So I’m going to India in three months. Well, a little less than three.

Normally when I go to India, I feel major major trepidation. Sure I lived there till I was 18, but I lived in a bit of a gilded cage. I don’t really like going out too much, I don’t like beings stared at, and the poverty, pollution and chaos drive me crazy.

I’m not a very good traveler. Once I get to a place, I like staying there. It explains why the only vacations I really seem to take are my trips to India, where I stay home for a couple of weeks, spend  part of the time in quality time with the parents and some friends (which is fun) and the rest of time feeling morose.

The last time I went, in 2006, I threw a royal tantrum about it, much to my parents’ chagrin.

I feel bad about that.

This time may well be better. For one, I’ve extracted a promise from the parents that there will be a constant flow of things to do– vacations in Goa and Darjeeling, visits with the few relatives I can tolerate, etc. Keeping busy will keep the re-entry shock down to a manageable (hopefully non-existent level).

On the plus side, I get to spend time with the family, which should be fun.