We wait.
She waits as the intolerable, burning sluggishness of the summer
transforms itself into the cool, placid breezes of the monsoon.
I wait as the rapid growth of nature in the spring
alters into the stagnant idleness of mid-summer.
She waits as a strong monsoon gust of wind
blows her long, black hair across her face like a flag;
The flag of the two countries holding her life together.
She waits as the midnight blue serene sky morphs itself into a painstaking scarlet hue;
indicating a downpour to arrive.
But she still waits; 
drenched, yet patient.
I wait as a tranquil breeze idly ripples through my face
as I leisurely look up at the clear, starry sky,
waiting eagerly for the time when we will meet again.
I wait as the later months of the year bring with them a multitude of lively holidays.
I wait as the the guilty pleasure of candy and light scent of autumn leaves
fill the ambience of Pittsburgh
as I look around the neighborhood for young children donning colorful costumes.
I wait as the crisp fall air quickly blends into the frosty winter gusts of snow.
As we have our Thanksgiving feast while watching the traditional football game,
and spend a snowy evening decorating the Christmas tree and drinking hot chocolate,
I wait, comparing the two vastly different lives between the west and east.
She waits as the bustling excitement of the Durga Puja comes around;
the famous festival of Kolkata celebrating, the goddess of power, Maa Durga.
As the people make their way through the city
offering their prayers to the various beautiful idols of the goddess of power,
she waits in a corner absorbing the enthusiastic commotion around her
so she can one day share it with the other part of her
missing out on everything.
At the end of the nine-day long celebrations,
when the devotees come to submerge Durga’s idols in the Ganges river,
she waits
staring into the life of the city of joy
as people walk by,
oblivious of her in their hurried lives.
She waits for the part of her
captured in the busy, urban life of the west.
And I wait for the part of me living the life I could have been living
halfway around the world;
the dormant part of me that witnesses the celebrations and existence of my roots
but can never make me experience them myself.
She waits for me
and I wait for her.
When I come to her,
we combine into one entity
touring, eating, laughing, crying
before I separate from her
to continue my life in the west
and her wait starts all over again