He bows; reaches down to touch his grandma’s feet – to show respect.
She puts her right hand on his head. Her wrinkled hands shiver, the tears moisten their eyes. They embrace and hug outside the gate of the haweli. The driver drags two suitcases, from the trunk of the car, into the house.

“How was the flight?” she asks in a weak but firm voice.
She speaks in pure Punjabi – the only language she has ever spoken in her last 80 years of a well-lived life. She has not been to big cities, unless to attend some wedding, or a funeral. Her daily world is mostly limited to the few streets of her village, or up and down the family farm.

She is glowing with the excitement of seeing her grandson again, after so many years.

“The flight was good”, he replied without thinking. He looks around to take a stock of the dramatically changed neighborhood.

“You look old. The 5 years have aged you more than a decade”

“I know, maanji” That is what he always called her. In fact that is what the whole village calls her – Maanji, the mother.

She inquired about health, and the rest of extended family abroad. He, in return, talked about trivial stuff – like how the peepul tree near the pond has grown so old, how the streets are paved now….how it is so foggy even in the middle of the day…

They eventually got inside the house. The servant pulled a cot out of the veranda, into the dim sunlight breaking through the thinning fog. The winter day of February seemed warm – as if the chill has suddenly disappeared.

“so what do you do in America”. She asked again, the same question she has asked before on the phone many time.
“ I am .umm….Engineer”, he gave the same answer he had always given.
“I know, you told me that before. But, what do you do?”
“I work with the computers”
“How big are the computers in America? The one our Jeeta has is smaller than even a television.”
“They are small, small like that foot-rest”, he pointed to the small foot-stool next to the cot.

She got silent, perhaps thinking, or may be imagining him working with a small computer
She paused, and then spoke in a subdued tone, “After spending all your life in dorms and now abroad, you could not find a better job?”
“It is a good job, maanji”, he replied. He did not mind this sudden change in her tone. In fact, this was not the first time they had this type of argument, or her being judgemental.
She paused again, looked away, as if trying to control her disappointment.
“It does not seem a very good job. Our Giaan’s son, Jassa, is barely 10th grade pass. Now, he drives a big machine in Abu Dhabi. He can break even big hard rocks with that bulldozer. And you, all educated, work with these little toys?”
“Not toys maanji, computers. They are very powerful”

She shook her head in disbelief
He shook his head in disbelief.

“May be you should come back and help your father in the farm. You can drive the tracker at least!” She got up slowly, looked up to the sky, perhaps trying to change the subject, “the fog is almost gone.”

After a cup of tea, he changed into Punjabi shirt and pajama, trying to re-create the good old days in the village. He laid on the cot, for about 5 minutes, then walked outside the house to look at the all-changed neighborhood.

In the evening, the friends and families came over to meet the new guest. The whole village had learned about his visit home from Canada.

“So what do you do?” Everybody wanted to know.
“I work with big computers.”
“Oh yeah! How big?”
“They are huge, bigger than the bulldozers. Like 4 tractors together.”
“Wow. Nice!” Everybody was so impressed.

The grandma, who was lurking nearby all this time to listen in, walked over, patted him on the back and spoke quietly, “At least you learned how to lie!”

She walked away with a smirk, while he stood there speechless.
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