We’d made the decision to stay in India only three instead of our usual four months for an easier and gentler experience now that we’re older. Indeed, the trip began smoothly. After ten days quiet meditation in Bangalore we took the overnight train directly to Gokarna. The new train was abnormally empty and clean and we agreed the most comfortable ride we’ve yet taken in India. We arrived in time for South Indian breakfast near our guesthouse.

Six weeks at the beach was a luxury for me. Plenty of time for swimming and walking on the sand. And I thoroughly enjoyed the prolonged company of my English friend Marina, and Tina from Ireland. Our friendship could build in a way not possible when you’re just meeting up for a few days and then traveling on your separate ways. Gerard and I were both flattered that our friend Peter came all the way across the breadth of India from Pondicherry to visit us and Swiss Peter visited from Agonda. I enjoyed Gerard’s company swimming almost every day, and when not socializing he happily typed away on his computer, beginning Phase 2 of his memoir. Bitten incessantly by sand fleas and mosquitos bites, he dealt with the itching and sleep disturbance far more stoically than I would have.

We spent the remainder of our three months in Rajasthan, returning after several years to three towns. I enjoyed the longer stays and less travel. Comfortable and familiar; less exciting but also less taxing. The incessant urban noise was hard to take; motorbikes, horn blowing, new construction, street repairs. While jarring for even those with adequate hearing, for me it was bewildering. With my hearing loss, I was grateful to be protected from the barking dogs and early morning chanting, that Gerard had to deal with. But it was hard not to feel isolated when excluded from conversations in restaurants. Then I managed to let go. I remembered my friend in Boston telling me if you can’t hear, you can people watch. When not an active participant in the conversation I became fascinated by the nuances, each speaker’s gestures and expressions, the visual interplay between people. Never being being a visual person, hearing difficulties have helped open me to other sense perceptions.

The economy is growing by leaps and bounds: wealthy young Indians going to Gokarna for the weekend, to Pushkar for Holi celebrations, Udaipur for a wedding. Yesterday’s NYT ran an article: What 10 Years of Modi Rule Has Meant for India’s Economy. The value of the stock market has grown threefold. If Modi was responsible for that or not, is a good question. But the saffron colored flags we saw everywhere and distributed by Modi and his cohorts, are too reminiscent for us of Germans waving Nazi flags before WW2.

Our last few days in India were spent in Delhi, visiting our Indian family, the Mahajans, and stocking up on Indian products unavailable back home. We spent a day avoiding Holi, the festival of color. The night before I watched bonfires built on the street and offerings of flowers, coconut etc left laid on the fires before being lit. The next morning, the streets erupted with people throwing rainbow toxic dye at each other. We hid in our hotel room, not wanting to have our skin and clothes indelibly stained. But Delhi was tame compared with Varanasi where we usually spend Holi; rowdy partying everywhere and the lanes beside the ghats literally run with color for days afterwards. In Delhi the shops closed. Thankfully the restaurant opposite our hotel was open for breakfast though menu options were limited to white toast and jam. By late afternoon, sanity resumed and it was safe to go out.

Leaving Delhi at 4 am, the flight home via Dubai was long and tedious, but uneventful. Exhausted, I couldn’t hear the customs official at Logan ask me if I was bringing anything back. “No!” I believed was the appropriate response. “Nothing?” He said in disbelief, after three months in India? Standing behind me, Gerard quickly set the record straight. “A bed cover.” Satisfied, he waved me through.

Returning to Boston in April rather than May, we didn’t expect full blown spring, but the rain and gloom of the first several days were hard to take after three months of constant sunshine.

Gratefully, we were spared the freak snow storm further north and take solace in the few sturdy daffodils and crocuses poking through the barren soil, and the magnolias beginning to bloom on Commonwealth Ave. A welcome burst of red sat in our budding lilac tree. The cardinals have returned.