The first thing that you notice to be missing, is the food. Where will it come from, and who will feed you? No more morning discussions over the menu of the day, no wafts of boiling rice and chiken karahi emerging from the kitchen. You think of warm chapatis being brought on to the dinner table one after the other, and wonder whether it was all really worth it. Indeed, in these moments you long for home and thing how great it would be if your return ticket were to disappear suddenly under ‘mysterious circumstances.’
Home is where the food is good, and people notice your absence.
You compare those meals to the greasy burger you just ordered at McDonalds, on the way back to school. It arrives in all its warm but disgusting glory, ready to be consumed. In comparison to the karahi – with its carefully cut, tender chicken pieces, and delicate sprinkling of ginger and mint on the top – Meal No. 7 seems an absurdity, almost uncivilized. What you miss most then are the vestiges of a princely lifestyle, embodiment of the poor economic conditions in the homeland. One hopes though, that things will improve for everyone, in the due course of time. It is something we must work for everyday.
Was that a restaurant we just passed? Let us stop and ask, perhaps they have chicken karahi? It would taste especially good with naan on this chilly evening. Later, we can make the old corolla’s engine churn a little faster, to ensure that you still get to your destination on time.