Its one o clock in the morning and I'm still awake. Conventional wisdom would suggest I go to sleep. Not enough sleep would probably mean a less productive tommorrow. Not for me. Being a mother, I'm inherently programmed to wake up at 6:45am every morning. And I've done all the great deeds of my life being tired, broke or sleep-deprived(sounds scary!). I've been thinking about family, home, roots and culture. Perhaps because its so close to my upcoming visit to India (after a gap of three years). The mind imagines the reunion with the family, the glowing faces, the tears of joy. There is nothing like home. For so long have I missed the strolls along those streets strewn with idle shops, tiny but uncluttered, ugly but charming. The roadside thelaas selling the spiciest bhelpuris and the yummiest egg-rolls. The magic madness of the tuesday haats . Thin street-vendors nagging every passing tourist. Brightest saris. Hot pink sindoor. Neon bangles. Loud uncles and warn