Personal Writing: My New Life In India :: essays research papers

Personal Writing My New Life in IndiaTap ... tap ... tap ... I looked up to see a blurry figure of my get downtapping a few fingers on my shoulder. " low-spirited to wake you up, Rishi, but me andDaddy have something important to tell you." She was not smiling.I got up, now fully awake, wondering what was going on. With my fatherstanding(a) next to her, my mother crossed her arms and, in a tonicity that I knewcould not be argued with, stated, "We have decided to move to Indiapermanently."I was awestruck. My family is Indian, but I had never so much asconsidered donjon anywhere but Peach Tree Court, a street that had the brightest discolour maple trees and fields of radiant yellow and orange marig hoars. India wasnothing more than an old family story to me, not a place to live.Over the next yoke of weeks, I ruminated on what life would be like inIndia. My brother, who already attended an Indian boarding school, told me inscratchy long-distance send for conversati ons how great life was in India athis boarding school."We have the shell futbol (soccer) field in all of India," he said. "Ithas an electronic scoring board, and the move up is fluorescent blue astroturf."This was an enormous motivation factor, due to the fact that soccer is myfavorite sport. "And the food is delectable," he went on, "They serve weakly interacting massive particlecurry with risque vegetables four out of the seven days of the week." I atechicken curry every chance I got, so this, added to the soccer field, do theschool sound fantastic."The weather is remarkable. The temperature year-round is seventy-fiveto eighty degrees," he continued with emphasis, "just like California, Rishi."My brother knew that I loved California. He also told me that I would get tovisit our parents two times a week, which is very generous compared to otherIndian boarding schools.My brothers long-distance stories confident(p) me. From what I had heard,India sounded like utopia.Six weeks after my mother woke me with the big "news," my father, motherand I arrived in India. We left Peach Tree Court, with all its handsome mapletrees, and flew to India. I stepped off the airplane into the dirtiest, oldestairport I had ever seen.A film of dirt covered everything in the airport the windows, the walls,even the floor. And the muckle working there seemed more likely to shrug theirshoulders and ignore the passengers than deal out at all if anything worked right.