settled

The new Bangalore airport isn't exactly new anymore but it's new to me, my previous visits all arrived at the old airport. Chirping birds can still be heard wondering how the hell they got trapped in this big glass building and the same confusing conversations are held at customs (this time he kept insisting I "come back two months time" and I kept insisting I wasn't returning so soon. Finally figured out that he was referring to the new immigration rules saying I couldn't return for at least two months after this visit) but those are just about the only things that are the same.

The old airport was brown and dusty, the baggage claim one small, poorly lit room with equipment that looked as if there must be someone behind the scenes riding a bike to turn the baggage belt and the air was stifling thanks to fans that never worked. The new airport is multi-storied, glassy, shiny and bright with posh washrooms and a Booster Juice outside. Exiting the building was like stepping out to the paved walkways and manicured gardens of any other airport. I missed the old one. Those first few moments outside were always my favourite part of travelling here. Nothing yells "YOU'RE HERE" like the absolute chaos that smacked you in the face when exiting the old airport: the jumble of touts screaming for your attention, the drivers waving white signs bearing travellers last names, the smell of pollution mixed with dust mixed with exhaust, the cacophony of horns and motors, the vendors waving chai and chat in your face and the cars, buses, taxis, and rickshaws all trying to pass through the same tiny exit at once. I loved those first few moments. Loved them.

My driver was all kinds of good-energy loveliness. My affection for him was sealed when he stopped, unasked, on the way to the car to buy me a chai. Sweet, heavenly, sugar laden chai; hello India, I'm here. I spent the long drive to Mysore sticking my head out the window like an eager dog to see the sights and smell the air, taking blurry pictures of the road, and talking to my driver who I later learned had virtually no English. This explains why he was so agreeable.

I arrived, got settled in the guesthouse and met the new owner, walked into town to buy some fruit, organized my phone, registered for classes with Bharath and practiced. It's interesting to be here. Gokulam is so much my second home that I slip right back into life as if I never left at all; at the same point in time, it's very different. The town is empty of foreigners, cafes are closed, the guesthouse where I spent so much time with my girls has new owners, new buildings have gone up and others have come down. It's a visceral reminder that I can't step in the same river twice, everything is the same but nothing is. I'm happy.

Blurry roadside pictures: