I thought it would be spring when we stepped out of the plane, but the steady sunshine and heavy humidity had us all shedding coats like used snake skins. The air smelled familiar. A mix of dust and pollution, oil frying, and the welcome scent of blossoming flowers. Carrying our bags and children like sacks of potatoes, we jammed into two tiny taxis and headed for home. I made small talk with the young taxi driver in shy Hindi and a familiar pit lodged in my belly. The head of a goddess glued to the mantel bobbed as the driver swerved from cows and oblivious pedestrians. The air felt good…