. It's so different from road or rail travel. On a train, you are part of the journey; you stop and start and in some way interact with the landscape. There is something disconnected about air travel - an odd suspension of time and space. How one day can hold such contrasts; in the morning I speed to the airport through the smoggy roads of Delhi in an auto-rickshaw, the same evening I am riding over the Snake Pass in the cosy comfort of my parent's car. Mind boggling.

Delhi was determined I wouldn't forget her in my absence and inflicted me with a tummy upset, albeit a mild one, to go home with. I have decided that living in Delhi is rather like being in a relationship with a 'high maintenance' partner; demanding, unpredictable, possessive and jealous - punishing if your attention wanders. Yet, every now and then will flash you that enigmatic smile, make you feel that you're that one-in-a-million who can figure them out and for some crazy reason, all the heart-ache and hassle seems worthwhile. Fortunately my stomach was soon pacified by my Mum's home-cooked grub.

My reunion with the West began at Munich airport, which with its uber efficiency and organisation, couldn't pose a greater contrast to India. It was relaxing to be somewhere that you can rely on things to get done and to proceed in a predictable fashion; but I also noticed that everything seemed very grey, very uniform. And to counter all my grumbles about what sometimes In India, feels like a national conspiracy to rip me off, I was charged £26 to make a six-minute phone call home. Twenty-six quid!!? Everything seemed criminally expensive. £1.50 for a bottle of water at the airport….I was apoplectic with indignation! That was one of the two big shocks. The other was how flippin' cold it was.

It was of course, wonderful to see my family. Bit of a melting pot of emotions - lovely to see much-loved and familiar faces, but a sadness at the reason for this reunion. It was not the circumstances in which I had envisaged my return. But then life seldom follows a predictable course.

I spent a few days appreciating flushing loos, drinkable tap water, eating blue cheese, crumbly cheese, English cheese, French cheese, soft cheese, hard cheese, goats cheese, cheese with holes in it…basically any cheese I could get my hands on! I also took advantage of the opportunity to pick up stuff I wish I'd taken with me; number one item being my lap-top (although would have been a pain to lug round with me when I was on the road). Rather ambitiously I also take my trainers; running on the roads of Delhi is pretty much a suicide mission, but I am told there are such things as gyms here! I also did my best to curb irritating comments like "You think that was bad driving, you should try your luck on Delhi's roads", or "Call this poor signposting? You haven't seen anything!" and, when a waiter neglects to bring water to our table, "Just be grateful you can drink the water here".

I was able to help out with the preparation for my Grandpa's funeral. The day itself was just what we all needed it to be; the weather was glorious, the ceremony beautiful, a great celebration of a life well-lived. I am glad I was there; to be with my family and also to have opportunity to speak at the funeral about what a fantastic man my Grandpa was.

Then I just had time to pack in a whistle-stop visit to my gorgeous niece - she has grown so much in four months, I dread to think what a transformation another eight will bring! This thought precipitates my setting up a Skype account - can't have her forgetting who her Auntie Liz is now can I? (By the way for all those techno-phobes like me out there, the whole Skype malarkey really IS as easy as everyone says it is!)

Before I knew it, Mum was driving me back over a cold, dark Snake Pass to Manchester airport and I was on my way back to India. Along with my now-bulging rucksack, I was carrying a mixed bag of feelings; the sadness of another goodbye, concern for my Mum, but excitement about resuming the life I had started in Delhi and the comfort of knowing what I was going back to. The trip home gave me a chance to 're-appreciate' everything and think about what I want to get out of the next eight months. It also felt good to know that I am no longer a novice at life in India; that I won't be susceptible to FOP (Fresh Off the Plane) syndrome i.e. in a state of shock and confusion, and highly vulnerable to scams and hassle!

I got back to Delhi at 4am and hauled myself into a taxi. "Jangpura Extension mujko jana hai", I told the driver, "Kitna he?". He raised his eyes, bemused by my attempt at Hindi and quoted me a fare - minus the usual tourist-tax.