The Jain Clan

At last count, our family numbered 88 people in the house. That is, my home in Gaya, Bihar - the holy city where Buddha attained enlightenment.

We have two homes, each with four stories, and a courtyard in the middle of each. In the mornings, you see people quietly emerge from their rooms, stretch, and begin their daily rituals of brushing, chasing children out of bed, getting breakfast ready and bathing. The responsibilities of the men and women are carefully defined, with no roles overlapping each other. Bread-winning and child-rearing are distinctly different roles - and the customs and habits have been practiced to perfection over centuries.

Being a daughter of the house has it's benefits. My brothers (my cousins, that is), pamper me and allow me to practice my business skills in the shop (Sarika Sari Center). My bhabhis (ie, their wives), make me incredible food, making sure that I can't possibly be hungry or thirsty for even a minute. My uncles and aunts show me old photo albums and recount tales of the house. The daughters of the house are slowly married off, leaving room for new wives and offspring. They leave behind old memories and carefully framed photographs of their childhood, wedding. My Babuji (my dad's eldest brother), is the patriarch, ruling over family matters in a wise and just manner. He showers an unending stream of love towards the youngsters, and we all listen with deference when he speaks.

My bhabhis are beautiful, always elegantly dressed in saris, carefully covering their heads when an elder enters the room. Their faces glow with good humor, their eyes and noserings gleam, and their voices sing as they call out to the children and husbands. They scurry around the kitchen and rooms, taking care of the household for 17 hours straight. My male cousins work, rain or shine, taking non-AC trains across the country to fetch new cloth for the shop. My nieces and nephews are each talented, witty, and of course, pocess plenty of naughty qualities. At night, we sit on the terrace, evading the heat of the rooms, sharing humorous stories about quirky relatives and the family business. The house rings with old traditions, some good, some bad - but surprisingly, always unchanged.

Such is the family visit, the one I look forward to each time I arrive in India. My romantic dreams of my medieval home, while I am a thousand miles away in the US, becomes a reality. There is no anti-climax, no false expectations of what my visit will bring.