Welcome to the Motherland

So, this may come as a shock to some of you, in light of my first post, that I have taken a trip to the motherland... to clarify, i've gone to the other side: India, land of the auto rickshaw and exotic palm trees. I'm a reverse FOB, i guess... as ironic as that sounds.
We got here about two weeks ago. 48 hours of non stop traveling, including an unplanned detour through half of the middle east. US--> Amsterdam --> lots of waiting --> Bahrain --> Kuwait --> and then FINALLY, Kochi, India- our destination.
After my last post, one thing was for sure-- my identity was sure. There was no need for me to fit into a stereotype as to who I was. I was Indian. I was American. But as I was standing in line at Customs, a very long line that was more like a chaotic jumble of people and suitcases I felt this odd sense of belonging. but still I felt an ease around these strangers, a feeling I could only attribute to their color: brown (like me)...
But then, we were gently shoved into another line... not sure by who, but somehow we found ourselves in a significantly shorter line...i was estranged from the separation from the other brown people and yet happy that my tired body would soon be crossing over into the land of my ancestors. Quickly, however, that feeling diminished as I looked at the people in front of me... white people, business man and bohemian alike. Then, I saw the words of the sign that loomed before me.

FOREIGNERS.

I know, I know...cue the violins. But I was a little thrown off. Is that where I belong? Going into the country I thought was my own, I realized there was still a lot to learn. And as I looked at the masses besides me, across that invisible line-- I realized that I didn't completely belong with the natives, I mean, my jeans and straightened hair set me apart from the salwar laden, frizz craze around me, but I didn't feel like I fit with the "foreigners".

I guess I'll find out.

Right?