Last summer, my elder daughter announced she wanted to go to India for a semester, for a study abroad program in Ahmedabad, Gujarat.
"Who else is going?" I asked.
"No one; it's only me. I am going to see whether we can restart a program that was discontinued due to certain political reasons. Isn't it cool?" She sounded thrilled.
"Cool? No way! Why should you go alone to restart it, and why not anybody else?" I asked, agitated.
"Well, there's no one else who wants to go right now, and I would love to do it. Do you know how good that would look on my resume?" she asked.
She was sure about her decision. I had my doubts, particularly since we had no family or friends in that part of India. I could not quite visualise her alone in a completely new environment, in a totally different atmosphere. A thousand questions plagued my mind; and talking to relatives and friends about it did not help either.
"Are you sure you want to send her? What about the drinking water? She's not used to it Can she tolerate the heat? There'll be mosquitoes too " and so on and so forth, everyone's concerns overflowed.
However, when I voiced my fears, my daughter simply brushed them aside. "Stop talking to people, Mom; I've already made up my mind."
That was it, I knew I had to let go. "I'm just sending my daughter to India for goodness sake, not to any foreign country," I reasoned with myself. But that was the problem. The huge difference, both socially and culturally, made me all the more nervous.
They are so used to mixing freely here what if they get in trouble there? Walking back and forth from the studio, where they practiced what they were learning, to their accommodation at all hours of the night is absolutely normal here, but what about in India? These and other worries flooded my thoughts.
"Tell her not to stay outside till too late -- you know how unsafe it is in India," said my parents; their caution only served to make me more nervous.
Armed with all our advice and warnings, my daughter started for India with 'stars in her eyes.' To the land of uncertainty, where anything is not only possible but, when it happens, absolutely normal as well!
The time my daughter spent in India was definitely no cakewalk. It was July and the rains had already started by the time she landed. Obviously, her experiences during her first day were rather muddy ones! Long queues awaited her as she went for registration, and the pushing and shoving to be able to get the classes she wanted wasn't something she had anticipated. Slipping and falling in the slushy campus was something else she had to get used to!
The 'professor's quarters' (single unit houses), where she was to stay with other exchange students, was another experience altogether. The living room of her house did not have a concrete roof; instead, it had metal grills with an aluminum sheet on top which meant having to deal with a terrible drumming noise when it rained. 
And then, there was another unexpected, but much more pressing problem -- monkeys! Imagine my surprise when she calls me one day saying, "Mom, there are two monkeys on our roof and they are looking down at us as if they would love to jump in at any moment." The monkeys were frequent visitors to the studios as well. Their presence did not bother anyone else; everyone seemed to think having monkeys around was the most natural thing in the world!
Going from an environment that was almost sterile to one that was so radically different affected her most in the beginning. The lack of running water in the evenings; the hot, humid, non-air-conditioned accommodations; and simple things like having to put up a mosquito net every night had her stumped. But not for long; within a week, she settled down. The next time she talked to me, she sounded very excited about how refreshingly different everything was.
Since it was an architectural college, everything was designed keeping the students in mind. There were specially designed shacks for students to use as computer laboratories or when they wanted to eat or print something. The studios were beautiful structures, with open-air walk-out terraces where everybody took a Chai (tea) break between classes. Lunch, a ritual that lasted from noon to 2 pm, would be eaten under the shade of the trees dotting the outdoor canteens.
Though a hectic and busy world thrived outside, it was a completely different scenario once you stepped inside the campus. She had trouble getting used to the overall atmosphere, which was relaxed and laidback. Lectures were informal; professors came and went according to their convenience and there was absolutely no concept of time. It was not something I needed to worry about, though; my daughter got used to it quite soon. She loved to take leisurely walks through the sprawling campus. Making quick trips to the canteen in between classes to enjoy cups of sweet tea and lemon juice became a comfortable daily habit.
Traveling enhanced her experience; the students explored different parts of the region, gleaning information as they saw one architectural wonder after another. The untouched natural beauty awed and inspired her; at the same time, she found the urban complexities amazing. The creativity of the students, their manual skills and creative minds never ceased to impress her.
Apart from her studies and academic environment, what impressed her most was the friendliness and hospitality with which complete strangers went out of their way to make her comfortable. She made such good friends there that she never felt homesick. The way they took care of her, as if she was one of them, was very touching.
Participating in the Navaratri festival was another enchanting experience. The sheer richness and splendour of the colorful clothes, the myriad designs, the plethora of rituals and the frenzy of the Garba dance had her mesmerised!
Meanwhile, as she was living her 'Indian' life there, I was counting days until she returned. As far as she was concerned, the six months she was there sped by; as far as I was concerned, it took forever. She loved the variety of Indian vegetarian food, the colorful culture and, most of all, the simplicity of life. Every time I spoke to her, I marveled at how much 'at-home' she felt even though she was so far away from home. But I was not prepared for what was coming next. It's barely three months since she returned, and she is already thinking of going back for another semester.
"But you just came back Why do you want to go back to India again?" I asked her, agitated at the thought of another absence.
'I would love to explore all the opportunities I wish I had taken advantage of. Besides, since I have already been there as a foreign exchange student, I can help and guide the others," she answered with a bright smile.
Watching the expressions flit across my face -- I was clearly not very happy -- she added, "Mom, one can go to India a thousand times and still discover new facets of life that are unique in today's materialistic world. Even though, at times, stark reality hits things that are taken for granted here become desired luxuries there. Yet, out of this comfort zone, life is still full of joy, discovery and adventure. What I really look forward to is the pure sense of satisfaction I get there."
After her eloquent speech, I do not have the heart to say no or discourage her; on the contrary, I feel proud of her -- my daughter has so much love for her country that she can adjust to the inconveniences and discomfort and still enjoy herself. But I still have to get used to the fact that she will again have to deal with not having running water 24 hours a day, putting up a mosquito net and dodging monkeys. She, on the other hand, is gearing up to return to India.
Ruby Banerjea, mother of Sreoshy, 17 and Urvashi, 10, lives in New Jersey.
