I Think, I Thunk: Things I Never Thought I'd Miss About India

 

You know what's funny? While I sit here in my cozy German apartment, watching perfect snowflakes fall (or more likely, rain), my husband is staring at the sky. Not for the weather forecast, but because it's Sankranti, and his hands are itching to fly kites. The German skies are painfully empty of the colorful paper warriors that would be dotting every inch of Indian skies right now.

Let's talk about festivals first - because nothing screams 'culture shock' quite like trying to explain to the orderly German system why adults want to climb up terraces to fly kites or why there are upwards of 400 million people wanting to bathe in Ganges. Back home, the morning would be alive with shouts echoing through neighborhoods. Here, if you scream from a terrace, someone's probably calling the Polizei. The sweet aroma of ladoos and sakkinalu has been replaced by the scent of Glühwein - not complaining, but it's just not the same, you know?

And don't even get me started on Diwali here. We've gone from being the land of festivals to tiptoeing around with sparklers, wondering if we need a permit to light a diya or need permission from landowners to draw a rangoli (cuz it might hurt the pets or trigger my neighbor who is paranoid of fire). Meanwhile, come New Year's Eve, and Berlin turns into what looks like a scene from an action movie - no permits needed! The irony isn't lost on us as we stand with our jaws dropped, watching Germans outdoing our Diwali celebrations.

The chaos - oh, the beautiful chaos! You never realize how much you'll miss traffic jams where rules are more like friendly suggestions until you're in a place where even jaywalking gets you disapproving looks (sometimes fine or a trip to police station). The constant honking that used to drive us crazy? Now it's like a missing symphony. Our "chuskundam le" spirit feels like a superpower here where everything needs proper planning and structure.

Let's talk about food, because that's where the real nostalgia hits hard. My husband and I have become those people who make our visiting friends carry 20 Rio ke samose in their luggage (yes, we actually did this, and yes, they became breakfast, lunch, and dinner until the last one). We ration our Osmania and Karachi biscuits like they're made of gold, making each bite last while sipping our evening coffee. We've even started making pavs from scratch just to get that authentic vada pav taste - if our grandmothers or mothers could see us now!

And oh, the delivery services! Remember when "I want it now" actually meant NOW? Blinkit, Swiggy, Zomato, Uber Eats - you spoiled us rotten. Here, if you want something delivered after 6 PM, you might as well wish upon a star. We've gone from tracking our delivery person's every move to getting vague delivery windows like "between Monday and never." The other day, I tried explaining to someone why it's weird that I can't get ice cream from Creamstone delivered at midnight anymore - they looked at me like I was describing science fiction.

Speaking of conveniences, who knew we'd miss things like finding a tailor who can fix anything in hours or a "iron-man" (the kind that presses your clothes)? Here, if your button falls off, you either learn to sew or embrace the "distressed" look until the tailor's next available appointment - probably next month. The jugaad life has been replaced by "there's a proper process for that and it's very costly, so you might as well learn and do it yourself life."

Even the weather has become a whole thing. Back home, the sun was our faithful friend who showed up daily. Here, it's like that flaky friend who makes rare appearances and expects everyone to drop everything and come out to celebrate. We've gone from drying clothes in the sun to playing weather roulette with our laundry.

As we sit here, carefully rationing our last few Indian snacks with our evening coffee, we realize how these simple flavors from home have become our most precious possessions. Each bite is not just food - it's a memory, a moment, a piece of home we're trying to preserve in our new life. From the way your body remembers the exact curve of your old mattress to the taste of that specific samosa/manchurian/mysore bonda - it's these little things that suddenly mean everything when you're far away.

Who knew I'd one day miss even that traffic at Mehdipatnam? Life's ironic that way, isn't it?

P.S. If anyone's flying in from Hyderabad soon, you know what to bring! And no, "I didn't have luggage space" is not an acceptable excuse anymore! 😉