Arriving in Cairo

So we meet again – Cairo and I – sooner than I thought we would. I had left in August, promising to come back in December, and somewhere after a month into life as a Dilli ki Billi, I realized I had not been making enough, and that coming back would inevitably mean an attack of nostalgia and longing that would be difficult to resist. 

And sure enough, already on day one, before I even stepped on to Egyptian soil, I found myself wondering if it would not be good to come back. Any thoughts of the nature were immediately changed after Mom’s reaction. She didn’t know I was headed home for the winter holiday season when she opened the door with: “Tu? Kyoon? Too kaise aa gayee?” (“You? Why? What made you come back?”). And immediately she asked if this meant I had left India. I said no it was a surprise. “Good, then you can stay now. We can go back together, in September.” 
 

And all the while she claimed not to be (happily) surprised, she was dialing up my Dad. 

-          “I can’t reach Chitra. I don’t know where she’s been.”  (yes, we Kalyani siblings get it from our parents.)

-          “I just spoke to her this morning.”

-          “Yes, but I tried again, and I cannot reach her. I don’t know where she could be.”

At this point I took the phone from Mom.

-          “Yes, this girl roams out too late at night. That’s just how she is….”

And Dad starts laughing, “Very good. Hahaha. Very good.” 

And after a very short-lived sense of satisfaction at my arrival, they both launch into complaints about how they could have asked me to bring stuff from India. Here, may it be noted, I had told my Mom that “a friend” (for I am on good terms with myself) would be visiting in case she would like anything.

Mom’s told a few people since.

The taste of home.

Before I came to Cairo, I had made a mental list of three things I’d ask Mom to cook for me. In the span of a day she’s already made me those three dishes. The first was tomato curry, I’d written it down somewhere in Delhi, and when I arrived, without me asking, the first thing Mom puts into the cooker are tomatoes to boil for a curry. She seems to always instinctively know. And Mom always shows her love through food. If you don’t get asked to eat when you are at my place, it’s usually not a good sign. So after all her shock and surprise, her first question was, “Do you want to eat?” I took some tea first, and then for dinner we ate curry. Nothing tastes better than home food.

Ta3m el beyout fe shaware3
Ta3m el shaware3 beyout….
- Massar Egbari, Ta3m el beyout

I also had another dinner planned. I had to see Corinna before she left for Germany, and so we decided to meet with MattMatt for some Sudanese food in Dokki. Peanut sauce with eggplant, bread and Lentil Fattah, and some beef curry that I insisted on smelling since I wouldn’t eat it. MattMatt tolerated all this. We mostly talked about Corinna’s cat Fayrouz. All through my walk from Zamalek to Dokki with Matt, I regaled him with repeated expressions of “I’m so happy.” 

I am so happy. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. I guess because it feels like stolen happiness, like this all could easily not have been. And I’ve been stealing it since my last night. 

For a small reason, the last night in India was a bit of a disappointment. Thanks to Stephanie, an old friend from grad school, I have a small jade stone with “Courage” engraved on it. I had carried it in my pocket, and it had carried me through the day. I felt in my pocket for the stone when my heart felt like it was about to sink. And it was where the phone was when Neeraj called back and said I should come over to his birthday party after all. When my plans for the evening did not pan out, I took up the offer and arrived at his doorstep with my bags. I spent the night dancing with and getting to know what I'd now happily consider some very good friends: Revati, Judith, Melodika. The plan was to leave from Neeraj's place to the airport at 4 am. At 2 the party started to wind down, and by three-ish I got into Melodika’s car, and she offered to drop me at the airport. It all worked out!

MattMatt had given me the book “The Buddha in Daily Life” when I was going to India. I read it on my way back to Cairo. Like the stone, it is one more thing holding me together.

On Amman to Cairo, there was a man sat next to me whose bag-tag said “El Warsha Theatre.” I asked him if he was indeed from the theatre, and mentioned I’d worked with D-CAF that had worked with their company. He turned out to be the founder of El Warsha. We had a long discussion which he punctuated with many quotes, anecdotes about people I knew, people we knew… I had actually forgotten all my Cairo money in India, and had planned to take a taxi home and pay by borrowing money from the kiosque downstairs, as I had done on so many occasions before. I didn’t have to. My flight companion offered to drop me home as his driver was coming to pick him up, and we were both happy to extend our conversation in which we discovered common friends and books and authors we loved.

I looked around Cairo – the sun beat warm upon as when we were outside the airport, a welcome reprieve from Delhi’s sunless winters, and as I arrived home there was a beautiful yellow sun setting over Zamalek. We drove down into Agouza, and I was happy happy happy.

I haven’t stopped saying it since. I am happy.

“You? Why? What made you come back?” she asks.