My mother loved to travel. She didn’t have the opportunity or means when she was young, but once she was done with her responsibilities, she traveled a lot. With four daughters in four different places, she made up for all the lost time. I know how much she enjoyed not only the travel, but all the stories that came with it.
She was enthusiastic and very curious—that’s why she was the best packing, unpacking, and planning companion. She was always present in all those details, and I miss her the most for these things.
The first trip without her was the hardest, but I’m getting used to it. I’ve gotten better in the last year and a half; I don’t plan much anymore, and packing is no big affair. I’m becoming my husband—pack whatever you can, and everything else is available everywhere.
This trip was one of those long-dreamt trips, but I packed the day before and was busy cleaning the house more than packing, leaving Anand at home and putting things together for him. I could rest only when I was on the flight. In the midst of all that, I felt her void. I wished she had a chance to see this—a traveler daughter she has now.
After the seven-hour flight, there was a huge line at Milan immigration. I always thought having an American passport made life easy, but I learned a European passport is even better in Europe. Early morning, half-asleep and tired, all I saw was the Singapore Airlines crew walking by, and I thought, yes, she is here. Singapore was my mom’s first air travel, and she loved everything about Singapore. I got her the Singapore Airlines uniform tote bag on my first trip home. Later, I bought my sister a dress in that design, and Amma got a tote stitched from it. Then my sister got another bag for her. Seeing those air hostesses passing by made me wonder if it was a sign—my mom traveling with me.
I carried one of my mother’s saree with me, and on the last day, I wore it for an early morning sunrise trip to the Colosseum.
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