Nani Ma

Summer afternoons in the kitchen with Grandma may be a familiar memory for some, but I experienced it for the first time today. Peeling potatoes, learning new recipes and hearing about my mother's childhood antics, all while practicing my Hindi - could a granddaughter ask for anything more? Yesterday I sat at Nani Ma's feet while she retold her experience fleeing Rawalpindi after the India-Pakistan Partition; the horrors she witnessed and the uncertainty that came with ever step. I'm continually amazed at how a woman her age so emphatically tells stories, how her piecemeal English and Susan Auntie's very limited Hindi don't stand in the way of their thoroughly enjoying each other's company. Yes, Nani Ma repeats stories sometimes and she can't walk very far without tiring, but her mind is agile as ever, and I suppose that's one of the most important things one could hope for at her stage in life.

I'm so glad that she has this opportunity to stay in Luxembourg for a few months, to take a break from the behr bahr, the hustle and bustle that cloaks New Delhi. Sitting around the kitchen table our first day here, Nani Ma first noticed the silence, the shanti, that pervades this corner of the world. The air is cool and the street's only interruption seems to the be the occasional car gliding quietly out of the neighborhood - a far cry from the humid, dusty Delhi air and the puttering, honking cars that fill the gulliya. This morning Susan Auntie said after less than a week Nani Ma seems to be looking less and less like the tired, frail woman that emerged from Brussels' airport. I only wish I had more than three days to spend reminiscing and learning from her.

More than I expected, this vacation is turning out to be just the break a student about to enter her last year of college needs. The past two weeks have been enjoyable in opposite ways - hectic, bhangra-filled wedding days in London followed by long conversation and lazing in the kitchen or along Luxembourg's countryside. While I didn't always know or understand what was going on at the wedding, I was far enough removed from it that I didn't have much responsibility, but was still in the thick of it all. The best place to be if you ask me. And now, here in Luxembourg, I'm surrounded by everything I like about European life - foreign languages, quiet countryside, and people who wear skirts and heels to go grocery shopping. But most importantly, I've got political commentary with Susan auntie, griping about school with Sara, joking around with Mamu, and Nani Ma's squeak of a laugh when she tells us she mistook Sara's hot pink slippers for some special Luxembourgish rabbit.

Why We Need the Olympics

Probably to the dismay of my parents and my things-to-do list, I've been doing nothing but watching the Olympics for the past weekend. And even if last night's 4-by-100 men's relay finish wasn't absolutely thrilling, I'd still be watching the Olympics tonight.

I won't gush about how stunning the Opening Ceremonies were, but I will say I'm pretty happy I stayed in Friday night to watch them. My favorite part was either the intimidatingly synchronized drumming that kicked it off - especially when the stage went dark and the percussionists were pounding with fiery glow-in-the-dark sticks - or the movable type pieces that moved in harmony to the music.

But the real point I'm getting at is that we need the Olympics to remember what makes us amazing. I'm not naive enough to ignore the performance enhancing drugs and hard-line Chinese security crackdown that lie beyond the world records and gold medals, but we need the Olympics nonetheless.

A diver twisting headfirst into a pool of water thirty feet below. A gymnast flinging his legs around and around a pommel horse. A cyclist battling the final uphill meters of a 78-mile course. A pole vaulter launching herself over a bar. It's utterly mind-boggling what the right amount of training can do to human capability.

Contrary to discouraging us from pursuing personal fitness, watching these athletes should inspire us. If they can push human performance boundaries, the least we can do is get little exercise into our own bodies.

The other thing about the Olympics is that, with the exception of superstars like Kobe Bryant, LeBron James and Michael Phelps, most of these competitors are relative unknowns. Yes there are high-profile sports like basketball, gymnastics, track and field and swimming, but the Olympics also give us the chance to get into more obscure ones like fencing, archery, and modern pentathlon. Sure, our interest will probably wane until four years from now at the next go around, but it's still fun.

And then of course there's the pride. As much as foreclosure rates, gas prices and campaign drama have been on our minds, show us the stars, the stripes, and the teary American eyes on the medal podium and we easily remember why we love our country. I realized in Europe that some people are put off by our patriotism, but it's something I fiercely guard. We cheer, yelp, shout, high five, hug, fist bump, chest bump, whatever it takes to celebrate. Some may see this as cockiness, flamboyance or ostentation, but I say there's nothing wrong with showing a little emotion once in a while.

The significance of these games to China have been dissected ad nauseam, so I won't go into any of that. What I have noticed, and I don't know if that's because I myself am an Eastern-Western mix, are the subtle cultural difference. It seems our athletes compete more for the love of sport and individual accomplishment while they compete more out of duty and national pride. Clearly, we too take national pride in winning, but I would guess that Phelps' quest for eight golds is first to get his name in the history books, with American pride second. Conversely, I think the Chinese gymnasts and divers want these golds almost more for their country than for themselves. I only wonder what they would go through after the cameras are turned off should they not complete the victorious duties they're charged with. Theirs is the pressure of an authoritarian government with something to prove, the pressure of 1.3 billion people. Phelps' pressure comes mostly from one man - himself.

And with that hot medal pursuit in mind, let me just say that while this isn't exactly the point of the Games, I fist-clenchingly hope that we come out with the most gold medals. I know, I know, that's bordering on arrogance, but what can I say, the idealist in me wants democracy to prevail.

The Right Set of Ears

Be careful what you say because you never know who's listening.

I don't say that to be menacing, in fact, something decidedly positive happened when the right person heard the right words this evening on the Metro.

Fellow intern Hannah and I were chatting on our way home from a dinner at the city's Top Chef- created burger joint when she asked me if I knew a certain professor. Turns out, the man who taught her internship program's class this summer was also the one who pushed me through the journalism class from hell I told you all about last fall.

"You're kidding me," I told Hannah. "He was one of my favorite teachers ever!" I went on to tell her how Megan (who's also interning at this office) and I were in his class together and how we absolutely loved him and he loved us, going on and on. Soon enough Hannah's stop came and after bidding her good bye, I pulled out my book to occupy the rest of the ride.

Shortly before my station, the lady sitting across from me slides over and hands me her card.

"I overheard you talking about Mr. Journalism earlier," she told me. "Well, I'm the one who hired him to teach for this internship program."

Say what?

She told me she was so happy to hear how much we liked him, and wanted to pass the praise on.

"Too often teachers only hear from the bad students and I wanted to let him know what I heard today," she said before we parted ways.

I just sent her an e-mail telling her who Hannah and I are, and how I'd be more than happy for her to let Professor know how much we appreciate his teaching us.

I'm sure Hannah will get a kick out of this coincidence when I tell her tomorrow. What a small world after all.

Oh, and remind me, I must write about the new possible career option I discovered yesterday evening :)

Long-Distance Friendships

I know how the saying goes; it's better to have loved than lost than to have never loved at all. But that doesn't make dealing with the loss part any easier.

I've been home from Spain for two months now, and it hasn't really set in that that chapter of my life is over. The people from my Madrid life are now all over the world, back to their daily routines just like I am. Yes, today's technology means it's not terribly difficult to keep in touch. But that still doesn't change the fact that things will never be the same as they were just a few short months ago.

Granted, nothing is ever the same as it was just a few months ago, and the only reason why I'm making this a bigger deal is because it's a more obvious difference. But sophomore year was still different than freshman year, and people will always float in and out of our lives like dandelion seeds in the wind. On the flip side, putting an ocean between friends doesn't mean the friendship has to stop, which is another thing I'm realizing.

Sure, a long-distance friendship takes more work to maintain, but as one Facebook bumper sticker I've seen says, "True friendship isn't being inseparable; it's being separated and nothing changes." That's why my dad can go to India after twenty-something years and still joke around with his buddies as if they were still in high school. He once told me that the during one night we spent with his friends and their families last summer, he felt as if no time had passed since their bachelor days; that his years here in the U.S. were just a blink, a minor hiatus from their carefree youths.

I want that. I want to be able to get together, ten years down the road, with the friends I have now and be able to chat, laugh and reminisce over our times together, without feeling guilty for not keeping in touch after graduation. Sure, ideally I'd love to stay in touch with everyone. But no one has the time and energy for that, and everyone knows it. That's why I'm able to bump into a high school friend on the Metro to work and chat for the entire 40-minute commute, without the question of "why haven't you called me," coming up. That guilt is the one thing I have to get over. I'm not miffed that people haven't kept in touch with me, consequently I shouldn't feel guilty for not necessarily keeping in touch with them.

I'm going to see Jenna tomorrow for the last time before she goes back to school. After that, I don't know when I'll see her next. But right now, I don't want to think about that. I'm just taking comfort in the fact that I have many fond memories of our times in Madrid to look back upon, and that if I ever venture out to Memphis or Indianapolis, I'll have a friend to pass some time with.