December! Pa cried rising to turn off the speaker. He picked his mobile and hobbled into the balcony, where he could continue the conversation with Kaka more guardedly. Until then the entire house was all ears to the brothers conversation. Ma referred to it as the “All India Sunday Broadcast’ and Manu wearily corrected her each time, ‘All Asia Sunday Broadcast”. The hint of boredom unmissable in his tone when he adds “This isn’t India Ma.”

We all caught chunks of their talk while carrying on with our Sunday morning tasks. Pa did it intentionally so that we would remain updated on family matters back home in Bangalore. But home– did we really have one in Bangalore? With our grandparents gone, we had lost ties even with the nth cousin homes in remote towns and villages in South India. The three siblings who once shared a single room of their modest homes growing up in small towns are now located in different countries. The lowest geographical demarcation they share is the continent – Asia.

Kaka lives in Dubai, my only aunt Neeta atte, in Bangalore and we live in Jakarta, Indonesia. Pa does his bit to ensure the three families get together at least once a year. But with time, as the kids grew older, Ma, Kaki(Kaka’s wife) and even Neeta atte began resisting the idea of hosting everyone in their homes. And so planned holidays were the time when we all got together and felt at home.

Neeta Atte joins the call occasionally these days. Her daughters are the oldest cousins among us. The older one is married and Anisha the younger one is working. Pa and Kaka are the only active speakers, occasionally pulling us into the conversation if Kaki or their son Rishi came on the line. Rishi is a year younger to me. He came online toady for barely a second with a spirited “Hi ManuMini” and tapered off even before he had registered a response. The joint nickname was a result of my brother and me born less than two years apart, passing on as twins for most relatives.

The common ground for their discussions is often international trade, geo-politics and off late climate change which Neeta Atte–if present–drives it with a sense of personal obligation, she being a meteorology professor at Bangalore University.

Ever since we moved to Jakarta – I was six then and Manu nearly eight–for the last seven years, our families have managed to strike a new country off their bucket list every year–an easy accomplishment with us living in Indonesia – one of the closely packed South East Asian countries. ‘Going places’ still continues to top the chart of accomplishments for an average Indian, and so the brothers get on with the trip plan religiously. Last year we covered Philippines and the year before Vietnam. This year with Manu’s Board exams approaching, Ma wasn’t keen on a holiday and the plans have slumped but Pa was still insisting Kaka to visit for Diwali this October. I sensed a disappointment on his face by the time he disconnected.

The rest of the Sunday unfurled without much excitement. I trailed behind Ma to the shopping mart across our apartment complex–Royale springhill Its an upscale large society and there are enough Indians living here–nearly half the society, never missing an occasion to show their Indianness–in fairly overdone measures to their people back home. The other half is a mix of Indonesians and Indo-Chinese who get constantly annoyed by the Indians and their unnecessarily boisterous celebrations.But I like this place, this city, its people and their laid back attitude. The unhurried pace with which they go about their lives is evident in their expressions, their language, and even in the food they eat.

I was happily biting on the crunchy pisang goreng (banana fritters) as we collected our bags and shuffled past the exit when I spotted Joko near the supply truck that was offloading. I bet he saw me too, but instead of responding he scurried further inside the truck and did not appear again.

The truck wasn’t far, but Joko’s reaction surprised me and I hesitated to go further.

Joko was in my class until the end of Grade six. The last two years he did not turn up, and I hadn’t heard from him since. My class teacher said he had already collected his TC. Joko is an Indonesian and his family runs a home stay at Pari Islands –a quick getaway from Jakarta, merely ninety minutes away by speedboat. We had once been to his home stay and I swear it was the most beautiful holiday I had ever been on. Knowing Manu and me, Joko had treated my family with the most exclusive comforts available at his homestay.

Back home, I stowed the bags and barged into Manu’s room. With an encyclopedia sized book in hand, he was half reclined, half floating on the easy chair with his feet cocked high against the wall.

“Manu, guess what? I saw Joko near the Mart today.”

“Who’s Joko”

“Don’t you remember..Joko.. the Pari Islands boy from my grade.”

“Oh yeah… the one who drove the School Project Demo into a movement ..”

“Movement….?”

“Yeah.. silly he was… That annual fair themed on climate control.. we all went that extra mile to collect some realistic pictures and case studies. That guy linked up with an NGO and mobilized a crowd to kick-start a movement.. crazy for a sixth grader…”

“Really? I never knew of that.”

I had barely participated in the fair that year. The ballet dance rehearsals had consumed all my time and energy. Ma was busy refilling the kitchen supplies; I swiftly flicked her phone without her noticing and strode into a corner. Google photos 2022, I was browsing to see if we had any pictures from Pari Island.

Oh.. there were plenty– of boat rides, the snorkelling and of other beach sports. There was one pic with Joko’s family that I now zoomed in on. Joko was laughing heartily with his family of seventeen in the background- five men with skull caps, and twelve women, all wearing hijabs. He had multiple grandmothers and more than two mother figures. Polygamy is still legal in Indonesia.

I flinched when Ma caught me with the phone. A moment later I inquired if she recalled the holiday at Pari Islands.

“Pari Islands ! yes of course.. I remember. Who can forget a holiday spent eating rice with ketchup!”Ma had more or less turned vegetarian save for the eggs and was extremely picky while eating outside. I showed her the pic to check if she remembered Joko.

She wasn’t keen and said–

All Indonesians look the same to me – flat nose, wide mouth, broad forehead, I can barely tell one from the other.

All day my mind was occupied with Pari Islands and Joko’s family. It was March and the academic year was nearing its end. With Manu’s boards ongoing, the house had assumed a zen-like silence. No TV, no music, no friends visiting and absolutely no phone calls in speaker mode. In time Joko gradually faded away from my thoughts.

It was mid-April when the next All Asia Sunday Broadcast happened. This time Neeta Atte was online too and was keen on a making a trip to Uttarakhand. Neither brother showed any interest initially. But Neeta Atte was adamant on her plan. She said, April in Bangalore was tormenting; peak temperatures read 38 degrees and she badly needed to go to the mountains to cool her heels.

“Neeta, we grew in small towns where the temperatures easily touched forty-two,” Pa said, feeling he could shower some wisdom on his sister. But nothing worked on Neeta atte being the Meteorology professor she was, she returned her brother added dose of wisdom.

“Its not the temperature that’s causing havoc, its the UV rays. The UV index at 13 in the city has broken all historical records. It never even crosses ten in those small towns. My skin is so itchy and red all the time. I can’t step out without a protection.”

Manu turned at once, all ears now. He certainly shares her genes for skin type and is very particular about the sunscreens.

“All because of the excessive concretization and the shrinking green cover,” Neeta Atte scorned.

Kaka who had been more or less silent throughout the call pitched in. “You will relax only after you shut our shops.”

Both the brothers worked in construction-related industries – Pa in Manufacturing and Kaka in Civil constructions. The siblings argued for a while and finally settled on a short trip to Uttarakhand in the first week of June.

When it was June and it was time to book tickets, Ma and Manu escaped with forthcoming entrance exams. I was trapped – neither willing nor having a strong reason to refuse. Neeta atte flew from Bangalore and Kaka from Dubai. Pa and myself joined from Jakarta. Kaki skipped the trip too. She had a close friend’s wedding coinciding with the dates.

The trip ended no sooner it had begun. The day we landed, the inclement weather broke into sudden downpour. By the next day flash floods had paralyzed and disrupted the city. A glacier collapse in the Himalayas was found to have caused it. We were advised not to step out of our hotels for the fear of landslides.

Neeta atte was bubbling with fury – she had made the plans taking in every detail of the weather forecast from her contacts in Uttarakhand Dept of Meteorology.How can it get so unpredictable ! – she was fretting all the time.

All I can recall is the Vista Dome train trip on the fourth day. Even the experience of enjoying the scenic landscape – which was breathtaking indeed – took a hit because of the debris that was all over. The week long trip was shortened, and we flew back to our respective cities the same night.The experience left us sour and there were no talks of holiday for an entire year.

It was October 2025 and entire year gone by without any holidays, when all parties from the All Asia Sunday broadcast peacefully settled on a holiday in Jakarta. The plan was for a staycation – to cover all local attractions at driving distance from my home.

Our 3bhk flat was generously spacious to accommodate three families. And since we planned to step out every day, nobody would be holed up in the kitchen. Ma readily agreed and the siblings were anyway itching to get together.

It was during this holiday, I suggested to Pa if we could revisit Pari Island. Super excited, as he was for the long awaited gathering, he said, “Let’s begin with Pari Island.”

I had found Joko’s contact on Ma’s phone when I was searching something. I clearly remembered saving it. I quickly sent a message,

“Hi Joko.. Mini here.”

There was no response for entire two days. He replied on the third day and we chatted for a

while. Hi Mini.. how are you?

All good. Long time , haven’t heard from you since you left school

Did you join another?

Yeah, a different school

Guess what – My family plants to visit Pari Islands next month

Oh really.. that’s great

I suggested we book your homestay

There was a long silence. He replied ten minutes later.

Sure, why not.. May I know the dates?

I was thrilled to read that and replied, will get back soon with the details.. bye

Three weeks later, Kaka’s family, Neeta atte along with her husband and daughter Anisha arrived at the airport. I joined Pa to pick them up in the 10-seater Toyota Majesty he had booked for the holiday.

I sensed their awed gazes as we drove through Jakarta’s wide roads that gently narrowed and tangled into a maze of intersecting flyovers.

“That’s what makes an international holiday worth it,” beamed Kaka, pointing at the glass facades of the high-rises.

It was full house for the entire weekend. I hadn’t imagined that their luggage that would sustain them for a week and the potpourri of gifts and innumerable delicacies they had brought for us from their respective cities would occupy an entire room of our generously spacious 3BHK.

With six adults and four grown-up kids, by the second day we were bumping into each other, queuing up for the loo, scheduling our bathing times and even playing musical chair with the available furniture in the living room.

Monday morning the large family boarded the ten-seater Toyota Majesty and got off at Ancol, the city beach from where we took a speedboat. By noon, we were at Pari Island.

I was all excited to experience the comforts of Jokos’ ancestral home and show it to all my cousins.

The sight of swing sets, picnic tables peaking out of the blue waters took away all our fatigue.

Neeta atte’s family had never been to such pristine beaches. She was blown at the sight.

As promised Joko was waiting for us at the Virgin beach.

I was seeing him after three years. He had grown tall and lanky, his face showing the beginnings of a moustache. As soon as he spotted us, he walked up and greeted Pa and the rest elders with a slight bow of head.

I reintroduced him to my family. Pa recalled meeting him on our last visit.

Joko looked sombre, barely speaking.

We spent an hour relaxing under the beach umbrellas with refreshments, after which Joko led us to his home stay. We had bicycles arranged for the commute.

We rode to the stretch where the beach got thin. Joko helped us park them at a safe spot and walked us to his homestay.

I was a little surprised to have reached so quickly. Even Pa mentioned .

“I recall, we had to weave through a row of houses before we reached yours last time.” Joko turned to face Pa.

“All those houses have been wiped away. Most structure have submerged.”

“Wiped away??”

“The sea consumed them last year. Mine is next perhaps.”

We froze in our tracks looking at each other. I was shocked to hear that.

Joko continued impassively leading forward.

I easily recognized the steep slopy thatched roof from a distance. But as we entered the gates, we found the entire property in shambles.

Ma and Neeta atte flinched at the sight.

Joko said humbly, “Never mind the ground floor, we can’t fix any thing here with the tides washing up every other day. I’ve reserved four rooms on the first floor for your family.

Joko carried our baggage by the stair. We were scattered all around the compound. Neeta atte strode around as if she owned the place and observed,
“ I had only read about the impact of rise in sea levels….I am witnessing it right now.

Our rooms upstairs were fairly decent. We checked in, changed and were back into the open compound where Joko’s family had served us elaborate meals during our previous visit.

I rushed to have a word with Joko.

“Where are the rest of your family?”

“Oh.. they have all left, it only my mamma and me now.”

“Left? Where? Isn’t this your ancestral home?”

“It is…. but it isn’t livable any more. They had to moved closer to the city limits. They have rented a small place.”

“Not much business happening with the homestay since the high tides began. Besides, its risky too. We get bookings occasionally. We can talk later…come join for the lunch,” he said before disappearing to help his mother.

We spread ourselves around the compound on woven cots. Rishi and Anisha bounced while the rest of us heavy weights plonked down, two on each.

Joko’s mamma greeted us with a Namaste and said something in her language. Joko translated.

“She is apologizing. The place is now run by Mom and me. We don’t have as many hands as earlier. She has prepared few dishes which she could manage alone. The rest we have ordered from a restaurant nearby. Hope you enjoy your meals.”

Despite the silence , we enjoyed the home-cooked food. It felt out of the world. Ma did not have to starve this time. She had packed some obbattu and dry snacks Neeta atte had brought in plenty. Manu was showing Rishi and Anisha the vibrant Batik prints on the side walls.

Pa and Kaka got talking to Joko to understand the situation.

He pointed to structures rotting and falling apart.

“Even the sea weed farming has taken a hit. The rising temperatures are bleaching our crops making them unharvestable. The fish population has also declined.”

Joko then stood up facing us all as if he had something to say.

Manu , Anisha and Rishi also joined in.

Joko spoke with poise.

“Our homestay isn’t running anymore. It has been more than three month since we have shut it down. When Mini inquired about the home stay, I had intended to say no. But she had told me earlier that her dad and uncle worked for companies related to the cement industry. And I thought it would be worth bringing it to notice to someone who can relate.

It is more or less proven the damage caused to Pari Islands is because of the excessive carbon emissions from the cement industry. They account for eight per cent of the emissions annually, mostly due to the extreme heat needed to produce clinker- the main ingredient in cement.

I know, I cannot blame you directly. You all come from different nations. But the carbon emission impact cannot be contained within administrative borders. Pari islands is suffering for no fault of theirs.

My ancestors lived here for generations, but I don’t see the island exist beyond few decades.” He paused and then added,

“A few of us have got together and started mangrove cultivation in the hope of capturing carbon. But who knows, if we have time enough to save this place we call home.”

Joko took us through the Mangrove plantations that evening and we returned home with heavy hearts. Next morning, the family was up and about readying for the next getaway.

I swallowed an inexplicable pang of guilt. I had never imagined that in those holidays when we searched for a sense of home, that perhaps never existed for us in the first place, we were quietly destroying the homes of others.