The Reluctant Immigrant

This was not the plan.

Mine was an arranged marriage. I had only one wish: to live in India permanently and preferably in Mumbai. I definitely did not want to live abroad and certainly not in the US. That was about the extent of thought devoted. Regarding the groom himself, there weren't too many demands!

As fate would have it after I got married, I was fortunate enough to live in India for 5 years and then after that, anywhere but. 5 years into my second stint here in the US I know that there is a very high likelihood that this will be my permanent home. After all, this is the adopted home of my daughters and therefore by default, mine. One thing I hope to avoid is being as far away from my daughters as I am from my parents.

Migration for better educational, employment, and lifestyle opportunities is an integral part of human history. If my ancestors had not left their tiny village of Gudhe  on the Konkan coast, the entire trajectory of my family would have been very different. I understand this and justify our own nomadic life to our daughters using this logic. 

Yet, I cannot but applaud those parents including mine that sent their children abroad knowing fully well that their return was unlikely. My brother and most of his peers left our country at the age of 21 never to return. How did my parents do it at a time when making phone calls was difficult and unaffordable and traveling impossible? During those times, India had severe restrictions on the amount of foreign exchange that could be carried abroad and even if the limit were higher, putting the money together was challenging for most. Colonization and the consequent low rate of development post- independence have a lot to answer for. The economy was barely crawling at 3%. There were no jobs for the young, freshly-minted graduates in our country so large numbers of young folks left for greener pastures. After 5 years in India, we left for foreign shores too.

My parents have always made time for me and visited me especially during crucial periods such as graduate exams in London and childbirth in Tokyo. Although short, those visits are like fresh rain falling on parched earth, like a gentle breeze carrying the fragrance of jasmine along. It's two weeks of simple activities: cooking, dropping and picking my daughter from school, accompanying me to the grocery store, watching Marathi serials in the evenings. And yet it’s these small things that make memories which get me through year. 


Despite how much I want to see them, the moment I see my parents walking out of the terminal, suitcases piled high on an unsteady cart, my heart sinks. I think of the dreaded goodbye. I try to shove the thought away but it lingers relentlessly. The two weeks that my parents are here we try and cram in as many activities as possible, trying to make the most of the short time. Each year I go back to India and spend about 3 weeks there. Each passing year it's getting harder and harder to say good bye. I dislike tearing up and despise lack of control over my feelings. Meeting for short periods and parting soon is emotionally exhausting. Airport goodbyes are the worst, those bright lights, the swirling crowds and baggage carts pushing into you....

I envy friends who are able to meet parents with ease. Sometimes I feel very torn between my children and my parents. Then I remember the sage words of my mother that love flows forward and downward, not upstream. "Maya Adho vahini".  Of course, I have to prioritize my kids. 

Was there another path that I could have taken? A way that would allow me to have the best of both worlds? I don't know. 

All I know is that this was not the plan.