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When we lived in the U.S., on each of our trips to India, we would visit extended family and friends. We would also visit acquaintances—people with whom we shared somewhat undefined bonds. The parents of our Indian-American friends back in the U.S. belonged to this third category.
While we had close relationships with our friends, we knew their parents only if they had made a trip to the United States during the period of our acquaintance. So, when we visited these Uncles and Aunties in India, they would shower us with hospitality and ask about their grandkids in the U.S. Often they would also give us a small package of homemade goodies to be taken to their children in America.
It is clear that the elders are happy to know that we are back for good. Maybe on some level this gives them hope that their own children might also return. For, while they feel gratified by the material success of their NRI children, they miss them in big ways and small, every single day. They cheer us for taking this bold step but I can sense an inexplicable sadness. We are their hope as well as a painful reminder of the distance that separates them from their own children.
While I lived in the United States, I tried to make frequent trips to India but intense work pressures and abbreviated vacation schedules rarely permitted long trips. Cognizant of the time squeeze, I would ask my parents to come over, assuming that I would have more time to spend with them on their six-month visits. But, for most visiting parents, this means being socially isolated and physically dependent on their children. I did not realize the weight of this emotional burden until a few weeks ago.
“What did you think of the U.S.?” I asked an elderly gentleman who had recently returned from his first visit. I was anticipating an interesting discussion about his trip.
“You mean U.H.A.?” he countered. Seeing my confused expression, he explained, “Under House Arrest.”
I know that many parents feel the same way. In my first few years in the United States, I naturally missed my parents but the sense of loss became more intense after I became a parent myself. I wished my daughter could know her grandparents. Since this was not possible, I counted it as a big loss for her.
In contrast, I was fortunate to know both my grandmothers. My paternal grandmother had nine children and struggled through tough financial times. In spite of having received formal education until only the fourth grade, she managed to keep all her children clean, fed, and healthy. She hosted huge family gatherings, read novels in five languages, and always stayed focused on the “big picture.” My other grandmother appreciated the finer things in life. She played the violin, knitted, and spent many hours concocting mouth-watering delicacies. She kept an immaculate house and fussed over little things.
It is clear that I inherited a mixed bag of genes from two such different women. More importantly, they played an active role in shaping the person I became. While one was a role model of strength in adversity, the other inculcated the habit of appreciating the arts.
By returning to India my 6-year-old daughter can spend quality and quantity time with her grandparents in a setting where all are comfortable. While this sounds wonderful in theory, what it means practically for me is that I have to adjust to living with my in-laws. We live in a two-story house where we occupy the upper floor while my in-laws live downstairs. This setup gives us a modicum of privacy, but we interact daily.
My Indian girlfriends were surprised when I mentioned these living arrangements. I had left India right after my wedding. While the distance from family, had presented its own challenges, it had also given my husband and me the space and time to get to know each other. We did not have to worry about the inquisitive eyes of family members, relatives, and neighbors.
For couples who become used to this level of privacy, it is not easy to later integrate seamlessly into the larger family unit. After having made autonomous decisions, we now have to patiently listen to advice—about eating out, staying out late, and remedies for minor illnesses. It is not easy. But as with other choices, the benefits sometimes outweigh the initial difficulties.
Quite often there is an unannounced school holiday. Thanks to the proximity and willingness of my in-laws, I don’t have to worry about arranging daycare at short notice. It is now possible for my husband and me to go to a movie or on a shopping expedition without having to drag Shreya along as we used to do when we lived in America.
“Wear your bindi, comb your hair into two neat braids,” Shreya is reminded by her grandmother who arranges for the neighborhood henna artist to come during school vacations to indulge Shreya’s fancy for designer hands. Shreya plays “beauty parlor” with her and offers pretend pedicures and shampoo services for a fee.
“Be gentle, talk softly, behave like a girl,” Shreya’s grandfather tells her when she is in one of her boisterous moods. She accompanies him on his evening walks and sometimes they spot peacocks in the park. On hot afternoons, they play “banking hours,” where she learns the basic elements of banking from her retired banker grandfather.
She gets a barrage of instructions almost continually. But it is not mere unasked advice, or nosy interference. Rather, what she is getting are different points of view and these transmit to her the different perspectives arising from differences in age, culture, and the loving authority of her elders.
As parents, we focus on the daily details, providing for essentials and instilling a sense of discipline. We are freed from the larger responsibility by doting grandparents who support our parenting while also providing wisdom and patience. Unlike in the United States, Shreya’s life here is not cloistered; her interactions with other adults (and children) don’t have to be scheduled; they just happen. Sometimes my opinions are different from those of my in-laws. I don’t worry about these differences. I leave it to Shreya to sift through the many messages that she receives.
Family life is not as saccharine as portrayed in Bollywood movies. Living in close proximity to family provides hands-on instruction for developing the art of peaceful coexistence with a variety of people. The big surprise is that, despite being on my home turf, I am on the same learning curve as Shreya.
