“Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed in the overhead bins or underneath the seat in front of you.”

Mr. Yogi was fully awake and chomping down on a snack he pulled out from his fair-trade hemp bag. It appeared to be a seaweed and tuna sandwich. You have got to be kidding me, I thought, scrunching my face.

As he chattered away about “activating his chakra,” I leaned over my mother—who was still fast asleep—and lifted the white plastic screen from the tiny window to the right, careful not to wake her. As my eyes adjusted to the bright rays of sunlight, I looked out over the dissipating clouds below. I could make out the immense skyline lying beneath a thick layer of gray smog. My heart skipped a beat. So this is Mumbai, my parents’ homeland. The City of Dreams. The epicenter of Bollywood. The setting of the most iconic love stories to ever grace the screen. I looked once more at the nearing landscape below and felt the rapid pounding of my heart as the plane continued to drop in altitude. My mother finally stirred awake.

“Are we already here?” she asked groggily, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Yeah, twenty-one hours, two layovers, and eight thousand miles across the world, and we’re “already” here. I nodded and leaned back.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please make sure your seat backs and trays are in their full upright position. Cabin crew, please take your seats for landing.” I closed my eyes as we prepared for touchdown.

“Can you believe we’re finally here!” Mr. Yogi turned toward me excitedly. “Namaste, India!” he shouted just as the wheels hit the ground with a rocking jolt. I gave him a small smile and held my breath, trying not to inhale the foul stench of tuna wafting in my direction. We had arrived in the motherland. I guess there was no turning back now.

Family Reunion

Bright lights. Loud voices. Hordes of unfamiliar faces passed by as I timidly pushed my way through the crowded entrance of the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport. Shielding my eyes with the back of my hand, I glanced apprehensively across the sea of people. Then I saw them. All of them. It was hard to miss them as they were all standing together, smiling and waving their arms furiously. My mother’s sister, Jamila aunty; her family; and extended relatives had all shown up at the airport to receive us. Within seconds, I was surrounded by aunties and uncles and cousins—most of whom I had never met before in my life but looked vaguely familiar from the photographs mailed to us over the years. There was lots of pinching and hugging and exclamations of masha’Allah! The younger children were huddled around our luggage, talking excitedly as they tried to guess what presents we had brought from Amreeka. Aside from a small bag of Hershey’s chocolates, I wasn’t sure how thrilled they would be with our offerings: bulk-sized bags of almonds and pistachios and pounds of cheese blocks my mother had insisted we pack.