The bus swayed dangerously to one side on its way down, righted itself in time, and rushed forward to take the next curve. The driver, oblivious to the plight of its occupants was intent only on getting down the hill in the fastest possible way. I clutched desperately at the lemon in my hand, tried, failed and proceeded to deposit the contents of my stomach down the sides of the bus. Task accomplished, I sat back and tried not to feel guilty at the frowns from the other passengers. I had done this journey at least fifty times a year and yet had never felt good about it once.Another hour and our ordeal was over as we reached the rolling plains. We still had some distance to cover.
Sindhu and I were so excited, we could barely sit still. Amma predictably fell asleep in the last half an hour of the journey and had to be shaken awake as our destination neared. We got off, vomit-stained and weary.
At last I could see Thatha sitting on his rocking chair on the broad verandah. Ammachi anxiously scanning the road, looking out for us. We were enveloped by people as we reached. Questions, hugs, smiles. It was good to come home.