Still We Miss Each Other

“Mum, hi!  It’s Ida.”
“You’re here!”
“No, no. I’m sorry.  I’m not.  I’m still in Darjeeling.”

I called Mum in Kolkata.  I intended to visit her.  What with the agitation and the slow pace of progress here, I didn’t make it.  I had emailed her last week saying I hoped to come this week, which didn’t work out.  She answered the phone thinking I had arrived.

“What?  You travel across the seven seas and still you don’t make it to see me???”

I felt terrible.  I miss her.  She’s one of those people who grows on you instantly; energetic, familiar, frank.  I met her through a mutual friend the first time I came to India.  She has a daughter now.  I can hardly imagine.  Her daughter is even talking, baby Bengali babble.  I can’t imagine.  Mum will have a new job soon as director of the India branch of an international NGO that focuses on psychology and happiness.  Congrats Mum!

I didn’t get a proper goodbye from Roshan of DLR Prerna, the NGO I’m working with here.  He’s off to Ireland and got all held up with the “Queen’s reps” in Delhi getting a transit visa for England.  He sent me an email, expressing his enthusiasm for the postcard project and his regret at not being able to meet up again.  Email: so unsatisfying.  No one’s fault, but we’ll blame the Queen’s reps.

Mum isn’t satisfied either. “Well, yes.  It was nice talking to you.  But it would have been nice to see you face-to-face!”

Somehow we come so close and still we miss each other.