Desh, Videsh: India and America

Exactly 20 years ago to this day, my family and I first set foot in the "Land of Opportunity", America. We were here on invitation of the U.S Government, my father representing the Indian Navy. For 11 months, families from 33 countries including my own were guests of the Naval Command College in Newport, R.I.

My most vivid memories are of my mother in her silk zari sari with her bindi, happy, content and unfazed in the midst of Admirals, foreign dignitaries and women from all over the world; asking her why she wore a bindi and why she didn't eat meat. My father would shovel the driveway after the first snow storm and leave a path of his footprints in 2 feet of snow for us to follow. As a child it was always a game for me to try to place my foot in exactly the same spot, trying to follow my father's footsteps. Now those moments mean much more.

Because that year in Newport, my parents taught me to look for the commonalities in people. That everyone is essentially the same. And what matters in life is the “human experience”. To say that this was a life changing experience would be an understatement. For the first time in my life I was part of something bigger than myself. I became aware of my "Indianess" and I don't mean that in a bad way. But to realize a sense of identity at age 8 blew open the doors of the world to me. My best friends were from Morocco and Ghana. Play time was spent eating couscous and jicama.  I had lived through “culture shock” without even realizing it.

When I returned to India I was two distinct identities existing in one. For years my brother and I would joke that we were probably American in our past lives. We learnt that one cannot live life like a frog in a well. And that is what my parents taught us. I write this today as an ode to my parents. Not for their accomplishments and there are many, but to remember the life lessons they imparted. For life is about the people you meet and the memories you make.

Happy Anniversary, mom and dad! 37 years and what a grand life!

You know you are a Desi when:

• You wear open toe footwear in 50 degree weather.
• You bought tickets to hear Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull sing.
• You put pictures of your BMW on Facebook.
• Your cars(mostly BMW's and Audi's) are "named" after your wife or kids.
• 4 pm means chai and chaat at the local Chaat Bhavan.
• You are an M.S Comp. Sci (USA).
• You know VORACLE( Oracle).
• Your kid won the National Spelling Bee.
• When someone is getting married you ask "love marriage ya arranged marriage?"
• Combiflam (Ibuprofen and Paracetamol) is the cure for any illness you have.
• At a party, you are the only one who wore white pants and white shoes.
• You think this post doesn't apply to you because you are cool and different.

Letters

My first letter was when I was 9 years old. I was flying to Orlando, FL to visit Disney-world and an elderly lady named Charlene was sitting next to me. On the other seat was my Turkish friend Korhan.

Charlene was a chatting lady as most old ladies are. It was a long flight and we soon became friends. After we got off the plane she met Korhan and my family and gave me her visiting card. She wanted to keep in touch with us and thought us to be very "interesting". I went back to India and realized I still had her visiting card. I wrote to her from Cochin and she responded with a long letter. We wrote to each other for several years and she sent me pictures of her family, her new husband and asked me questions about life in India. I had moved twice in 2 years and somehow I lost touch after settling down in Vizag.

When I left Bombay ( I refuse to call it Mumbai) I had left behind a very dear friend of mine. Nimisha. Bombay was a very mixed experience for me. I was in my teen years and much too tall for my age. Very much a tomboy, my life revolved around tennis practice and arguments with my mother about what appropriate clothes meant. Nimisha was the one true friend who did not find me awkward or too tall. Being the Naval brats we were, Nimisha moved to Cochin and I to Vizag and we decided to write to each other. We wrote for over 6 years, she still in Cochin, while I had moved to Hyderabad again! We wrote long letters with little hearts, I miss you quotes, greeting cards, friendship bands and cartoons drawn in between spaces. We wrote about our first love, our first college admit, shared our first picture in a saree. Through the letters we entered adulthood and womanhood together. We bared our souls on paper.

And then one day the letters stopped. She had written in response to my confession of love. She had warned me to be careful, to be truthful. The letter arrived home while I was away at college. The envelope was so over stuffed with love and concern, that it had torn. My mother happened to read a few lines by mistake and then called me. She was angry as any conservative Amma would be. She warned me that this was not appropriate, that I was too young. I lied to her out of fear. I told her the letter was not about me but about my friend. In my letter to Nimisha, I was mean and inconsiderate. Blinded by love, I forgot the one true friend I had. I asked her to never write to me. To stop looking out for me. And then, the letters stopped. I went on with my life, in a bubble. Ignoring everyone and everything while love consumed me.

I went letter less for over 3 years. I kept wondering what could be the reason for the ache in my heart. I realized there were no letters in the mailbox. No funny greeting cards, no long letters full of every insignificant detail. No love.

A new friend saved me. He had an appreciation and insight to me and I began to write to him.From college, from my friend's wedding at Newport, from Virginia during spring break. He understood my muddled thoughts crammed into long sentences with poor spelling ( yes, you know I used spell check on this post). I know why you write to me, Seema, he used to say. I get it.

Here I am now waiting to write my next letter. Wondering who it will be.

Hello World

No, this is not an Android platform training session. Rather, an attempt to express myself and be lost in the multitude of blogs out there. Who am I kidding? It would be nice to have some followers. After years of contemplation on whether to blog, this is where I ended. I always wrote. Wrote to my diary, wrote articles, wrote letters. This is a first for me. I am still not convinced whether the keyboard will be give the same amount of joy and solace a pen and paper would, but here goes.....