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When I first told friends and acquaintances that I was leaving America to return to India for good, the reactions ranged from the incredulous “Wow!” to the skeptical “Really?.” There were a few “You must be kidding” and “How did you come to this decision so suddenly?”exclamations, and these were followed by a nervous laugh.
The honest truth is that the decision to return did not arise in a single moment of enlightenment as if illuminated by a bolt of lightning. It was more like a simmering pot—brimming with unfinished conversations and unresolved doubts about whether to choose America or India—that had finally boiled over.
This topic is standard fare, along with chana bhatura and samosas, at dinner parties of first-generation Indian immigrants who meet regularly at each other’s homes. I noticed how this group of Indian immigrants refers to India as “back home.” In contrast, people of other races, who are the children of earlier waves of immigrants, refer to their parents’ countries of origin as the “old country.” I couldn’t help wondering if the Indian immigrants who were pining for “back home” were subconsciously worrying about it not being “home” to their American-born children.
In recent times, a fair number of Indian immigrants have headed back to India after spending various lengths of time in the U.S. For a few it is a choice made reluctantly as a result of the recession. Others are attracted by the new opportunities becoming available in India.However, a significant number are motivated by family rather than career imperatives. Many want to live close to aging parents so they can take care of them. For others, it is their inability or unwillingness to accept the alienation from their children.
I don’t doubt the sincerity of these individuals. However, I cannot help wondering whether these altruistic motives can sustain the level of perseverance required to follow through on a decision of this magnitude.
I realize that when I left India to join my new husband, I looked forward to a life of increased freedom—the chances to do more, learn more, and be more. I was embarking on an adventure. I wanted to explore the limits of the boundaries that had been set by society for me. I wanted to challenge myself.
So, when the question of returning comes up, I choose to apply the same reasoning. Is it something that I want to do? Returning is a big step, scary and exciting at the same time, a feeling akin to anticipating a thunderstorm.
Ever since I made my decision public, I have been questioned incessantly, by friends, colleagues, relatives, and even relative strangers.
“Why?”
“Why now?”
“How can you quit your great job?”
I find these questions amazing and amusing. When a young person expresses an interest in leaving India to go abroad, it is considered a natural progression of his or her achievements and ambitions. Although some parents have qualms about their child’s journey to a strange country, unless there are financial obstacles, there is general social agreement—encouragement even—for this endeavor.
Why then am I interrogated in such depth when contemplating a reverse move? Is it because the India-to-U.S. road is considered a one-way street? Anyone stepping on this road is not really expected to return. I am fixed in my mind about my decision but the constant questioning does get me down.
Occasionally, I am besieged by doubts and a general sense of apprehension. This is despite the fact that I am returning to a familiar place. I had no such doubts or ambivalence when I boarded my first international flight that whisked me away to a continent where, besides my new husband, I had no relatives, friends, or other support system. Of course, I was younger then and that limited my ability to imagine the risks. Also, since the choice was a socially sanctioned one—it was expected that it could only lead to ever greater success—it seemed like a lesser risk and a risk worth taking.
Now the stakes appear higher. I am wary of undertaking a major change. Why mess with the status quo? Age digs deep into comfort and encourages complacence. Is my decision to return a subconscious desire to defy age and the associated aversion to change? The personal challenge is to prove, not to others, but to myself, that I still retain the ability to reinvent myself, to start over, to look forward to change and not cringe in the face of it.
Am I really so brave? No. Numerous nebulous fears lurk in the shadow of my excitement.
Most Indians as well as NRIs tend to look on NRIs as successes by virtue of their perceived bigger bank balances (especially given the Rupee-USD conversion rate). Also, the conventional wisdom is that the NRIs have achieved some educational or professional distinction during their years in America.
By returning, will I be viewed as a failure? Will I just meld with the billion other Indians with nothing to distinguish me except stories that are prefaced with “When I lived in the U.S. ...”? Will it work out? I am not sure.
However, I am clear about one thing. I am returning to India not to make money, but to make a life. A life in which I spend more time with my aging parents. A life where, even though my daughter will have to work much harder in school, she will have the same direction, motivation, and purpose that I had when I grew up there. A life full of striking contrasts and homely comforts, a home with grandparents and grand festivals.
The length of time spent away and the distance from the homeland have conferred a rosy sheen to these memories of life in India. But will the new me, the one who has developed an independent streak and a can-do efficiency fit into the sometimes maddening dynamic jigsaw puzzle that life in India truly is? Or will I be the proverbial square peg in a round hole? I wonder and worry.
A few months ago, when I went to the optometrist for my annual eye exam, I decided to try some new disposable lenses. As I inserted the lenses, I realized that they bothered me in some way. My vision lacked its usual clarity as I blinked repeatedly in an attempt to focus on the chart.
“Take them out and try flipping them over,” suggested the kind lady.
“I thought both sides were identical,” I said as I followed her suggestion.
“That’s not true. Sometimes the curvature on one side fits the eye better. You have to try both to figure it out,” she responded patiently.
I realized that her words contained just the wisdom that I was looking for. Ultimately, it is all about trying out both sides. Still, the question remains. Which side fits better?
