The Journey Home From India

Imagine 20 hours on a bus in India, a full day spent in the US consulate, and a 16-hour flight to Atlanta. Well friends, this was my reality on the evacuation journey home from India during coronavirus. Taking the trip home from India was pretty grueling and a strong test of my comfort levels in dealing with the unknown. Normally, I like to have a plan for everything. Yet, during this journey, I found a sense of bliss in surrendering to the uncontrollable.

When India locked down on March 25th, we assumed that we would be stuck there for the duration. Between the cancellation of commercial flights and the U.S. Embassy in Mumbai stating that no repatriation flights were chartered from India, we prepared for the long haul.

We started by signing up with the embassy for an evacuation if a flight became available. On April 1st, we received an email that required us to confirm our interest in traveling home on April 5th. This email, however, did not serve as confirmation that we were leaving. It wasn’t until April 3rd in the late afternoon that we received the itinerary. The bus would leave Goa on April 4th, Americans would stay at the U.S. consulate in Mumbai all day on April 5th, and the flight itself would leave at 10 PM. The emails also told us to bring food for the 3 days as there was not going to be any guarantee of buying food until we landed in Atlanta. We managed to bring lots of fruit, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and other snacks to keep us from getting hungry.

A lot of people were understandably anxious at this last-minute scheduling, but I was actually impressed with the embassy. They have never done an evacuation on this scale from India and they were organizing the repatriation of 400 people from a freaking subcontinent. Of course everything was happening last minute. My expectation was that things would probably go awry, and this weekend was going to be hell, so here’s what happened.

On Friday, April 4th we arrived at the bus stop a half hour early, which was lucky because the consulate sent us instructions to arrive at the Margao City Bus Stand. This was a known location to the people of Goa and a different location entirely according to Google Maps. Our incredible host drove us to both locations, both of which were occupied by confused-looking Americans. When we drove back to the correct location, our host informed the consulate about the mix up. A bus from the consulate then drove to the Google Maps location and brought everyone to the right place. We filled out self-report forms stating that we did not have symptoms of coronavirus, although people who were desperate to go home seemed like an unreliable source of this information. I used the nearby public toilet, which was a rotting, muddy restroom and inside the stalls were holes in the ground. I brought toilet paper, threw it into the hole, and then applied hand sanitizer 3 times before returning to the bus, which left an hour after scheduled.

The bus was almost empty at first. The representative from the American consulate, Matthew, introduced himself and warned us that this would be a long ride and it would not be possible to observe social distancing. We would be stopping in Panaji, Mapusa, and Pune to pick up more Americans. The bus itself was a standard coach with curtains and air conditioning. I tried to limit my food intake after that first experience in an Indian public bathroom. I was mentally willing myself not to go again.

We were stopped at checkpoints approximately every 25 minutes because nobody was supposed to be driving in India. Matthew got out of his van leading the buses and gave the appropriate paperwork to each checkpoint officer. Almost every officer was totally fine with letting us pass, but one got onto the buses and counted that we were all there. Admittedly, that felt excessive given the circumstances. We learned the next day that there were many more checkpoints than originally anticipated and the consulate was not planning to pick up anyone else from Goa because of how difficult it was to make the journey. We were definitely thankful!

For the most part, other people on the bus were respectful toward each other. The majority of people seemed to understand that this was just an awful situation and were trying to be kind to their neighbors. However, I was appalled at the behavior of some of the Americans who were clearly regressing to childhood trauma responses. This loud minority of people behaved with such privilege and bigotry that it reinforced my embarrassment to be an American.

The first racist comment was by a man who said, in reference to Indians, “These people, you try to tell them 6 feet apart and they just don’t get it!” These people? Who are you talking about? Everyone on the planet struggled with this concept, hence the global pandemic. What’s more? The city you are from, sir, New York City, is the epicenter of this tragedy, and it’s happening in our “great” country which had the information to contain the virus but our leaders chose not to act.

The second moment was some real toxic masculinity. A man on the bus had his chair reclined all the way back and was practically lying in the lap of the woman behind him. She asked him to move his chair forward and he ignored her. Then she got angry and made a comment about social distancing. This provoked the guy to yell at her (on a moving bus) that he wasn’t doing anything wrong and to “not tell him about social distancing.” I’m sorry, but I’m done with entitled men not having any awareness of the people around them and treating women who speak up for themselves like the problem. No, dude, there’s 100 people on this bus and none of us can lie down. You don’t get to be the exception just because you were never taught the full extent of the word “no” growing up and you certainly don’t get to yell at a woman who called you out on rude behavior. Sure, we can’t social distance on this bus. That doesn’t give you the right to act like a child.

After about 10 hours, my bladder sent the signal. Although peeing in a hole is not something I ever want to experience again, I’m glad to say that I’ve done it. It made me feel like a survivor. In fact, a lot of those 3 days felt like something out of an action film. The coaches offered us MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) food for dinner, which is what the U.S. military eats. Luckily, I had plenty of podcasts and music downloaded to get through the 20 hours mostly entertained.

When we finally arrived at the hotel, it was like a dream come true. It was undoubtedly the nicest accommodation of our entire trip. I stayed with our backpacks while Terrance waited in line. It was 3 AM and most people were crabby. The same guy from the bus told an Indian man behind him to stay six feet back which started a verbal sparring. This ended in the American man saying “Yeah, you people don’t get it, this is the problem. Just shut up.” ...Such an asshole, right? Another woman standing nearby looked at me, and complained “The organization of this whole thing has been the biggest dumpster fire I’ve ever seen.” She was looking for me to complain with her. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. I smiled, looked her straight in the face, and said “We’re all going to get through this together.” She didn’t love that. I didn’t care.

I didn’t get how people could be so privileged to think that this journey was going to be remotely comfortable. I didn’t get how people thought that the U.S. embassy wasn’t doing their best to organize an extremely difficult journey. People were understandably anxious, but mostly unable to check their own emotional baggage. Instead, people were finding something to blame, and it was mostly the staff from the embassy who were working tirelessly to get us home.

When we arrived at the embassy the next day, we were directed into cues alphabetically by our last name. We filled out forms promising to pay back the U.S. the estimated $1700 per person for the flight home (I know). Then we all filled up a back room that was set up with chairs to wait for more buses to take us to the airport. We got on the last bus because we heard murmurs that the airport was not air-conditioned which turned out to be true. While inside the consulate, one woman moved to a back corner to breastfeed. An Indian staff woman told her that she needed to go into the lactation room. The American woman refused, stating “I can breastfeed wherever I want. You shouldn’t tell an American that.” ...Oh the keen sting of nationalism. No lady, you can breastfeed wherever you want because you’re a human being. It doesn’t matter at all that you are an American. You are still in a foreign country where the social expectations are different and you should at least be mindful of the cultural practices while you’re still here. If you wanted to be able to do anything an American can do, why did you bother leaving America?

When we finally arrived at the airport, our flight was the only one departing. Chhatrapati Shivaji is a large airport and it was eerie to be the only passengers in the entire building. Embassy staff were stationed throughout the building to guide people through security, immigration, and the gate. At immigration, they immediately let me through because my visa had been extended online. For some reason, my husband’s visa was not extended yet and he was escorted to a back room where he had to re-fill out the form (which is about 5 pages long) even though he applied online and brought a copy of the application. Meanwhile, I had panic drunk 2000 ml of water on the bus ride because we couldn’t bring it through security so off to the bathroom I ran.

On the plane, we were seated next to an elderly Indian man who lived in America and was flying to his home in California. I could tell he was anxious to be with his family, but I was also touched by how relieved he was to be on the flight. That dose of gratitude was something I wanted to see more of in the Americans citizens sitting around us. Then they started feeding us and I tapped hard into my gratitude. All of the American brands I had foregone for so long were back in my welcoming arms and mouth. I spent most of the flight eating and watching movies. The most difficult moment was getting to sleep. My butt was in a lot of pain from the uncomfortable seat and I was so sleep-deprived that I thought I was going to vomit. Somehow, by the grace of the universe, I was able to finally sleep lying down on my tray table for about 6 hours.

When we finally landed, it was a short walk through immigration and the airport was practically empty. Surprisingly, we were told absolutely nothing about self-quarantine requirements upon arrival. There was nothing written or verbal that explicitly stated we needed to stay home for two weeks. (Which, honestly, wasn’t that surprising given how poorly the government has responded to the pandemic).

We arrived in Atlanta at about 6 AM and waited 5 hours for our flight to New York. My husband slept and I mostly goofed off on Instagram with sunrise videos and pictures of me devouring a bagel. I also splurged on chips and guacamole from Qdoba. God bless American food. The flight from Atlanta to New York seated us in a socially distanced manner. Almost every passenger had a row to themselves.

Exhausted, we arrived at JFK airport and got our rental car. We picked up a ton of groceries on the way to Long Island and finally reached our destination. It’s been two weeks of self-quarantine since we arrived back in the States from India. The jetlag lasted about a week and we have been able to stay at a family property while securing our new apartment in Massachusetts. We will be able to move in soon, and although we don’t have jobs yet, I feel so grateful to have the privilege of being able to sustain ourselves for at least the short-term with our savings. This virus is such an unexpected, scary thing for most of us. Until it’s over, I’ll be staying at home, building my business, and practicing gratitude for my privileged position in this totally unprecedented time.

Want more blog-y goodness? Tips and tricks for travel? Insight into mental health conundrums? Shared experiences in creativity and artistic expression? Scroll to the very bottom and subscribe!