As children growing up in India, the highlight of our winter holidays was a family road trip to three greatly revered Hindu temples, nestled high in the Himalayan ranges, way up in the North. For us siblings, this trip was less about paying obeisance at each shrine and more about time-out from the routine: to engage in fraternal pastimes, eat wonderful food and bask in the constant attention of our beloved parents. Looking back upon my childhood years, spent in a less expressive time – I don’t think our parents actually said ‘I love you’ to each other or to us – I know this annual pilgrimage was a declaration of our bond, even more than it was a strengthening of any religious belief. I know for certain that decades later, in conversation with my brothers, we constantly refer back to memories from those journeys and for each one of us those recollections are deeply etched…
This past week, I joined my younger brother and his family for a December vacation in an idyllic wooden home near picture-perfect Vail. Besides the breathtaking beauty of a white Christmas in a lovely holiday destination, we enjoyed lazy fireside evenings, too much delicious food and lots of laughter. I felt a sense of déjà vu listening to the children’s easy banter and, more than once, I saw that my brother had become my father – as he organized our transport or worried about someone being cold or fussed over his brood. I know that we came together and made new memories that we’ll look back upon, in the years to come…
