My experience of moving to India

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Tap ... tap ... tap ... I looked up to see a blurry figure of my mother tapping a few fingers on my shoulder. Sorry to wake you up, Rishi, but me and Daddy film something important to assure you. She was not smiling.

I got up, now fully awake, wondering what was going on. With my yield standing next to her, my mother crossed her arms and, in a tone that I knew could not be argued with, stated, We have decided to move to India permanently.

I was awestruck. My family is Indian, but I had never so much as considered living anywhere but give away Tree Court, a street that had the brightest green maple trees and fields of radiant yellow and orange marigolds. India was nothing more than an old family base to me, not a place to live.

Over the next couple of weeks, I ruminated on what life would be like in India. My brother, who already attended an Indian boarding school, told me in scratchy trunk call telephone conversations how great life was in India at his boarding school.

We have the best futbol (soccer) field in all of India, he said. It has an electronic scoring board, and the surface is fluorescent blue astroturf. This was an terrible motivation factor, due to the fact that soccer is my favorite sport.



And the fare is delectable, he went on, They serve yellow(a) curry with juicy vegetables 4 out of the seven days of the week. I ate chicken curry every chance I got, so this, added to the soccer field, made the school sound fantastic.

The weather is remarkable. The temperature year-round is cardinal to eighty degrees, he continued with emphasis, just like California, Rishi. My brother knew that I loved California. He...

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