The Worst Journey Ever. The Best Vacation Ever.

I finally got some time to sit down and write about my leave. I have been rather busy. Our days are long, and after I get back from work, I don’t have very much time and I’m too tired to sit down and write a journal entry! Well, anyway… here it is. Be warned… it’s pretty long!

Ok, so this last month (May), I went on leave. My leave date was the 8th of May. Little did I know that this day would be the beginning of what I would like to call…

The Worst Travelling Experience Ever

We meet our hero at BIAP where he is waiting with his fellow soldiers to get a flight to Kuwait. It is around 8 in the morning, and the day hasn’t gotten hot just yet. Everywhere there are Soldiers, Marines, Airmen, Seamen and Civilians sitting and waiting. Some are playing cards or talking amongst themselves. Others are listening to music, or watching movies on their laptops, or reading books. Still others are sprawled out on benches or on the dusty concrete floor, sleeping, using their luggage as pillows. At about 9 in the morning, a formation is called. As our hero hurries and falls in, he looks around and notices Captains, Majors, and Sergeant Majors also in formation. It strikes him as a little funny since he usually sees them in front of a formation, and not in one. Leave - the great equalizer. Somebody comes up to the front of the formation and informs everyone that there are two flights leaving Baghdad. The first one leaves at 12 noon, while the second one leaves at 10 pm. However, there are personnel who have been waiting at BIAP since yesterday, and therefore, they will be given preference for the 12 noon flight. Our hero hopes and prays that there is enough room on the flight for him. However, he has been in the Military long enough to know that expecations are rarely met, and Murphy’s Law holds sway most of the time. Sure enough, there isn’t enough room on the flight and he has to wait for the 10 pm flight. He settles in for a Long and Boring day.

It is past noon. The time is irrelevant. Our Hero is extremely bored. It is much hotter than it had been in the morning, and there is a hot and dry wind whipping through everything, drying everything out. Lips feel like parchment. He drifts in and out of sleep. There is only one thing on his mind. Getting to India on time for his Brother’s Wedding. He is understandably anxious and keeps exploring all the different possibilities that this journey could take. In the best scenario, he reaches India on the evening of the 9th, in good time for The Wedding. However, as he will soon find out, this will be far from the case. 5 pm rolls in, bringing a blinding sandstorm in its wake. The sun is blocked from the sky by a huge wall of sand, and the bright sunlight is replaced by a sickly yellow gloom. A lot of people leave the outside waiting area to wait in the tents. Our hero and his buddies decide to stick it out. Sand and grit get everwhere and faces feel like sandpaper.

It is 2200 (10 pm). There is no word on the flight.

It is 0000 (12 am). There is still no word on the flight.

It is 0130 (1:30 am). Finally, everyone is told that the flight has arrived. All of them wait to board the C-5 in a zombie-like daze. His last thought as he drifts to sleep is "Finally made it out of Baghdad… it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to India now. Everything should go just fine…"

"What do you mean I can’t fly to India?!" "You need a clearance from the Indian Embassy. You can’t just fly to India." "But I’m an Indian Citizen! I hold an Indian Passport! They can’t keep me out of the country!" "Regardless. Furthermore, you don’t have a Kuwaiti Visa, so you won’t get a departure stamp. And they won’t let you in India without one. You’re a Permanent Resident of the US right? Yeah, so they’ll probably ship you back to the US, not even Kuwait!" "But see… I have an Indian-" "I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do. Rules are Rules. You have four options. You can either cancel your leave, or apply for a Kuwait Visa - this will take a few weeks so you will have to fly back to Baghdad - you can’t wait here, or you can fly to Frankfurt, buy a ticket to India, and get your departure stamp there, or you can fly to the US, buy a ticket to India, and get your departure stamp from there."

Our hero reluctantly chooses the third option, since this is the best he can make out of the situation - that’s something they taught him in the Army - "Adapt and Overcome". He realizes that this means that he will miss his brother’s wedding, but at least he can make it to the reception. He informs his family in India of the situation. They are disappointed, but they understand his predicament. The Travel Office gets him a ticket to Frankfurt and he makes his way to Kuwait City International Airport. While at the airport, he whips out his laptop and tries to buy a ticket to India from Frankfurt. However, his card keeps getting declined. He suspects that it is probably being marked for fraud and tries to contact his bank. But he is unable to call 1-800 numbers through his AT&T phone card. His cellphone, which has roaming, should have worked, but for some reason, it refuses to work as well. He does some snooping around and finds out that the airline he is buying a ticket from (Emirates) has an office at the Frankfurt Airport. He figures he can buy a ticket there. Many hours later, he is in Frankfurt in front of a payphone booth. He calls his bank using his Debit Card and proceeds to ask them why he cannot use his credit card. "Oh, it’s been marked for suspicious activity and blocked!", says the agent brightly. "But I told you guys that I was going to be overseas for a year, and to expect transactions on that card!". "Oh, um… well… the fraud department is closed. You’ll have to wait until they’re open", says the agent. "I don’t have the time! I’m in Frankfurt, and I’m trying to buy a ticket out of here… so at the very least, I need to know if I can use my Debit Card.", says our hero in controlled frustration. "Umm… yeah that should be no problem! You have a $7000 daily limit on that card, so you should be able to buy your ticket!" says the agent. "Excellent! Thank you very much!", says our hero and hangs up.

"What do you mean it’s declined?! I just talked to my bank! They said it’s good to go!" "I’m very sorry Sir, but your card isn’t going through… maybe you can talk to them again?" "It doesn’t look like I have a choice now, do I?"

Our hero has a new problem. His card was declined, despite the assurances of his bank. He tries to use his card again to call his bank, but is unable to do so, since the payphone declines it as well. He realizes that he is stuck in Frankfurt… with no money. Unbidden, the name of a movie floats into his mind… "Terminal". Our hero wants to scream out in frustration at this point, and kick and break things. However, this would probably not be accepted by the Airport Authorities. He reaches into his pocket and grabs his wallet to see if he can convert some US Dollars into Euros and perhaps make a call that way. He sees his AT&T phone card and realizes that he can call his dad.

"Acha, I have a problem. I tried to buy the ticket, but I can’t because both my cards are blocked for fraud. So I’m stuck now in Frankfurt, and I’m not sure what I can do…" "Well, how about giving them my card information - do you think you can buy your ticket that way?" "Hold on… I’ll try that and call you back."

10 minutes later.

"Hi Acha, that didn’t work…" "Ok, let me talk to my agent in Muscat and see if I can buy a ticket that way. Emirates _alle?" "Athey acha" "Alright, call me back in 15 minutes."

15 minutes later.

"Hi Acha, it’s me again." "Ok mone, I got the ticket. Here’s the PNR number. Give the agent this number, and you should be good to go!"

Our hero breathes a huge sigh of relief. It looks like he is going to India after all! Now all he needs to do is get a stamp from immigration in Frankfurt.

"What do you mean I can’t get a departure stamp?!" "Well, you don’t have a Visa and so I can’t give you a stamp." "Um… well anyway can you just… you know… give it to me anyway?" "No. That would be illegal." "Oh."

Another phone call to India.

"Hi Acha. Me again. I couldn’t get a stamp from Frankfurt… looks like I’m back to square one. But I don’t have a choice now anyway…" "Well don’t worry mone, fly into India. We’ll take it from there."

Our hero makes his way to the gate and sits down on a chair. He wonders about the inordinately high number of things gone wrong. He almost can’t believe it, except for the fact that it all happened. He checks out his surroundings and sees a small bar. "Nothing a few German beers and some Frankfurters won’t solve!". An hour and a half later, our inebriated hero makes his way to the airplane. Many hours later, he is in Kochi, India. He walks up to immigration to see almost all of India’s 1 billion people in line for immigration. He picks one at random and stands in it. An hour and a half later, he realizes that his line is moving at 1/10th the pace of all the other lines. This is mainly because the immigration official at the desk wants to know everyone’s life history. He finally makes it up to the desk and wearily hands his passport over to the official. His mind wanders as he thinks of the different things that could go wrong at this point.

"No stamp?! You have to go back to the United States! Unfortunately we don’t have a direct flight, so you will have to spend five days in Eritrea!" "No stamp?! And what’s this? A US Military ID? Explain yourself! Are you a spy?!" "No stamp?! This is clearly illegal! Please wait while I shred your passport."

He is snapped out of his reverie by a question from the immigration official.

"Veedu evide? (Where’s your home?)" "Uhh… Chendamangalam" "Sheri… poyikkolo (Ok, go ahead)"

Our hero walks past the immigration desks and blinks. "I can’t believe it was that easy…", he says to himself. He hums a tune as he makes his way to the baggage claim. "I’m almost there!"

"What do you mean you don’t know where my luggage is?!" "Well Sir, it appears to be missing. Perhaps it is still in Frankfurt, or maybe Dubai where you stopped in transit?" "I can’t believe this!" "We apologize Sir, but you know… sometimes things like this happen. Please fill out this form. If we find your lugggage, you can expect it the day after tomorrow if it is in Frankfurt, or tomorrow if it is in Dubai."

Our hero fills out the form, and as he’s doing so he realizes that quite literally, he has nothing but the clothes on his back. Oh, and his laptop, camera, and camcorder too. Fuming, he walks away and toward the exit. The dark clouds in his mind evaporate as soon as he sees the smiling faces of his family. After having started his journey on the morning of the 8th. Our hero is finally with his family… on the 11th.

Epilogue

Our hero eventually does get his luggage. The very next day, actually. As it turned out, an old man mistook our hero’s bag for his. This can all be traced back to a small red ribbon that our hero tied to his bag in Fort Lewis, before he flew to Baghdad. The red ribbon was supposed to identify his bag as belonging to his company. Unbeknowst to him, an old man elsewhere in the world also put a small red rope on his bag, which happened to look almost exactly like our hero’s bag. Fast forward six months later to Cochin International Airport. An old man sees his luggage on the conveyor. All his bags have the red rope on them. Unfortunately, along with his bags, comes a slightly different bag with red tape on it. He assumes that it is his and takes it along with him. When he reaches home, he finds out that it isn’t his, and so he promptly calls the Airport Authorities. They put him in touch with our hero. They meet up the next day, exchange bags, and all is well.

The End

Well, so that was pretty much how I made my way to India. With my horrendous journey behind me, I was ready to enjoy my 15 days of R&R! It felt good to be in Kerala again - the controlled chaos, the unbridled greenery, the explosion of colours, motion, sights, sounds, and smells - everything is so alive. My grandad was thrilled to see me. He had been waiting for months to see me and he was overflowing with joy. He had a lot of questions to ask me about my experiences in Iraq, especially since he used to be in the Military too. He was part of the 4th Squadron of the Royal Indian Airforce during World War II. We talked about all kinds of things during the ride home. Mostly they wanted to know if I was safe and how I was doing in general. I told them little stories and anecdotes and tried to describe my life here. Soon we arrived at my beloved Chendamangalam - my hometown. It is a sleepy, idyllic village, set in the middle of the Periyar river. Winding roads flanked by trees. Riverbanks populated by coconut palms. A very peaceful and unassuming place. Time doesn’t flow by in Chendamanglam. No, it stops by, saunters around, and reluctantly makes its way onward. The central feature (perhaps for me anyway, since it’s so close to my house) of Chendamangalam is the Nada (Altar). The reason it is called that is because of the Vaikkathappan temple. The altar, or sanctum sanctorum of the temple is known as the nada in Malayalam. For some reason the word is also used to describe the immediate vicinity of the Vaikkathappan temple. The Nada has changed very little since my childhood. There are a few new houses, and some houses have been painted or renovated. But for the most part, it has remained the same. Indeed, some of the shops at the Nada have been around for decades, and some of the Paliam houses by the temple have to be at least a few hundred years old. For the most part however, life moves by slowly in this little village in the middle of Kerala.

We finally make it home and I get to finally meet Dipu Cheta (Older Brother) and the latest addition to our family, Simi Chechi (Older sister - Simi is what we call her for short, her actual name is Smitha), his wife. I have to say, I couldn’t have asked for a better older sister. She’s very outgoing, intelligent, pretty, and gets along great with our family. Dipu Cheta and her make a good couple! As soon as I got there, I got a nice homecooked breakfast of warm Idlis and chammandi (a kind of spicy sauce, made with coconut and some other stuff - I’d have to ask my mom). I pretty much chilled the rest of the day with the family. Towards the evening, we played a three-hour game of Blackjack, where Dipu Cheta made off with a ton of money. That was a whole lot of fun. Of course, there was still one thing missing. My grandma (my dad’s mom). She passed away last year, and it was very hard for me. She was a permanent fixture in my life - a great source of inspiration and someone I was in awe of and I looked up to. She taught me so much about my culture and traditions. When I was younger, I used to fall asleep listening to her bed-time stories about Krishna and Rama and various other Hindu Gods and Goddesses. Her absence made the experience bittersweet, but she’s in a better place now. Even though she wasn’t there physically, I know she was there in spirit.

The next day was spent in preparation for the reception. My dad and I made our way to Jayalakshmi’s which has all kinds of Indian clothes. My dad bought me a Kurta - it is navy blue with some work along the middle (where the buttons go). We got back home, dressed up, and made out way to the reception. The reception gave me a very good opportunity to meet all the other members of my family - all my aunts, uncles, grand-aunts, and grand-uncles. Since my leave was only 15 days, I didn’t have enough time to see them all, so I was happy I was able to see them there. A note about Indian families - they are very large, and very tight-knit. I can’t begin to count the number of cousins, second-cousins, aunts, uncles, grand-aunts, and grand-uncles I have. I have some from my dad’s side of the family, and my mom’s side (which alone has about 400-500 members) of the family. Then I have some from my uncle’s (my dad’s older sister’s husband) side of the family - not related of course, but nonetheless, "cousins". I can go on and on. I guess some people might feel crowded, but I like it. The reception like I already said, was pretty awesome. The question on everyone’s lips was "How is Iraq?". And I’d say "Just fine… can’t wait to go home!" and maybe tell them a few stories or so. Everyone always ended with "Well, be safe! And don’t do anything stupid!".

After the reception we made our way back home. For the next few days, I didn’t do much other than just relax at home. Talking to my grand-dad, playing with our Samoyed, Chikoo. We used to have a German Shepherd, Jimmy, but he was put down a month before I arrived because of a pretty bad infection in his hind leg. He was in too much pain and my grandad said he had no choice but to euthanize him. He was just an overgrown puppy, that dog - and I missed having him come up and jump on me and lightly gnawing on my hand in that typical German Shepherd fashion. We made a few trips to Ernakulam and also spent a horrible three hours at Jayalakshmi’s where my sister tried to decide which Saris she wanted to buy. But other than that, I didn’t do much for a couple of days. Mainly I was just happy to sit down and relax - watch the world go by, instead of trying to outpace it. In Iraq it was always go-go-go… but here I got a chance to sit down, and unwind. Then of course, there’s the fact that I’m able to sleep in - and it’s not the harsh sound of an alarm that wakes me up, it’s the sound of birds in the air. One of the most relaxing moments I had was sitting at the eretthu (patio) when it rained. There’s nothing like the rain in Kerala - the sound of it, as it comes crashing down from the sky is quite soothing. Then there were also the hours spent watching Cricket with my dad, grand-dad and my cousin. It had been a while since I’d seen a good game of cricket. While all of this was going on, my dad and I were talking about getting another dog for the house. So him, my sister, and I made our way to Ernakulam to meet up with one of my uncles who knows all about the different breeders in the area. We went to this little house where this guy had a bunch of dogs. We settled on feistly little black lab. She’s absolutely adorable - her coat is shiny black and she’s full of energy. We took her back in a cardboard box lined with old newspapers. She kept trying to climb out and when it became apparent to her that we weren’t going to let her, she took ripping apart the newspapers. The first time we introduced her to Chikoo, things didn’t go too well. Chikoo gets a little jealous at times. I remember when I used to play with Jimmy, he’d jump in the middle and nip at Jimmy’s ears and generally annoy him. Although he was about three times the size of Chikoo, he never did anything other smack him once with his paw. Well, anyway, at first Chikoo kept nipping at our new lab. And we had to keep smacking him to stop it. Soon the whole family was at the eretthu and we were all trying to think of a name for the puppy. If my grandma was still alive, she would have given the perfect name. That’s a unique talent she had - she could always give an apt name to any dogs that we brought home. It actually took us about three or four days before we settled on a name. I wanted to call her Rani (Queen - we’ve had two other dogs named Rani but we haven’t used the name in a while) or Jessie. She was Jessie for a few days and then for some reason everyone wanted to call her Honey, even though my dog back in the US has the same name. So Honey she was. Chikoo was still a little mean towards Honey and she’d try to hide from him but then eventually she started retaliating and would actually bark back at him, or even go looking for a fight! So after they built some sort of mutual respect, everything was ok.

On the 20th, we started our trip to Rameswaram. The 21st would be the one-year anniversary of my Grandmother’s death. We had to perform her last rites and we were going to do it at Rameswaram. Rameswaram is 12 hours away by car. So my dad, my mom, my uncle, my aunt, my grand-uncle, my grand-aunt and I settled in for the ride. The ride up there wasn’t all that bad, and before we knew it, we were there. Rameswaram isn’t much more than a little fishing village. It is also an island that is off the eastern coast of India, in the state of Tamil Nadu. Rameswaram has a legend behind it. The legend is that when Rama and Lakshmana returned from Lanka after killing Ravana, they had to perform a certain ritual to rid themselves of the curse (actually, dosham in Malayalam or Sanskrit) of killing a Brahmin. To do this, they had to perform a certain prayer to Lord Shiva. However, there was no Shiva Lingam available. So Rama asked Hanuman to fly to Mount Kailasa and secure some Lingams from Lord Shiva. Hanuman made his way to Mount Kailasa, but was unable to find Lord Shiva. So he sat down in meditation and prayed to Lord Shiva. Meanwhile, the appointed time for the prayer was drawing near and the Rishis (Sages) told Rama that he would have to perform the prayer soon. Rama’s wife Sita was playing with some sand on the shore of the beach, fashioning a Lingam out of the sand. The Rishis said that the sand Lingam would be sufficient for the prayer. So Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita prayed to get rid of the curse. At the end of the prayer, Hanuman arrived. He was able to get two Lingams from Shiva. When he saw that the prayer had already been completed, and that they already had a Lingam, he was a little disappointed. Rama told Hanuman that he was welcome to place the Shiva Lingam that he got from Mount Kailas in place of the sand Lingam, if he would be able to remove it. Hanuman tried his best, but was unable to budge the sand Lingam. Embarassed, he turned to Rama. Rama said that the two Lingams Hanuman brought from Mount Kailasa could be placed around the sand Lingam, and that worshippers would have to pray to stone Lingam first before praying to the sand Lingam. The temple itself is amazing. When you first enter the temple, you’re in a corridoor that goes all the way around the temple - so it’s in the shape of a rectangle. The corridoor is one formed of pillars - hundreds of them stretching into the distance. The architecture is absolutely amazing. I was in awe when I saw the intricate designs on the pillars, the beautiful carvings on the walls. I tried to imagine how it was when the temple was just getting built. I’d look at a sculpture and try to imagine the artisan or the sculpturer who carved it - what he was thinking as he carved it. I tried to imagine all the different kinds of people who walked by and stood in the same spot that I was standing now. I always feel like this when I go to any sort of historical site - or anything that is of great antiquity. The first evening, we went to the temple and prayed. Next morning, we went to perform the last rites for my Grandmother. This was done at this particular pond. We sat on the steps of the pond while a priest made us recite Sanskrit prayers. As I’ve grown older, the idea of having a priest to convey your prayers to God/Higher Power/Whathaveyou has always struck me as strange. Why do you need one? What’s the difference in the prayers you pray to God on your own, versus the one the priest does for you? As the priest was reciting the various mantras and having us perform different rituals, I wondered about their significance.

After the ritual, we made our way to the temple, where we made our way through 22 different "wells" (under-ground water sources forming a network under the temple. Some are freshwater, while others are saltwater). At each of these wells, our guide (yes, a guide through the temple) would take water and pour it over us. After that we went to the main altar, where the priest was supposed to say some prayers. But while he was doing it, he was also arguing with some other guy who was there. Also as it turned out, because we had paid the "Special Entrance Fee", we could make it to the "Special Entry Area", which was closer to the altar. What I’m trying to say is that, the whole deal at Rameswaram seemed to be more of a business than anything religious. I guess I was expecting some sort of serene experience, maybe something divine. At the very least, I expected the temple to be run like a temple - not a business. The whole deal with the "Special Entry Area" put me off. Basically it means that only those are willing or able to pay, can make it close to the altar. Not the others. As if God would care about how much money you have. I’ve had better experiences at the temples in my hometown. Well, after all that, we headed back home and made it back by about 10 at night. I stayed up for a little while chilling with my sister and with Dipu Cheta and Simi Chechi.

A few days after that, we made a trip to the Chendamangalam Synagogue. Most people are not aware, but India had a sizeable Jewish population, and had been there since ancient times. There is a legend that when St. Thomas came to Kerala, he was invited to a wedding. There, he sang a wedding song in a language that none of the attendees could understand, except for a Jewish flute-girl. Another story says that a lot of the Jews came to India after the destruction of the second temple. The Jews in Kerala clustered around Cochin (Kochi) and hence are known as the Cochin Jews. The synagogue in my hometown is situated in a rather unique spot. In fact, it is the only spot in the world where you will find places of worship of the four major religions, in a one kilometer radius. There is a Krishna temple on a hill, an old Christian Church down the hill, a Mosque by a ferry station, and of course, there’s the synagogue. It is a true testament to religious harmony - the four major religions of the world living in perfect harmony with each other. There are not many places in the world where you can see that.

In my opinion, the synagogue dates from the 1200’s, perhaps earlier, due to the finding of a gravestone of a Jewish woman by the synagogue who was buried there during that time. The gravestone was actually found by one of my uncles (from my mother’s side of the family). He had an avid interest in the synagogue and did a lot of exploring around it. However, the synagogue is currently dated as being newer than the big one in Cochin. This is apparently due to some "political" issues. But anyway… when I got to India, I heard from my cousins that the synagogue had been completely restored. I was pretty excited because I’ve gone to see that synagogue every year since my dad first took me there in 1990. Once the Jews left Chendamangalam for Israel, there was no one left to look after the synagogue. So it was locked up and left to the mercy of the elements and vandals. Over the years vegetation took over, and parts of the ceiling fell in. It was in a pretty sorry state. Sometime in 2005, a plan was made to restore the synagogue. It took about a year, but the end result was completely worth it. The architecture of the synagogue is interesting because it has elements of traditional Kerala architecture. The interior has displays with information about the history of the Cochin Jews and exhibits that contain pictures of Chendamanglam Jewish families and also little things like Hebrew-Malayalam translation books, religious items, and other things that gave me a glimpse into the life of a Jew in Chendamangalam. A lot of these items were donated by Chendamangalam Jews from Israel. Like I stated before, I absolutely love being in places of antiquity. So it was a wonderful experience seeing the synagogue restored to its former glory. Standing in the synagogue, I could almost catch a glimpse of the past. People filing into pray… children in the room upstairs taking Hebrew lessons… all quite fascinating.

Before I knew it, my leave was almost at an end. My original ticket was a round-trip back to Frankfurst. But that would make me lose another day of my leave and I didn’t want that. My dad figured that I could fly to Kuwait through Muscat and spend a day with them there. It has been over seven years since my whole family has been together in Muscat, so I was welcome to the idea. I mean, as long as I made it back to Kuwait at the appointed time, I was good. So we left India early in the morning on the 25th. It was a hard saying the good-byes. Especially to my Grandfather. He had had a wonderful time with all his children and grand-children around, and so it was hard for him to see all of us go. But I’m hoping I get to make a trip to India sometime late this year, or early next year. We reached Muscat at about 9 or 10 in the morning. After we put away all our luggage at home, we all went and had lunch. Then we went back home and chilled over there for a bit. I know my parents have gotten used to it, but it hasn’t been easy for them. When my sister and I left to go to the US after I finished my senior year of highschool, and she, her junior year, it was very hard for them. They were used to having us around, or hearing us fighting (especially in the car). In fact, my mom remarked about that as we were all driving around - how we used to fight so much in the back. Even though I only had a little more than a day, it was an amazing one. It was great being together in Muscat with my mom, dad and sister again. That evening, we went to dinner at my favourite restaurant Golden Oryx, with some family friends. After that, we got back home and I was painfully aware that I would have to leave tomorrow. I really didn’t want to, but I had no choice.

Next morning my mom made me Godumb Dosha (sort of crepe) with podi (literally translated, powder. It’s made with lentils and other spices. Mixed with coconut oil, it makes a tasty and spicy sauce). We sat around and talked, and an uncle of mine who stays in Muscat, and my cousin Anoop Cheta showed up to say good-bye. We all drove together to the airport and there I was able to meet some more family friends - Jayan Uncle and Latha Aunty - I have known these people as long as I can remember. We sat around and talked about various things (mostly having to do with my experiences in Iraq) before I heard the call for my flight. My sister was on the verge of tears, and so were my mom and dad. I tried to keep a happy face because I didn’t want to add to their sadness. But I really felt like crap. "Just 5 more months!", I said as I walked away and waved good-bye.

My flight back was uneventful. Nothing like the trip through hell the other one was. After about a day and a half, I found myself back in Baghdad. Coming back sucked, of course. But it also meant that I was halfway through my deployment. That gave me a renewed sense of purpose.

So that’s pretty much it about my leave. I had an awesome time! Other than that, nothing much is going on here. The only big news is that I got promoted to Sergeant (E-5) finally! It was a very proud moment for me. Of course, it means more responsibility and watching everything that you do to make sure that you set the example. But it is well worth it. A little bit about Military tradition here. When you get your E-5, they call it "Earning your stripes", or "Earning your blood-stripes". Why the blood? Well, the rank pins are essentially just that - pins. To hold the rank in place on your uniform, you have this thing at the other end that clamps onto the part of the pin that pokes through the cloth. When they pin you, they take those things off, and then they SMASH their fists into you, essentially pinning the rank to your flesh. This may seem pointless, painful, silly, and crazy to you all, but it’s just how it is. So I had the Commander do it, then I had the First Sergeant do it… then SSG Lopez smashed the rank in too. As I was going to dinner chow, I was ambushed by SSG Green, SSG Owens, SSG Maguire, and SSG Gomez. So I got the rank smashed in some more. By the end of it all, I had splotches of blood on my uniform. I know that some people probably think this is harsh, and that "hazing" is bad. But you know what, I enjoyed this. It was a Rite of Passage, and it actually made me feel proud, and made me feel closer to my unit. If you cannot understand, I am not going to bother to try and explain. It’s just something about being a soldier. Well anyway, that about sums it all up. And of course, here are some pictures:

Amma, Keerthi, my maternal grandmother, and I

My sister and I

Keerthi, Dipu Cheta, Simi Chechi, and I

Keerthi and Simi Chechi

Vidya and Keerthi

The family in Muscat. Together after 7 years!

Chambekka, which I’ve enjoyed ever since I was little. This fruit has a texture that’s midway between an apple and a watermelon. It tastes sweetish-sour, but that’s the most basic description I can give. You have to taste it to find out! It’s actually known as a "Wax Apple" (Syzygium samarangense).

The outside of the Chennathrikkovil temple in Chendamangalam. This is a Krishna temple said to be hundreds of years old. No one is sure when it was made. The architecture would make it seem to be 19th century, but according to local lore, the temple has been around much longer than that.