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

Personal Writing My new-fashioned Life in IndiaTap ... tap ... tap ... I looked up to see a blurry figure of my producetapping a a few(prenominal) fingers on my shoulder. "Sorry to wake you up, Rishi, but me andDaddy have something grievous to tell you." She was not smiling.I got up, now fully awake, wondering what was difference on. With my fatherstanding next to her, my mother crossed her arms and, in a tone that I knewcould not be argued with, stated, "We have distinct to move to Indiapermanently."I was awestruck. My family is Indian, but I had never so such(prenominal) asconsidered living anywhere but Peach channelize Court, a street that had the brightestgreen maple trees and fields of radiant yellow and orange marigolds. India was nought more than an old family story to me, not a place to live. all over the next couple of weeks, I ruminated on what life would be identical inIndia. My brother, who already attended an Indian embarkation school, told me in galling long-distance telephone conversations how great life was in India athis boarding school."We have the best 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, receivable to the fact that soccer is myfavorite sport. "And the food is delectable," he went on, "They serve crybabycurry with juicy vegetables four out of the seven days of the week." I atechicken curry every chance I got, so this, added to the soccer field, made theschool sound fantastic."The weather is remarkable. The temperature year-round is cardinalto 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 cardinal times a week, which is very generous compared to otherIndian boarding schools.My brothers long-distance stories conv inced me. From what I had heard,India sounded like utopia.Six weeks 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, oldestaerodrome 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.