Elephant Parking

"Where is the elephant parking?" I asked the tour guide as I rode to the top of Amer Palace in Jaipur, on the back of—you guessed it—an Indian elephant. In broken English, he replied, "Elephant know."
I would never have imagined asking someone about elephant parking had it not been for one rainy Sunday morning in June. As I poured the milk into my bowl of Cocoa Puffs, I noticed how the cereal mixed with the milk. I wondered, "Am I the white milk or the brown Cocoa Puffs?" As a third generation American, I definitely knew about the milk. I was born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago and love Starbucks, sports, and cool cars. But am I the Cocoa Puffs because of the language I speak with my grandparents and because our Thanksgiving turkey is accompanied by samosas?
Every Sunday at the dinner table my parents spoke about global issues, and somehow the topic of conversation would end up on India—my grandparents' birthplace. I always tried to persuade my parents to take a family trip to there, but I could tell by the way they said, "One day..." that it was not on the schedule anytime soon. They said that I would not be able to handle it. The weather would be too hot, the crowds would be too large, the aroma would be too strong, and the culture would be too different. This past summer, in a serious tone, I told my parents that I wanted to visit the land of my ancestors before I started college, that I needed this opportunity to see my heritage. In achieving success, they say timing is everything, and it certainly is, because a month after that rainy June conversation, we were on Air India.
Ok, I admit there was a slight culture shock when I got off the plane. I was welcomed by a warm gust of humid air filled with smells of pollutants tempered with spice.
Yes, we did the tourist thing, complete with a camera in one hand and a map in the other. From the high tech city of Hyderabad, to the fortresses of Delhi, to the palaces of Jaipur, and to the ethereality of the Taj Mahal, India is a beautiful chaos. There is, however, something more than just beautiful, awe-inspiring architecture. There is an emphasis on history. I am not referring to just the land or the monuments, but also to the people. Large multigenerational families living under the same roof are the norm in India; this social structure ensures the passing down of culture and values while each generation develops its own narrative. As I paid my respects to the graves of my great great grandparents, I could sense my legacy. I wondered if these ancestors of mine ever imagined that one day, over a century later, their frappuccino-drinking, basketball-playing great great grandson from the other side of the world would visit their small village and walk in the same crowded streets as they did.
While watching the sunset over the Taj Mahal on the eve of our return flight, I reflected back on what brought me ten thousand miles from home. Our planet is a melting pot, and it is true what Walt Disney said: "It's a small world after all." The trip made me realize that our heritage, our experiences, and our daily lives make up who we are, and that narrative in addition to our college years, will be an integral part of who we will become. Our backgrounds bring more to the table so that everyone can "lean in." As the Cocoa Puffs and the milk combined, it created a mixture. As for choosing between the two entities? I don't have to. After all, who doesn't love chocolate milk?