This time six years ago, I was pregnant and living in New Delhi, India. On one of my journeys to a sonogram appointment, the taxi passed by one of the Indian government buildings where terrorists had attempted an attack that day. The camera crews and reporters were just leaving.
Later at the doctor’s office, as I saw a clear image of my son thanks to 3-D technology, the curve of his nose and the way his hand rested against his cheek showed the contrast between his life on the inside and what life felt like on the outside. There was a sharp division.
Generally, I see the world as a safe place. Even when we continued to live in India, the various incidents of unrest did not startle us much. We went about our lives like most people do. We worked, visited with friends and took interesting trips to various places where I never felt unease.
Since we left India, two places we used to go regularly in New Delhi have been bombed. Orissa, a state we visited before we moved to India has been fraught with religious unrest.
Now, with the latest hostage situation and killings in Mumbai–a place we did not get a chance to visit but planned to if we had not moved back to the U.S, the division between safety and danger seems all that more acute.
I’m certain that if we were still living in India, we’d be going about our business as usual and we would probably be on a Thanksgiving weekend away somewhere at this moment. Perhaps, we’d be staying at one of our favorite raj palaces turned into a hotel surrounded by countryside with nothing but tiny villages for miles.
Still, the news coming out of India gives me the feeling that sometimes, as mundane as home may seem, home feels like a blessing.
Then again, it’s always good to travel to remind oneself, that in most cases, the world is safe despite the news.