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It was Sunday evening and the skies looked menacing, with the clouds threatening to pour their contents within the next hour. My husband drove the little Maruti car to the supermarket and, as expected, rain started pelting the car ferociously. He turned off the ignition and we remained in the car, loathe to run out towards the shop’s entrance. The windows soon fogged up and we opened the driver’s side window a crack. A little later, feeling brave enough, we manually locked the doors and dashed into the store. Armed with plastic bags filled with Lay’s chips, Sprite, and other essentials, we returned to the car only to discover that we had left the keys on the dashboard. Our options were limited, given that the nearest car repair shop was closed.
Soon, a curious group of onlookers gathered around our car with suggestions and offers of help. Finally, one ingenious man managed to get a piece of metal wire into the narrow crack in the window and pull out the lock and, voila, we were rescued. When we narrated this story to a friend who had also returned from the United States not too long ago, he asked us one simple question, “Did you call AAA[1]?” In the ensuing laughter, we shared memories of a beloved place far away and indulged in a bit of nostalgia.
While living in the United States, I had often wondered what makes Indians who live abroad choose the company of other Indians. Now I question why I don’t seem to share the same affinity for all my fellow Indians but prefer the company of other returned NRIs like myself. Today the number of returned NRIs in India is fairly large and continues to grow, especially in cities like Hyderabad and Bangalore, with the latter having formal organizations established on that premise alone.
After the initial years of adjustment to life in the United States, I had unknowingly moved to a point of equilibrium. While anticipating the difficulties of returning to India, I felt that the hardest adjustment would not be getting used to the traffic, pollution, or population. Rather, it would be finding like-minded friends. In theory, finding a mutually compatible social circle should have been easier since in India I am surrounded by large numbers of individuals with similar skin shades, hair color, and cultural background. In practice, however, it is not easy to find the ones who are on the same wavelength.
Whether we admit it or not, dealing with change is tough, if not altogether traumatic. For most Indians who leave the comfort of the familiar to find their future abroad, that first step is not easy. Similarly, for those like us who consciously make the decision to return, even though we have mentally overcome our resistance to change, it takes more effort to endure the process of reorienting ourselves to an environment that has changed considerably since we left. In times of stress, it is the familiar that soothes and comforts. As we try to find our place in a landscape that is at once recognizable and unfamiliar, it is natural that we gravitate towards others undergoing the same transition.
So, we get together in groups, returned NRIs all, and discuss class sizes and extra-curricular activities, but not tuition costs or academic rigor. We talk about having switched from Palmolive to Prill, Uncle Ben to MTR, and from Lancome to Lakme. We exchange notes about how to get an Indian driver’s license, tandoori pizza, the new Subway franchise, the theatre with comfortable seats, and the park with the kid-friendly play structures. While the younger children quickly get over their American accents, it is the parents who watch Friends and Law and Order to take the edge off the feeling of displacement.
In trying to find a term to describe the idiosyncrasies of this group, I think of the acronym DCBA. I have taken off from the not-so complimentary tag attached to Indian children growing up in America—ABCD, or American-Born Confused Desis. I propose that we are the Desis who Came Back from America.
It is ironic that despite having returned to a country where we are part of the majority, we find it difficult to blend in and find ourselves situated on the margins of that majority. And therein lie the roots of confusion—not of the foreign-born children (as attributed to the ABCDs)— but of their parents..
From the time the monsoons arrived, we have had a deluge of another sort. We have been swamped with visits and phone calls from the true NRIs, our friends from not just the United States, but also from Europe and Australia, who are on their periodic visits to India. It is strange to meet them in the common country of our origin since in most cases we had become friends while living abroad. We are now at the receiving end of their largesse as they shower us with large Costco-size packs of Hershey’s chocolates and bars of Dove soap. In this role-reversal I feel as if I am looking in a mirror, having been at the giving end not so long ago.
I detect a touch of envy when I tell a friend visiting from America to not worry about clearing the dishes after dinner since the maid takes care of it. She mentions a new Ikea store in our old neighborhood and I talk about missing driving, intimidated as I am by the traffic here. There is an odd comfort in the sharing of these confidences, like neighbors standing on two sides of the fence that divides their properties, knowing fully well that at the end of this conversation, each will return to the side she has chosen.
