I wandered through a small parade, an all-women police department, a steady stream of uniformed children on their way to school and the usual din of rickshaws, motorbikes and farm animals to the bus stand a kilometer or so outside of town. I had misjudged the distance and the heat, but it was good to stretch my legs after so much time in the car over the past few days. I stopped and bought a banana and a bottle of water for the trip (that I will be careful not to drink until we are close to the destination – I have developed an untested but well-founded fear of having to go to the bathroom while on a bus – I just cannot image what I would do in such a case. What do you do? Think about it….) and sat down for a minute before querying the stationmaster about the bus to Triv. Triv, as in Thiruvananthapuram. The bus left within moments and drove back along the whole path I had just walked...ooh the joys of not knowing where you are.
I called Jay’s father Peethambaran when I changed buses a few hours later, so he knew when to expect me. I was both excited and nervous to stay in an Indian house, not knowing what to expect and being somewhat fatigued from travel, language and food on the road. Jay and I studied together in St Gallen; in three words I suppose i would call him a well-read conversationalist. We had debated many things over beers and incomplete powerpoints, including the attraction (or lack thereof) of travel, the merit (or lack thereof) of religion and our successes (or lack thereof) in entrepreneurship. I looked forward to meeting his family but could not picture what they might be like. Well, picturing another’s family is something like guessing what a river looks like upstream, so I really didn’t try too hard. But after being away from home for so long, anything resembling a home-cooked meal sounded amazing and you can imagine how I was feeling about a bed that was not rented to strangers and cockroaches on a regular basis. 
Jay’s father and brother-in-law Hari picked me up from the bus stand and brought me back to their house, which was located right in the heart of town but was somehow quiet and calm. Jay’s sister (Reshmi) and nephew (Dev) and mom (who everyone calls Amma) greeted me at the door and were all instantly welcoming. We started talking and I realized I would be comfortable here for as long as I needed to rest before my next trip, which was a huge relief. I had planned to leave the next morning but in the back of my head knew I needed a bit more time to recover (go go go can only go go for so long) if Jay’s family would let me. They more than just let me, they encouraged me to stay. And supplied ample meals of delicious homemade food, friendly visits from cousins and aunts and grandparents (all bearing delicious homemade sweets), trips to the local beaches, palaces, gardens and temples, hours to myself and their internet connection, and long conversations about the important parts of life. They helped me improved my eating-with-hand technique, told me that Jay was quiet a kid (yes, the conversationalist...), a young cousin taught me some letters in Malayalam, aunts showed me hand-painted and hand-embroidered sarees, I watched a video of a granddaugher’s wedding, and heard stories and explanations of all different aspects of South Indian culture and cuisine. I really was able to get a sense for not just how things are, but why they are that way. It was a totally different experience from watching life passing by while riding through on a bus or looking out the hotel window. And I was reminded that everywhere you go, even in a country so different on the street level once you step inside the house you are at home. Many unspoken traditions and formalities that we have in my family (and in most families I know) are explicitly prescribed, which makes everything seem to make so much more sense. Here family are neighbors, at home my neighbors are family. We all eat our meals together and drink tea and coffee day and night. Kids are naturally prone to be either incredibly dedicated to school or incredibly dedicated to playing. We hope to marry before we get old and to find a job that pays more than the last. Parents live for the children and children try to advance the family. In all of this I began to realize what a traditional household I had been brought up in – sure my parents are truly freethinking and would probably be shocked that I just called them traditional – but the values are the same even if they have never been spoken aloud. There is perhaps less tenacity and faith in my world, perhaps more environment and individual, and I'm sure a thousand other differences, but they just didn't seem to matter that much. Actually, I can't even think of any...
