Personal Writing: My New Life In India :: essays research papers

Personal Writing My New Life in India smash ... tap ... tap ... I looked up to see a blurry figure of my mothertapping a few fingers on my shoulder. "Sorry to wake you up, Rishi, just now me andDaddy have something important to tell you." She was not smiling.I got up, now fully awake, wondering what was going on. With my fatherstanding next to her, my mother get across her arms and, in a tone that I knewcould not be argued with, stated, "We have decided to move to Indiapermanently."I was awestruck. My family is Indian, but I had never so much asconsidered living anywhere but Peach shoetree Court, a street that had the brightestgreen maple trees and fields of radiant yellow and orange marigolds. India was cipher more than an old family story to me, not a place to live.Over the next couple of weeks, I ruminated on what life would be equal inIndia. My brother, who already attended an Indian boarding school, told me inscratchy long-distance telephone conversations ho w great life was in India athis boarding school."We have the trump futbol (soccer) field in all of India," he said. "Ithas an electronic scoring board, and the surface is fluorescent blue astroturf."This was an enormous motivation factor, due to the fact that soccer is mypet sport. "And the food is delectable," he went on, "They serve chickencurry with juicy vegetables four out of the s thus far days of the week." I atechicken curry all chance I got, so this, added to the soccer field, made theschool sound fantastic."The weather is remarkable. The temperature year-round is seventy-fiveto eighty degrees," he continued with emphasis, "just like California, Rishi."My brother knew that I loved California. He also told me that I would get tovisit our parents two times a week, which is very generous compared to otherIndian boarding schools.My brothers long-distance stories convinced me. From what I had heard,India sounded like utopia.Six w eeks after my mother woke me with the big "news," my father, motherand I arrived in India. We left Peach Tree Court, with all its beautiful mapletrees, and flew to India. I stepped off the airplane into the dirtiest, oldestairport I had ever seen.A film of dirt covered everything in the airport the windows, the walls,even the floor. And the people working there seemed more likely to shrug theirshoulders and ignore the passengers than care at all if anything worked right.