What Possessed Me

Musings from Mumbai

The funny thing about travel is that it forces you, whether you like it or not, to face your partner's various idiosyncrasies - all of which become magnified by a factor of ten when you're both tired, sweaty and lost.

I, for example, may have some strong opinions about things. I may also like to take charge on the navigation front, despite having no sense of direction and an ability to read maps. There is also a chance that I may, with little provocation, wrestle someone (who shall remain nameless) to the ground for control of the guidebook. In short, I may have some travel control issues. I like to be in charge. Is that so wrong? Fauxhawk has been patient, following me on my mad pursuit of whatever in the guidebook has possessed me. After a particularly tense hour negotiating traffic, itineraries and sketchy maps, Fauxhawk's composure crumbled. "STOP BEING SO BOSSY!" he said, stalking off with tail twitching and fur all on end.

Bossy?
Moi?

When it comes to travel, yes. But not unapologetically so. There is a kind of desperation that washes over me when I travel - an urgent and irrational whisper in my ear that warns, This could be your last adventure. And then I am overcome by the desire to do everything, see everything, soak up as much as I can, because it could all be over too soon. As a result, I travel well by myself, but struggle to adjust to someone else's tempo. And I want to adjust, because a shared life requires it.

I wonder what would happen if I applied this sense of urgency to other parts of my life? Would I do more, make more of myself, or would I just drive everyone around me to drink?

* * *

Last night, Fauxhawk and I visited my friend G's house to be fitted for our wedding outfits. Despite having a million other things to do before the wedding, G's mother selected three saris for me, and summoned a tailor to take measurements for the short, fitted tops to accompany them. G whisked us off to select a kurta (a knee-length tunic and tapered pyjama bottoms) for Fauxhawk from a dizzying array of options ranging from the simple to the sublime. We were then stuffed full of gorgeous south Indian delights, while being thoroughly loved and spoiled by G's family. They are astonished that we came all this way to be at the wedding, and we are in turn overwhelmed by their unparalleled sweetness and generosity.

Despite the newness of everything, there is so much that is familiar to me. The easy acceptance of family chaos, the unspoken and undeniable dominance of capable women, the swarm of overtired children up too late but too much a part of things to be put to bed. Sitting among a host of strangers, I felt very much at home.

* * *

The view outside this posh hotel room is a sprawling slum - a reminder of the way properity and poverty exist side-by-side in so many parts of world, including my own.

Mumbles from Mumbai

Fauxhawk and I are in Mumbai, but more on that later.

Christmas is a huge, elaborate affair in my family. We are an unwieldy, chaotic mob -impossible to wrangle, difficult to contain. Fauxhawk has had to take aerial shots of our family gatherings to capture the madness. Add a church pageant, several babies, family friends, relatives, Fauxhawk's lovely father, a gargantuan mountain of presents, a huge Douglas fir, a groaning board of delicacies (my mother's baklava is a highlight), countless showbiz types belting carols by the piano, and you've got Christmas Eve at our house.

Our parents met for the first time amid the chaos. Fauxhawk and I spent a lot of time wringing our hands over the logistics and details, the shuttling of presents and parents back and forth, but everything went well, all in all. Despite the usual histrionics that go on in my family, everyone was on good form and behaved according to rank. Good Child was mostly good, Bad Child was mostly bad, and Medium Child burst into tears in the car shouting, "I FUCKING HATE CHRISTMAS!" at least once (maybe twice).

Late on Christmas night, Fauxhawk and I regrouped after separate family celebrations that day, and collapsed into the couch in a state of exhaustion. Christmas was over, thank God Almighty.

We left the next day for Delhi, where we slept in the airport overnight due to a hotel mix-up, and then arrived in Mumbai the following morning, 28 hours after we left New York. We spent the evening at Chowpatty Beach with the crowd of families and couples camped out on the sand, tempting gastrointestinal distress by eating everything in sight. Stumbling along Marine Drive with full bellies and cottony heads, we hailed a taxi back to the hotel, slumping over in sleep as the car weaved precariously through a siege of honking cars.

We are preparing for my friend's wedding - an elaborate four-day celebration in Mumbai and Pune, which involves buying a kurta for Fauxhawk, a sari for me, and procuring a mountain of gold jewelry (on loan). Apparently, the wedding also involves a make-up artist, so I look foward (with some trepidation) to being transformed into a Bollywood babe. Needless to say, we are beyond excited to be involved in such a glorious affair.

More details later, I hope.

Keep calm and...carry a big stick

Anxiety Dream #1

Fauxhawk wakes up, turns over and mutters, Please don't kill the babies.

In his dream, we are at an Indian wedding and there is a groaning board of meat. Upon further inspection, the meat is actually baby meat - the flesh of human infants. Because that's how the Injuns roll, dawg.

Anxiety Dream #2

It's not a dream, actually, but a vision that I've had several times in the last week. In this vision, my ass is grabbed by about 30 different men in the crowded streets of Delhi. On the 30th time, I turn into Mothra and elbow the guy in the face, breaking his nose. There is blood. I am snarling like Ivan Drago from Rocky IV.

* * *

Fauxhawk's sweet parents are in town from Maine and I've invited them to my parents' annual Christmas Eve throw-down, where a cast of thousands will gather to drink extremely strong punch. This first parental meet-up has me a bit stressed out - I will, no doubt, lapse into trying to manage things, and then end up in the punch bowl. Let's hope that no one spontaneously bursts into Broadway show tunes or shuffles off to Buffalo. I think that might be a bit much for the first visit, though Fauxhawk assures me his parents will join in.

We leave for India the day after Christmas and have done as little as humanly possible to prepare. Fortunately, we procured a tee-pee and some wampums, so I think we'll be OK for the first few days in Mumbai.

* * *

Merry Christmas, kids.