Abba in India

The amazing contrasts of my family’s lands

NU Magazine - October, 2009

The rooftop is flat and covered in stone. I walk up two flights of stairs from my grandmother LaliKoch’s apartment.

A group of people are gathered there, a special place that looks upon Bangalore, India. I see an ugly skyscraper and the last workers returning home after a long day on the busy streets.

We are celebrating my cousin Molly’s birthday on LaliKoch’s rooftop. Everyone is here. Nikki, Tia, Aunti Roma, Uncle Adjit, Aunti Snehah, LaliKoch, Aunti Runjini, Uncle Sunil, Annu, Dad, Molly, and me.

Molly is brave to take her first trip out of the country to India without her immediate family. We’re practically best friends. I’m happy to be in India with her, and sad that our trip is drawing to a close. I love visiting my amazing family here.

I’ve been to India three times. My stepmother (who isn’t Jewish) is from India. She was born and lived here till she was three years old, at which time she moved to Great Britain, where she lived till she was 12 years old, then moved back to India. At my father’s home in the United States, my stepmom cooks Indian foods and wears Indian clothing.

The music on the rooftop is playing; Molly and I made a playlist with everything from Abba to Daddy Yankee. People are talking, and food is being cooked on the barbeque.

My departure from India now looms ahead of me. But, right now, I focus on the music, and the sounds of India around me.

There are sounds everywhere. India sounds like traffic to me; crowded streets stuffed with all kinds of vehicles, public buses packed to the gills with commuters; auto rickshaws dropping people off and picking people up on every corner. India is bright colors; beautiful saris and scarves, women wearing henna.

The other India is poor and homeless men, women, and children. This reality scares me. I wish that I could help everyone, but that is not possible. It makes me appreciate my life, and everything I have.

Different food comes off the grill. It’s a combination of American food like hot dogs, and Indian kabobs.

My dad, a professional photographer, is more concerned with taking artsy pictures than group or candid shots. My stepmom and aunties are asking for Abba to be played over the speakers. There is some dancing.

My family in India is wealthy. My grandmother lives in a marble-floored apartment next to her country club. There is also extreme poverty in India. My grandma runs a counseling center for women and helps organizations such as the Parikrma School, where children from the poorest slums are taught English. I hope to spend a summer volunteering at the Parikrma School.

But on this rooftop, the realities of India seem very far away; it’s just a huge, loud family together in celebration.

Adina Wells, 16, attends Solomon Schechter Day School of Essex and Union and is a member of Nu’s teen board.

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