I went to India with my cousin and her baby, bought lots of shirts, 2 pretty saris (which, umm, I don’t know how to wear), henna-ed my hands (it’s really unprofessional but pretty) and missed Kabul. My cousin is writing a guest post to re-tell all the funny things on the trip.
I have a moment in all trips where I think, “Oh, I could live here. That’d be cool.” And then I realize. No, Kabul is where I want to be.
Delhi was interesting, hectic and busy. It’s green, wet and lush, unlike Kabul, which is yellow and red, dry and dusty.
Traffic jams dotted with colorful saris. And huge, absolutely huge. Atlanta has nothing on this urban sprawl.
In between the doctor visits, we roamed around the city, with plenty of breaks to eat and revel in the air-conditioned coffee shops. I love those coffee shops and fabric. I love fabric.
I went to the dr, and I do have hyperthyroidism but I’m on medicine now and should feel the effects in about 2 weeks. I’m happy about the diagnosis, I was afraid that I would have to go through another round of tests if the thyroid tests were negative.
Unfortunately, I sprained my ankle in India (at the Adidas store) and then somehow got a nail in my heel at the Kabul airport. I’m over the whole doctor scene so forget it; I’m not getting a tetanus shot. I got one about three years ago and according the Mayo Clinic’s website, that is enough.
By the way, Cousin H, who was sick, is doing better now, shukur.
I missed Kabul while I was in Delhi. I missed the mountains and yes, even the dust. I missed seeing my fierce people, turbaned, pakooled, veiled, laughing and chatting on the street, enjoying every bit of this precious peace that we have right now. We had a number of attacks, in and around Kabul, while we were gone. I hope things get better soon, here and in the south.