The Golden Temple; located in Amritsar, India. Population 1.1 million. Known to the world as the 'Mecca' of Sikhs - so to speak. The most spiritual part of India...well one of the most that is.

The air was crisp. It was cleaner than the air in New York and London in any given day. The warm breeze seeped into my long black waves. It calmed me down from reality. In fact, this whole scenery did. It amazed me just how fast I had forgotten everything I left behind. I felt at ease. I felt myself open spiritually.

I felt...free.

Nothing could stop me from being in this serene atmosphere. My mind was clear of troublesome thoughts. My conscience was clean of any hatred. My heart was empty of all feeling. My soul was free of any stress.

I was free. Liberation in a whole new meaning; that's what Amritsar gave me.

Diwali here in India was celebrated more intensely than in the states or UK. The environment was more festive, more traditional, more into the whole spirit of Diwali. The temple had been decorated with floral drawings outside on the concrete right in front of the entrances, floating daisies and carnations were in the waters carefully and gently being carried by the current, the thousands of lit diyas (lamps/candles) were placed all around the grounds of the inside of the temple and at night would be placed in the waters. The Temple had been also decorated with various LED lights surrounding the perimeter and edges of it.

Today would be the third day of Diwali - I had arrived late missing two of the days already. Nonetheless it is considered the most significant day during Diwali. It is appropriately named Diwali. Today I am also invited over my late grand father's, Yash Chopra, house. Well it was more like a villa not too far from the Temple.

Yash Chopra. Yes the Yash Chopra. My mother's father.

Its been almost 6 years since his passing. May his soul rest in peace wherever it may be. My grand mother, Pamela Chopra, is still hanging in there regardless of how sick shes become. I haven't seen her in a while and I felt as though this reunion would be one filled with surprises.

Leaving the temple, I couldn't help to think what everyone else was doing at this moment. How was Melinda doing? It's been a while since I've last spoken to her. I had thoughts that I should give her a call. After all, she had no idea I was in our home country.

Home country.

That felt so good to say. I never felt more liberated than this very moment. I couldn't help but to eject a cheerful shout. I didn't care who was around me. I just knew that I was here...in India after so long! I've missed this place and wondered why I hadn't come back. While recollecting many memories and thoughts of India, I placed my veil on top of my head making sure to cover the main points of my hair. Modesty is always key here in the spiritual lands of Amritsar.

"Gharram Sharma!!", a womanly voice cried.

My head turned to the left seeing a teenage girl come towards me in a white salwar. Her face radiated a good-hearted girl who would seek only the nobility in people. My smile grew at this point as I felt my dimples immerse from their 'caves' where they have been hidden for a while now.

"Hi.", I returned the joy in my voice.

"Oh my gosh!", her accent flooded my ears. I had missed that accent very much. "My name is Priya and might I say Ms. Sharma, I am a HUGE fan of yours.", she emphasized with her hands. Her hazel eyes greeted me humbly. "Me and my friends just loved you in the VS fashion show."

"Thank you so much.", I chuckled lightly blushing discreetly towards her flattery towards me. "I really love my job and I'm so grateful that you and your friends feel that way."

"Can I please have a picture with you?", she pleaded biting her lower lip eagerly. "My friends will never believe me, if I tell them!"

I nodded grinning widely, "Of course I will! I would be honored." The smile on the Priya's face filled my heart with pure love. Which in all honesty, needed to be. It was an empty feeling and that feeling had been eating me alive.

Priya's medium-length brown hair swung from side to side as she jumped over joyed at her current situation, "Oh my gosh this is so bloody exciting!!"

"Trust me, I'm more excited than you are!", I grinned at her laughing. "I'm sorry but I must leave. I'd love to sit here and speak to you, but I have to get going.", one more hug and I walked on to my destination.

India's atmosphere hadn't changed a bit. The rushing of traffic was still hectic, the pollution from mufflers were still resting in the air and the footsteps of everyone were imprinted on the ground showing everyone had a different path to go. A different direction to head towards. Quite inspiring actually.

I waved my hands in the air vigorously signaling for a cab. One thing about India I didn't miss. My facial expression surely did display annoyance as I jumped for some sort of transportation to answer my plead. The weather in India was something I admired, but some days were just too hot to walk on foot. I needed shade. My complexion had already been dark enough for me. Any darker and I'd be considered a Snickers bar.

Why was getting a cab so damn difficult here? It was worse than New York. Awe, New York. If it's one thing I learned there, its how to get a cab driver's attention. Thanks to the prior knowledge from my first home, I had got what I've been begging for the past five minutes. One loud whistle was all it took.

"Finally...", I sighed in relief. "Namaste.", I bowed my head respectfully fixing my veil once more.

"Namaste Ms. Sharma.", he returned joyfully.

The cab driver had a turban on his head. He was not much older or younger than my own father. His partially white beard reached the collar of his shirt. I sensed a heart of gold from the old man in the driver seat. His presence made me even happier to be in Amritsar. His cab also had some medallions and trinkets symbolizing India. In the front of the car above the ventilation system, a small pennant of the Sikh symbol hanging from the rear-view mirror.

"Welcome back to India, Gharram-ji!", the old man chuckled turning on the radio to some classic Bollywood music. One in particular to my knowledge which also brought tears to my eyes in remembrance to my grand father...

"OH MY GOD UNCLE!", I screamed in joy. "PLEASE HIGHER THE VOLUME. THIS IS MY SONG!", I yelped causing the driver to laugh at my excitement. It was more than that. It was something that meant a lot to me. Growing up the movie Mohabbatein was always played constantly in my house. I could watch the movie a thousand times and still laugh and cry at it. The songs were always my favorite choice - mainly because of the well-played violin - of song in Bollywood cinema. My favorite song in particular being...

"HUMKO HUMISE CHURA LO...", I sang with every bit of happiness in my soul. This song literally made jump for joy. It made every bit of sadness or hopelessness fade away when it would play. "DIL MEIN KAHIN TUM CHUPA LO.", I continued and soon the cab driver sang along with me filling the car with happiness.



We soon reached my grand mother's house. My stomach growled uncontrollably. Good timing. I could already smell her cooking from outside the villa. In front of me was my grand father's villa. What a sight it had been.

Large white gates surrounding the perimeter of the acres he had owned. The balcony surrounded the top level of the house as well making my smirk grow immensely. I then noticed the pride my grand father carried along with him everywhere he went. On top of the front gates was the Indian flag blowing in the warm breeze effortlessly. I smiled remembering my grand father and how he would constantly talk about how he loved his country.

"Your silly New York has everything in the world, yet lacks the one thing land needs to most...", I could hear his voice in my head. "...heart!"

I smiled proudly shaking my head at how he use to bash on America and its industrial environment. I giggled to myself walking up to the front gate. Pressing the buzzer to let me in, I turned 360 degrees noticing my area. The trees above me were taller than the houses and greener than any tree I've ever seen. The ground below me was mainly dirt especially where my grand father's villa was. I could hear birds chirping in the distance reminding me of the spring weather in England and in New York. I couldn't help but smile when I turned to see a few villagers near by. The giggles and sounds of kids playing soccer were near as well causing the most amazing scenery for any foreigner to the country.

The voice of someone speaking Hindi startled me out of my reverie, "Who is it?"

"Um...", I coughed nervously at the raspy voice. "It's me. Gharram.", I spoke into the intercom.

No reply at all as I stood there staring at the big gates before me. They stood almost taller than the structure of the villa itself but still shorter than the trees. My eyebrows furrowed as I noticed that no one had answered. I leaned my body to the right seeing if anyone is in the courtyard or front lawn - which might I add was gorgeous beyond reason.

Various flowers and plants were planted in front of the villa. Colors in red, blue, pink, purple were sprawled across the grass and against the white stone walls of the mansion. Suddenly the sound of metal scraped against the dirt ground had filled the empty air. I stood back taken by surprise. I covered my hair with the veil as I had noticed it fell to my shoulders.

I stepped inside the sanctuary where had been so alien to me. It had been my second time here - my first time being when I was five for my grand father Yash's 65th birthday party. I could still remember the smell of spicy Indian food and the band playing classics from his past movies. I turned observing the very much familiar abode.

"Gharram!", a voice questioned more than stated.

My head turned towards where the voice came from. "Namaste...", I placed my hands together bowing my head in respect. A smile crept the side of lips as I stared at the familiar face. "Uncle Uday?", I quirked an eyebrows at my mother's younger brother.

"Ram Ram!!", his voice escalated as he cheered my nickname that only he had given me.

"UNCLE UDAY!", I threw my arms up in excitement running towards him. It had been years since seeing him and it had been too long.

Uday Chopra - my mom's younger brother - was a well-known actor in Indian cinema. He was the young, hip, trendy, comedic, crazy and (as known by the younger female crowd) sexy uncle. Uday always knew how to brighten any situation at any given moment - which was no surprise that he was given the role of 'Ali' in the Dhoom series my grand father had produced years ago.

"OH HOW WE'VE MISSED YOU!" He spun me around his arms as he caught me. Uday was still as strong as ever. His arms were huge might I add. "HOW'S MY FAVORITE NIECE!?", he continued cheering loudly.

"I'm good and you uncle?", he carefully placed my feet back on the ground.

"Don't call me that.", he cringed at the elder name. "Just call me Uday."

I rolled my eyes at him laughing hysterically. "Fine! Where's daadi-ji(grand mother)?"

He smiled widely - oh how I've missed his signature smile, "Come with me..."

I walked in smelling the authentic Indian spices and dishes. Nothing beat home-made biryani or chicken vindaloo like the one made India! I felt a aura of hospitality here. I didn't expect to be treated badly. It was just that I haven't been in here in years and the thought of them not accepting me scared me a bit. Or was it just too many Bollywood films?

Maybe.

"Gharram!", a familiar voice echoed into my ears.

My head turned spotting a shorter woman much older than me with a bed of gray hair resting on the top of her head. My smile now a full blown grin as I teared at the sight of my grand mother.

"Daadi-ji!", I yelped overwhelming her with a hug rather than the regular foot touch and kiss on the head. "I miss you daadi-ji!", she had embraced me tightly showing her affection without needing to say much.

"Let me get a good look at you, beti.", she spoke in her native tongue. She held my face in her hands observing my very being. "Look at you!", she teared with joy in her heart. "You're beautiful just like your mother.", she held me tightly again refusing to let go of me so quickly. I wasn't bothered by it at all seeing as I felt the love I so desperately yearned for for the past two months.

"I've missed you...", I whispered once more into her hair crying spite of joy and lonesome.





"So tell me...", she began to speak over dinner. Uncle Uday had business to attend to - seeing as him and my mother's other brother Aditya Chopra were now running my grand father's company. "How is everything on your end of the world?", she dipped her bread in the curry.

I ate with no manners whatsoever. I had no care to what was in front of me. I just knew that by the time I was done, it would no longer be there. I ignored the spices in the vindaloo and continued on treating the flaming hot dish as if it had been nothing. I ate every bit of it feeling the intensity follow up after each swallow.

"Mom's fine, dad's fine, Sav is....Sav.", I rolled my eyes piecing up my chicken remembering how he had broken Aliyah's heart.

"Slow down there, beti...", she laughed touching my wrist causing me to laugh along with her. "The food is not going anywhere."

"Oh but it is, daadi-ji.", I shoved another piece into my mouth along with some home-made fresh roti.

Her giggles continued as she spooned some rice in her mouth, "How are you doing?"

"Well, work is always fun yet a hassle. Modeling and ceremonies are always time consuming.", I nodded talking about how my schedule had been everyday back in London. "Waking up at five in the morning isn't really...something to anticipate for.", I placed a piece of chicken rolling my eyes of the reminder of work. "In all honesty, I like it. I just wish I wasn't doing the same poses and wearing similar clothes or working with the same faces all the time.", I hadn't notice the change of expression on my grand mother's face. "Lord knows how much I hate human interaction.", I chuckled at myself.

"No, mere jaan.", she lightly giggled eating a piece of roti. "I meant how are you doing?"

The question pulled at my heartstrings and not in the good way. I froze staring at her as she ate. My chest pounding and my palms sweat. The thought of New York fashion week came rumbling back in my head. My eyes darted towards my plate in front of me. I couldn't speak. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach and throat clogged up with what felt like boulders the size of India itself.

How was I doing? I hadn't the clue as to how to answer the question myself. Maybe she knew better than I did. How I felt, that is. My mind drew a blank and I just answered with a lie to avoid personal talk. I didn't come to India for therapy I came to clear my mind.

"I'm fine. Can't complain...", I said parting my rice and chicken with my spoon. "Everything's good."

"Aha...", she nodded her head. "Now, I'm going to ask you the question again and this time, give me the truth...." I hated how she could spot this shit. It's where my mother got it from definitely.

Her honey eyes were staring into mine as she waited for my answer. "Why do you assume there's something wrong?", I ignored her question.

"Because I can tell in your face that you had been crying and that you've had some big time decision making. I could also see the struggle in your eyes.", she pointed to me with a spoon. "Plus...", I looked up at her with baited breath. "...you just dipped your chicken the mango juice."

My eyes darted towards my fork and my cheeks were burning red. "That's noth-nothing...", I stammered. Why am I stammering? "I...uh...I like um...my chicken well-fruit-er...ized.", what a fail.

Epic fail.

Grand mother Pam gave me a nonchalant expression with a raised eyebrow, "...and I suppose you like your chai filled with cayenne pepper?" She teased my stupidity and inability to hide anything from her.

"Ok...ok...", I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "I'm not fine. I'm not okay and I can complain...", I huffed in irritation remembering everything. Everything played back in my head. "...and daadi-ji..."

My grand mother looked into my eyes with sincerity waiting for my reply. If anyone could help me with any situation other than Melinda, my mom or.... - sigh - it was my grand mother.

"Everything's wrong.", I said feeling my tears brimming my eyes.

She nodded her head agreeing. It was as if she knew and was waiting for me to return to her one day, "I know."

"Everything.", I said wiping my eyes.





After a retelling of the past events in New York, my grand mother decided that she would tell me what to do later seeing as I just arrived from a long trip. It was still two o'clock in the afternoon as I walked into my room - or should I say palace.

The room was the original red and gold theme. Typical Indian, I thought to myself. Nonetheless, it was breathtaking. The huge king sized-bed, the canopy with white chiffon draped around it - by the way was my dream bedroom - had me in awe. I never wanted to leave. Just as I thought the room couldn't get any better, french doors leading to a balcony were opened in front of me. The view of the village and Golden Temple was in clear beautiful, blissful sight.

"Wow...", I whispered under my breath at the outrageously amazing scenery before me.

There was a cool draft that crept up my long white skirt. Thank god, it was starting to get hot up in there. Could this place be anymore sweeter? I only could imagine the things I would witness at night. It was something I could wait for though. A yawn made its way out of my mouth. I couldn't stand up much longer as much as I wanted to see the view.

I figured that maybe after a quick shower and change of clothes, that I would feel even more tired thus making it easier to sleep. So I took it upon myself to wash my body and hair of any sweat and other unwanted residue and odor. I felt clean smelling of sweet fruit and floral scents. I was dressed in more comfortable clothes including my black sweats and black tank top. I tied my hair in a messy bun. I hated the feeling of my hair in my face.

I laid down on, what was now, my bed - and what comfortable bed it was. The perfect cotton fabric of the sheets gave me the right amount of warmth and coolness I needed. Right then, before any slumber I would take, my mind raced. It raced and was captivated by none other than Harry. Memories of the airport flashed in my head. I could see the hurt in his eyes, the concern in his voice and the affection in his movements. My heart sunk to my stomach remembering the words he had told me two days ago. Nonetheless, a thick blanket of sleep covered my being causing me to fall asleep more easily than expected.

To think that I had experienced a romantic, heart breaking, touching scene that somewhat came straight out of a cliche romantic Bollywood film, was beyond me. It seemed almost like an idea of movie my grand father would've produce.

I could see it replay again, but this time more dramatic.

Him - Harry - racing to reach the love of his life - i.e. me - before it was too late, her on her way through an airport or train station leaving to figure things out on her own - to get her mind clear - and just about to board the plane - or train - when suddenly the 'hero' comes to her dying rescue. But an epic love story wouldn't be so epic, if it just ended there. No. The naive, confused heroine of the film must see things from a different perspective - the outside looking in.

It had been clear to me. It always was, but I just didn't want to see it for myself. I didn't want to believe it. I avoided it even though I knew from the first encounter me and Harry had at the awards, he wanted more than just a friendship with me. He was persistent nevertheless. My eyes were tearing yet again as they were closed ready for me to fall in a deep sleep and I really wasn't in the mood for it.

I hated the feeling of crying. I hated the feeling of sadness. I hated being alone. I hated knowing that I had strong unknown feelings for someone. But most importantly, I hated knowing that he was hurt.

I had to do this, though. For my sake.... and for Harry's.

Notes