Hello. My name is Natasha. This year I am celebrating a very special anniversary – 20 years since I have lived in India. I can’t believe that so much time has passed, every detail is remembered as yesterday, when I stepped on Indian soil as a 23-year-old girl.
Why Now?
You will probably ask: “Why now, after so much time, I still decided to start writing this blog?” I don’t know exactly…. usually girls start talking about their lives abroad from the first days, but in the early days this did not even occur to me, plus 20 years ago there were not yet so many social platforms to talk about it. Now, after the passage of 20 years, some memories and experiences have lost initial sharpness, what seemed difficult then, now causes a smile on the face at one memory, what used to be an acute pain, now remains only as a dull aching sensation somewhere near the heart … times have changed, in life there have been an immeasurable number of all sorts of events, cheerful and sad, serious and anecdotal … but. first things first.
How it all Started – My Story.
The story of my move to India began 26 years ago back in 1996, when I graduated from high school and decided to enroll to study medicine. I must say that I made the decision to be a doctor, when I was a little more than three years old: my parents graduated from medical university and were undergoing an internship. I got sick and my parents took me with them to the hospital, where I was cared for and entertained by doctors, nurses and even patients. That’s when I knew for sure that I wanted to become a doctor to help sick uncles and aunts who were so kind to me: they treated me to tangerines and even bread with sausage and gave toys that they made out of infusion sets. It was this childhood dream, that brought me to the doors of medical school, where I got admission and began my journey to become a doctor.
It so happened that my future husband also was a medical student at the same institute, although he originally planned to study in another city. So the lines of our destinies went along a parallel line. We met in May 1997, it turned out that we are not only classmates, but also live on the same floor of the hostel. Then everything was like in a Bollywood movie: a dizzying romance, an official marriage registration, followed by a wedding in a church, the birth of our first child … and now it’s 2002! Hurrah!!! We are doctors!
First Time in Delhi
In August of the same year, we landed in Delhi. To say I was worried is to say nothing… I was emotionally shocked by what I saw, heard, felt!
My father-in-law came to meet us: he had such a stone face without any emotions when we bowed to him and touched his feet in search of a blessing that I immediately had a lump in my throat and tears came. At that point, I realized, “Well, that’s it, you’re here! There is no turning back” and tears streamed down my cheeks.
Road Trip – Delhi to Dehradun with Heavy rain!
The road from Delhi to Dehradun was narrow, washed out by rains and the worst thing: we drove on the edge of the cliff, as it happens on mountain roads. The trip was endless, past dreary rain-soaked huts and people, small, wet and dirty, hurrying like ants on their business.
We stopped several times near roadside eateries to drink tea, but everywhere we were told that there was no tea. I was very surprised that there was no tea anywhere, but I did not ask. When we were told for the fifth or sixth time that there was no tea, I couldn’t stand it and asked, “How is it possible that there is no tea in India?”
My husband looked at me puzzled at first, then smiled and explained that because of the rain, milk was not delivered to all these restaurants, and in India tea is prepared only with milk. No milk, no tea. Soon, however, we managed to find a place where we were brought freshly prepared “masala tea” – milky, with aromas of ginger and some dizzying spices. I have never drunk such delicious tea in my life.
At the next stop, I was offered to taste Guava: a tropical fruit that I had only read about in books… I took the first bite, put it in my mouth and squirmed, so Hindus are a strange people: they like to salt sweet fruits and add sugar to their stewed vegetables.
My husband was surprised again for a second, but then with a smile he explained that in India they like to add spices with salt to sliced fruits. Then he offered to try the fruit without spices, it was with a pale pink pulp, juicy, fragrant, sweet, with small bones inside, which crunched coolly on the teeth.
The taste was completely unlike anything I had eaten in my life, but for a second it reminded me of the taste of such a beloved strawberry.
By the end of the day, we had arrived in Dehradun.
It was a small town, with low nondescript buildings (at least in the rain everything seemed that way to me), narrow streets that hung like a ribbon through the hilly terrain and again with crowds of people hurrying about their business.
At home, my mother-in-law was already looking forward to us. She met us with a big smile and genuine joy: of course, her son returned after so many years of study from abroad with a doctor’s diploma in his pocket, and not alone, but with his wife and her first grandchild, to whom she, although she gave a name, but had the opportunity to hug for almost 4 years!
She was dressed in a beautiful sari with a colored pattern, she was also wearing all the typical attributes of a married woman-many multi-colored glass bracelets on her wrists, silver ankle bracelets and rings on her toes, the parting of her hair was thickly smeared with red powder-it was Kumkum, in the ears, on the neck and on the fingers of the hands there were gold ornaments, the eyes were neatly summed up with a black pencil.
She stayed on our doorstep and held a small home ceremony, because it’s a big deal when a son, daughter-in-law and grandson enter her house for the first time!
After the ceremony, they painted Kumkum on our foreheads and gave us something sweet, it was “prasad” – usually fruits or sweets that are presented to God during prayer and then eaten to receive a blessing.
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