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Riddhi Sen@cric_craz11
Jan 28, 2006 05:17 AM, 6199 Views
(Updated Jan 28, 2006)
Home is where the heart is...

People are known to be puzzled, mystified and sometimes downright hypocritical about being an Indian abroad.

Here’s some self-evaluation for myself. Let’s see how biased I could be.

When I was 5, my cousins with my uncle and aunt had travelled to Nepal, and I still remember the jealousy that had swelled within me when I found out that they had travelled by air. The tantrums, as well as the spankings I still remember, simply because it was the very first time in my life that my cousins had done something without me.

I wished hard and long for a revenge. That I would also travel, on such a long journey, that they would be paralyzed with jealousy.

A genie intercepted my life and granted me a wish. Within a year and a half, I was the one travelling and that too, not on a 2 hours flight to Nepal, but right out of the continent. My father had been offered a job by the much renowned Madhvanis, an offer, which at the point in time, he could not afford to refuse. So that was that. We packed our bags, and were off to Uganda, within a month of a letter of confirmation signed by Mayur Madhvani himself.

I remember that the people in our community in Calcutta were estatic. Here was finally someone who just didn’t talk of going abroad, but was actually boarding the flight. A procession of a kind saw us off to the airport that day.

On the flight, a little seven year old girl had tears in her eyes. She immediately wished that there had been no genie, and she hadn’t rashly made a wish.

She remembered the little hands of her cousin clutching her aunt’s dress. Those little hands had often been curled up in a fist, and directed at her, but suddenly she wished for that sharp pang of pain.

She recalled the fight she had only a few days before with her older cousin, when she had eaten both shares of chocolate. Her hair had been pulled, and her hand was badly scratched. She wished someone was tugging at her hair again.

She remembered the ghost in the spare room of her house, the one in Asansol, the house where she was born. Her grandfather had promised her that house, he could, since he owned it, and since that point it was her house. She loved the house, but was a little scared of the ghost. He had liked to swoop upon her, especially at night, when she was pattering down the staircase. She suddenly wished that he was with her.

Ghost, fists and hair tugs all in a jumble, she fell asleep with tears in her eyes, dreaming of home.

Ten years since have passed. I have moved from Uganda to Zambia to Canada. My much loved brother was born, new cousins came into the picture, aunts and uncles have married, cousins have graduated, and I myself am on the verge of stepping into university. But I haven’t been able to rid myself of that dratted little seven year old girl.

Life has been exciting. There have been adventures, fights, experiences, pranks played and tears spilt. I don’t complain because I can’t. I’ve been given probably everything I could ever wish for, ever want. Loving and sometimes tedious parents, a little and oftentimes irritating brother, close and sometimes aggravating friends and family, but I’ve also lost something. I can never seem to find home.

Why would someone want to go back to India after staying in Canada? Family purposes? What stops one from bringing the family over? After all, now that you’re earning in Canadian dollars, which are multiplied by 30 when converted into Indian rupees, makes you pretty rich? Bring them over! Let them all have a better life!

It’s not because of the family.

Then what is it? Duty towards your grandparents and relatives?

Nah, I couldn’t care less about duty towards anybody. Often the word ‘duty’ is just an excuse for forcing someone to do something.

Religion, isn’t it? Then what are you scared about? Join the Hindu samaj!

I don’t need religion to define my life, or even for that matter God.

Then what could it possibly be?

I don’t know.

There’s something I do know, though. Before my grandfather passed away, I didn’t see him to say goodbye. I also know that when my house was sold, I didn’t visit it for the last time. I haven’t seen my youngest cousin, even though I believe wholeheartedly that my cousins are no further away from my heart than my brother. I know that my cousin has graduated from school, but I haven’t congratulated her. I know that when every week I talk to both my grandmothers, they always tell me to concentrate on my studies and that they miss me. I haven’t had the opportunity to receive their blessings nor tell them I miss them too for three years.

So that’s it, is it? You’re living in the past? Memories…regrets…all nonsense! Look at the world of opportunity, you silly girl! Don’t crib, be thankful for what you have! You’re still talking?

Yes. It’s imperative for me to go on speaking. I know that no one has ever begrudged me, either for not sitting beside their deathbed, nor for not congratulating them, nor for not having ever met them. It’s not the past that pains me.

What are you suggesting? Explain yourself!

That with the wealth of knowledge and experience that life in a first world nation has given me, I should be held responsible for going back and atleast attempting to change the perspective that foreigners have of my nation.

NRIs often say that people in India are corrupt, that the streets are dirty, that the population is overboard, the government has no future. Well, this is directed at you. With your wealth (some of it which is immense) and your experiences (you know that India is below the standards of cleanliness of the posh city in the US, UK or Canada that you live in and also that there is a lot of corruption, as well as riots, and numerous who are starving), and your education (those who have gone to Harvard, Oxford, Queen’s and the rest of those institutions which makes for good evening conversations to boost your ego, when you blatantly talk of how populated the Indian schools, colleges and universities are), yes, you, well, what are you doing about it?

I’ll answer that for you. You’re either criticizing or ignoring it.

If you’re not prepared to invest yourselves into a better future for India, atleast invest some of your accumulated wealth. Help feed a couple of poor children. Do something that helps prevent the poverty, rather than criticizing it. And if you can’t, then simply shut up.

(rest continued in comments section)

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