where is home?
A blogger has asked.
Where is my home?
I ask myself, is it where my heart yearns to be?
Anyone living abroad, who has friends and family in their country of origin,
is bound to be asked, “Why don’t you come back home”?
My Ma would ask me that many times,
always with a smile,
a sad sad smile,
she knew very well I couldn’t;
I am an economic migrant, now in the rich ‘West’.
I have been supporting my family with my ‘foreign’ earnings,
it would have been near impossible if I was still living and earning in India.
That didn’t stop her from calling me back, to return back to her.
It probably was an instinctive call, I will never ever know.
I prayed she would be alive if or when I eventually did.
She could not wait, she did not give me that chance.
How deep was her sorrow behind her wistful smiles?
I will never know that either.
As long as my Ma was alive, home could be nowhere other than India.
I thought with her gone and that intense tie broken, I wouldn’t feel the same.
I was so wrong, I can think of no other place to call home.
My home is not a place, it is people…writes Lois McMaster Bujold, in “Barrayar“.
I am an Indian (as if you all need to be reminded)
I do not think it is possible of becoming into something else.
Many (not all) fellow countryperson I know, have no such hang-ups.
Some even believe they have evolved into a special being on arrival to the West;
feel they are superior to the ordinary folks left back in the homeland;
they are worthy of respect just by their status of being
an “Indian abroad”.
Everything in India
is soon considered
nasty
intolerable,
unbearable
memories are allowed to fade or deliberately erased,
links with family becomes infrequent, a phone call in weeks,
a visit out of a reluctant sense of duty, maybe once in three, four or five years.
Then one day they will no longer be Indians
sooner in their minds than on pages of their passports.
Their roots could not get any further than the distant galaxies.
It not the lack of ‘milk and honey’
that will stop them from returning, that is said
to mask a fear of regression into an ordinary existence
an Indian in India, there is no special ring to it.
I agree,
the physical distance
doesn’t mean anything,
distance is purely in the psyche,
one can be close by, but still aeons away,
another maybe in a far distance, but still very near.
Regardless of how far or near I may be,
I will always know where my home is.
Even if light years away, it is the desire to be with one’s own kind, that defines home.
thoughts
life
home
India
Kolkata
bendtherulz said this on July 20th, 2007 at 13:31
Have to say – the moment when ET points out towards the sky and tries to form the word – it was so sad…you could feel the pain !!
Hmmm…in fact it was in my mind as well to ask you , why ?? Will never ever ask….!
I have visited few blogs ( NRI)and yeah its sad to see them being torn apart – I am sure it must not be easy for them also. To try to adjust and keep on doing…and one day…just find that they have fitted so well in other place…that now they are sticking out in their own country.
Not everone has clarity of thoughts or to say that we can figure the sense of belonging -where ever we are.
Take my case – confused Desert Cactus trying to find some nook @ pine tree base in Himalaya 🙂
earthpal said this on July 20th, 2007 at 13:58
A beautiful post Little Indian. I’m sure your mum would have been so proud of you.
little indian said this on July 20th, 2007 at 14:04
thanks
my rulzbending friend.
I have returned twice a year every year for many years now.
I know 6 weeks out of 52, is a small number,
but I am in touch with my past, my family, my roots.
I can enter my house, put on indian clothes,
my mind, my thoughts, my language, easily reverts back to bengali.
I can so easily forget that the day before I was many miles away.
Many of us ‘NRIs’ have had our hearts torn in two.
But for everyone of us,
there are as many who have proudly and painlessly snapped the ties.
There are many explanations given.
little indian said this on July 20th, 2007 at 14:20
@ earthpal,
thanks earthie,
I know she was, we were also best friends.
Life hasn’t been the same since she went away.
It is strange, she is in my dreams, almost everynight,
I sometimes will wake up in the morning think that was all real.
ClapSo said this on July 20th, 2007 at 20:46
Yeah, home is where the heart is…
I always feel at home reading your posts little indian.
The scientifically impossible I do right away
The spiritually miraculous takes a bit longer
earthpal said this on July 20th, 2007 at 22:17
That’s lovely.
I still dream about my parents but mostly it’s my mum who I dream of. The dreams aren’t as frequent as they were but they still happen now and then and I usually wake up crying.
Here’s to our cherished loved ones.
little indian said this on July 20th, 2007 at 22:59
@ Clapso,
my definition of home
says you think of me as one of your kind.
I am really touched.
I didn’t expect to make good friends when I started blogging.
But I have.
Thanks again.
little indian said this on July 20th, 2007 at 23:01
@ earthie,
that includes you too, earthPal.
Thanks.
And here’s to our forever loved ones.
shuz said this on July 22nd, 2007 at 13:16
this very much reminds me of my uncle who lives abroad. he could not make it to india when my grandpa passed away. and he still goes thru those emotional days.
home! all i can say is, u know where ur home is when u walk thru the door and have a smile on ur face. no matter if its Desi ya western. ghar ghar hota hai.
i liked ur post:)
see ya:)
little indian said this on July 22nd, 2007 at 13:50
Thanks Shuz,
I take your point
the house where one lives,
does become a home where the love and affection is.
be it India, or abroad, as long as one feels it as home.
On a wider level,
the society or the country abroad
may not extend the same love and affection,
and that is when the heart turns towards one’s own land.
But that is my personal take on this, I am sure many will disagree.
Thanks again for stopping by,
I hope you enjoy and carry on blogging.
and you are welcome to leave your thoughts here, whenever.
shamrin said this on July 22nd, 2007 at 15:09
Wow, I don’t expect to get teary-eyed on the first entry I read of a new (for me) blog. This was quite powerful Little Indian.
I’ve been living abroad now for nearly 15 years and I don’t think there is a single time I’ve spoken wither when my mum hasn’t asked, “When are you coming home”. Soon mum, very soon.
little indian said this on July 22nd, 2007 at 15:55
@ Shamrin,
thanks for stopping by.
This was not intended to be a tear jerker, 🙂
just a representation of a past reality
that my Ma and I have been through.
Everyone of us, in lands alien to our own,
has to go through with it, in various degrees.
For some it will be minimal or may even be none at all,
for some so acute, that they will rush for the next possible passage ‘home’.
while rest of us will bumble along, copeing the best way we can.
That is what drew me to your blog this morning.
Like I wrote, our experiences,
even if reverse in the circumstances
may be parallel in relation to each other.
I am curious to read about your thoughts of being in a foreign land.
Maybe exchange our views as we go along?