My Family Vacation 2013

The one thing that Indian parents are very good at or practice being good at is emotional coercion (maybe I am being too judgmental, but trust me if you are in my position you would say the same). You can run but you can never hide from the apparent trauma you cause them by just existing.

This story started in February when my brother had to take a break from his masters because he had not completed the requisite credits for his degree. Now, I being the supportive sister had to be his accomplice and cover up this whole mess. That was my job description from day one and I was the best at supporting all my brother’s decisions in front of my parents. So, we both put our heads together as to the best way to break this news to my parents with the least amount of blow back. All was well, my parents accepted the inevitable, and they were supportive of my brother after about two weeks of ass kicking.

The problem in this scenario was that with my brother’s future on hold everyone suddenly needed a new project stat. They needed something to fix. So, they sent across an SOS message to all my extended family, visited every pundit in the Greater Hyderabad area to find out what was ailing my family, why is it that their kids are so fucked up. I was fine with it as long as I was in Mumbai; I supported them with their eccentricities. I was being a good daughter. But one of these pundits decided that I was the root of all these problems (something was wrong in my Kundali which is effecting my whole family!)

Apparently I was the iron leg. I was the reason all this was happening. Pretty fucking awesome isn’t it? What was I supposed to say to that? If my mom wanted to go visit every temple that performed some sort of Pooja to minimize my “iron leg effect”; I had no other option but to obey. That’s I found myself planning a temple marathon during my much awaited Holi vacation while my room-mate was gallivanting in Bali/Fifi.

My project ended and all I finally wanted was a break where I could sleep, but there was waiting in Mumbai airport to start my first leg of the long and arduous temple run. Here’s my itinerary

·         Sunday: Machilipatnam

·         Monday: Vijayawada

·         Tuesday: Tirupathi

·         Wednesday-Thursday: Sri Kalahasti

So, I put my game face on, picked up some gult looking clothes, packed my backpack and was on the run. Sunday was alright, all I had to do was sit in front of the pandit while he gave me a sloka to chant for three hours. He was really good at this, the moment I stopped reciting, I was asked to do a pradakshan around the temple (this happened thrice). By the time the pooja was done, I was tired, hungry, dehydrated and my feet were burnt.

Then I moved on to Vijayawada where I had a moment of reprieve. The only family member I can remotely make intelligent conversation is my uncle. He is a photography enthusiast like moi. We talk about everything under the sun about photography. He gives me tips every time at his place or when I call him up. And before we were all talked out I had to catch a train to Tirupathi.

The train part of the journey was really good because I literally glued myself to my Kindle refusing to make conversation. We moved to Tirupathi only to find out that I have a conference call scheduled because my dear client from Singapore needed some clarifications. So, there I was sitting in the hotel lobby on the floor (austerity measures in Tirumala, no more than four chairs allowed) talking away for an hour while every other person was staring at me as if I was a cross between Alien and Predator (why would someone even think of work in the presence of the Lord, blasphemy I say!)

The day only got better when I found out after standing in the special darshan line for almost 3 hours that it might take the rest of the day before we even step into the harrowed halls of Tirumala. In between I almost fainted of exhaustion and was hauled back by my sister-in-law who took pity on me unlike my parents who were glaring at me as if I have committed murder. I think no one in my family will forget this any time sooner, my cousin always start our phone conversation with the line “remember that one time where you fainted while seventy year old ladies were sauntering along…”

After my day of humiliation I now moved to Srikalahasti which is my dad’s ancestral home (that home is demolished and now in its place stands a shiny building which makes me sad every time). Anyways, I am still sick as a dog for the rest of the trip, while everyone else is enjoying great home cooked food I was sipping Orangina and eating Idlis. But, that still did not get me off the hook. I did go to the temple and prayed for more clothes (yes, there is a God who will give you more clothes if you leave a fiber sample of your dress. DON’T question it)

So, there went another vacation which shouldn’t be called a vacation. I wasted 10 precious days shuttling from place to another, trying every possible means of transportation: bikes, rickshaws, autos, taxis, buses, trains and flights. The great family vacation of 2013. NOT.