Coming Home

The phone chirps as I turn it on, “Welcome to France”. Uh oh. Thought I’d boarded the flight for Geneva? All the stars had been spectacularly in alignment so far, business class seats right up front, warm rolls with butter, dinner and a bed with la famille Tauros. So why is Vodafone welcoming me to France?! Mercifully, the satellites rush into position resulting in a, “Welcome to Switzerland” and all is well.

The familiarly sweeps over me as I instinctively turn and head towards the station. The train wends its way through the picture book perfect view of Lac Leman edged by the Alps blurring past the bright green foliage and I feel as though I’ve come home. A tad weird given I've only lived here for 2 (its been 5 in London), and this country is the antithesis of India. Pristine, sterile, closed.... but the feel of going home to natiue place persists. Ironic. Fond farewells ensue as I leave Guy and Matt at Vevey and walk into the warm sunshine fingers fumbling for Sheryl’s number when I spy a brown face, waving arms and bright purple tights descending upon me. Aunta Punta strikes again! I’m reminded of the extent to which the D’Souza women are vertically challenged as I lean forward to hug the little git.

A perfect homecoming, as we sip on Sauvignon Blanc critically assessing the stunning view in front of us (naturally overlooking the gentle verdant slope as it rolls down to the lake and the Alps behind), gorging on fried breadfruit (imported all the way from Mangalore), and reminiscing about how quickly the bacchas have grown up, especially Sammy and even Aunta Punta! The feeling of being home intensifies as Aunty brings out a tray of appams!! Oh my. Fresh appams and mutton stew! Bwaaahaahaaa – life does not get better! A tad surreal perhaps to feel Mangy in Vevey, but there you go. Accents get stronger, and ‘no Maaaas, have some more Maaas’ resound, amidst totally hysterical, water dribbling down the chin moments as Chiara panders to her willing audience with her demented canned laugh. How the mite does it is beyond me, but one sly look at you, before she launches into this fake gurgle sending Aunty and me into convulsions. A slow wind down with a leisurely chat with Dheeraj, the only man about the house, as Sheryl struggles to get the brat to sleep.

Morning dawns early, and I enjoy a solitary cup of tea, enthralled with the magnificent view, wondering if my plan of getting rich and buying a house in Montreux on the lake would ever materialise. Hardly matters. I’m here now. With a little girl I used to know who’s still in bed after a late night with her own little girl.

How quickly they grow…