why my backpack smells like garam masala
At my school, you get an email when you receive a package, letting you know that you should come by to pick it up. There isn't a student here who doesn't get a nice little boost in seratonin when their phone lights up with an email entitled “PARCEL PICKUP PROCEDURE”. I get a lot of packages, most related to running— shoes, shorts, etc. But the best package I ever recieved wasn't running-related. It came in a large diaper box.
The box was obviously being reused, but that didn't stop my embarrassment at the massive “Pampers” logo scrawled on the side. I immediately went to an empty room, removed the box's contents, broke it down, and shoved it deep, deep into the recycling. What I found inside wasn't, on it's face, incredibly extraordinary. But it absolutely meant something to me. My grandfather had sent me what was to be the first of several shipments of Indian snacks. I have touched before on the fact that I'm incredibly disconnected from my Indian heritage, and I should add that the one connection I do maintain is a deep appreciation for Indian food and cooking. I grew up going to my Grandparents’ New Hampshire lake house, and often, Indian snacks would await us upon arrival. To exemplify my disconnection from India, I don't actually know the names of these snacks. I know there's a yellow spiral one, an orange trail-mix sort of thing, and a fluffy brown chip (googling it after, these are Chakly, Punjabi mix, and Masala chips). Every time I receive a package like this from my Grandfather, I can take small bites of a past which, with age, I will remember less and less; I can nibble on beautiful memories and thereby sustain them. This sounds dramatic, but it's true. Also, before a big hill workout for track (probably the hardest day of training I've ever had), I chugged a Gatorade Fast Twitch with a ton of caffeine and munched on some Masala chips and Punjabi Mix, and felt like I could run through a brick wall. Just saying, maybe give it a try.
The view from my grandparents’ home.
Anyhow, this is life. We do things, and try to remember them, and we meet people, and try remember them, and we learn of our ancestors, and try to remember them. But, if we cannot remember, we can always eat, and the feelings will flood back, and we will once again return home.