She drops everything and comes through the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel in her trademark manner. While laughing, my mother looks at my face and hugs me joyfully. My mother is only 5"2 and I feel like a giant hugging her. She tells me how great it is to see me and how happy she is that I came back. As she speaks in English, I respond back in our home language Gujrati, trying my best to make her feel comfortable. My father leaves us for a while to go back to work at the front desk. He looks tired from working the night shift. Hungry, I sit for a few minutes and talk to my mom over the kitchen counter. While she is preparing lunch, we wait for my brother to come home so we can eat. She tells me about how everyone says home is empty without me, and even my 16-year-old brother reluctantly admitted he missed me last night. She talks to!.
me while I watch her stir-fry vegetables in a wok. She mixes in some rice she cooked earlier and throws some onions into another hot saucepan with spices and Cayenne pepper. I hear the sizzling onions, and can imagine them jumping up and splashing hot oil around. As soon as the onions start to cook up, the strong sharp aroma of onions and Indian spices fill the air. The aroma spreads fast, as if it was a tornado running through our living room racing to get the blanket of scent as far as it can reach. I suddenly hear the familiar background noises of my 2 parakeets chirping away in their normal conversation. The traffic on the main street can be heard through the open windows, and the low hum of voices comes from the office where my father and his employee are talking about the daily occupancy for today. The walls of our hotel aren't insulated for noise very well, so in the busy mornings it isn't very quiet. Luckily by mid morning our place is empty. As I glance at the clock !.
I realize it's already three and no one has left to pick up my brother from school.