The Immigrant's Curse (Part 1)

The plane taxied down the highway of Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport; a grim smile on the passengers faces after the tedious journey. As he stepped out of the plane he was greeted by a rush of warm, humid air -  a typical Mumbai summer special.

He walked out of the airport and addressed his family with a nod which they pretended not to notice. He would have been ashamed of his family shouting in the Mumbai mob back home but he was cut loose from his family and friends that were in India. They were almost...strangers to him now. He suddenly felt like a celebrity and those people were like paparazzi. With non-existent fear of humiliation creating a bubble of charisma and confidence he walked on only to be assailed with eager faces yearning to know about his lavish life. Well, he had not really expected this, had he?

He was hoping to start a new chapter in his life once again. He had come to his roots again. But he was disconnected from the modern India - maybe these weren't his roots anymore. As the taxi drove past he saw the same old India - praying for a better future. A nation of billions - was becoming capitalist the best action in retrospect? He still didn't see the changes he was hoping for. The changes he wanted to see. Unorganised labour, poverty-stricken general public and caste and religion still a major part of everyday life. At least this was the case in rural India -an undiscovered land for him. Growing up in the cities he was exposed to the contemporary lifestyle- but wasn't this only the 10% of India that he was exposed to. The 10% that he liked. The 10% that he thought was India. But the harsh reality is that it wasn't. He couldn't accept that. Atleast, not yet.

The newspapers scream shining India, the TV says it is the fastest growing economy but the streets speak a different language altogether. A 75 year old nation with a billion people - had his ingrained non- chauvinism blinded him from the country's opportunities. After all, India was the new and growing nation.

The voice reverberated in the never-ending chamber in his mind. 

He was then attacked by a rally of questions from his family. His young nephew who was of age 7 was bawling in the car. He then asked his nephew, "Hey, how are you?"

"Where are you from?", the nephew replied innocently.

"Umm, from Delhi, don't you remember me?, he said.

"Where are you really from?", his nephew insisted,

He never really got to answering that question. Too scared to think aloud he finally understood the immigrant's curse - financially successful Indian who yearns for India while in the US but strangely enough finds himself completely disjointed and disconnected while in his supposed motherland.