I am waiting for my parents. It has almost been a year since I have seen Ma. Baba visited me every four months. I know he has no urge to meet me or to find out how I am doing in this house. He came regularly to take my salary from my employers. He would just nod at me and ask, “Getting enough to eat?” I would nod back and that was it. Finally, after a year, I am going home. For a vacation. I’m not sure I want to come back. I run my eyes around the room and wonder why everything doesn’t seem as awe-inspiring as it had on the first day of my arrival.  A set of ornate teak wood Maharaja sofas, embellished with red satin cushioned seats, glow under a cluster chandelier suspended from the ceiling in the drawing room. A glass topped center table rests…