He carefully surveyed my face before taking hold of my cheek, squeezing it tight enough to turn my cinnamon complexion rosy.

“Ow!” I cried out as I rubbed my cheek.

Would I ever grow out of this greeting? I wondered as I looked up at a man who beamed down at me.

“Look at how much you have grown, Anni! You look just like Nana. You know, they say it is good fortune when a daughter looks like her father,” my babai said as he handed me a bouquet of roses that had given into the heat of the monsoon season. “Now, tell me, how was your journey? I was worried when you told me you were flying alone.”

He took the handle of the cart of suitcases in front of me.

“The journey was good, Babai, my ears didn’t pop when we were landing, thank God. See, I told you that you were worried for nothing,” I answered in Telugu, hoping my false confidence would mask the panic attack I had moments earlier.

My thoughts had run to worst-case scenarios as I struggled to balance a backpack, a camera slung over my shoulder, and a cart of suitcases. The airport terminal was filled with cab drivers holding signs with the names of people I didn’t know and anxious family members holding "welcome home" signs.

As my eyes drifted from eager faces to impatient ones, a bubble of panic started to rise within me. It wasn’t until I set my eyes on a dark, broad-shouldered man in a worn checkered flannel who waved his hands high above his head that I stopped and took a deep breath. The bubble burst inside me as I pushed my cart in my uncle's direction.

“Welcome to India!” he had exclaimed, just like the last time I saw him, and the time before.

Our conversation went on as my babai pushed the cart up through the airport’s parking lot. A tall, balding man, dressed similarly to my babai, waved his hand as we approached him.

“The luggage, I will put, you sit in car. You have good journey?” the driver asked in broken English as he pointed toward the car.

I stifled a giggle before answering. “Driver Uncle, Nenu Telugu Matladuthaanu. Journey baaga ayindi.”

I speak Telugu. Yes, the journey went well.

After close to twenty-four hours of traveling, it felt good to breathe in the outdoor air around me. The humid air smelled of the airport’s outdoor food court and a sleeping city. I settled into the window seat of the car as the driver and my babai worked to tie the suitcases to the top of the car.

I rolled down the windows and closed my eyes. My favorite part of the journey still lay ahead of me: a four-hour drive from the Bangalore Airport to the small town of Pantapalli. After the driver and my babai settled into their seats, we were off.

“You must be hungry, Anni. Pinni has made some snacks for you. Amma told me that you love pabbillalu and murukulu,” my babai said. He offered me an opened tin container of deep-fried rice flour chips.

“Thanks, Babai!” I said as I munched on the flavor-packed rice chips. “Oh, these are so good! Amma also makes these back home. Driver Uncle, please, take some snacks. You also must be tired. It is four in the morning!” I handed the container to the driver. “I can promise you that you have never tasted murukulu like these!”

He chuckled before taking one himself. “You’re right, even my wife does not make snacks like this. Don’t tell her I said that,” he said as he crunched on the snacks and winked at me in the mirror.

I smiled back at him before turning my attention back to my uncle.

“Tell me, Babai, what's new?” I asked.

“Well, not much has changed since you spoke to us before you got on the plane. How are Amma, Nana, and your brother Saish doing?” he asked.

“They’re all fine, nothing new there. I honestly cannot tell you how excited I am to be able to see everyone after three years," I said. "The last time I was here, I was fifteen. So much has happened, and even though I call and talk to all of you, I feel like I have missed so much.”

“And that’s why you’re here! You have an entire trip ahead of you to make up for all you have missed. Don't think you are the only one who feels that way, we missed seeing you grow up, too. Just look at you, all grown up. We couldn’t be prouder of the young woman you are today,” he said, holding up my chin. “That's why everyone is excited when any of you come home." He gave me a soft smile.