I often catch myself referring to India as home in spite of living in America for over fifteen years. In the fifteen years I have lived in America, I have visited India twice which in total amounts for probably a little over a month of the entire duration. As immigrants in a foreign country, beyond the legalities and the paperwork the hardest aspect is feeling at home in the place you immigrant to. Home is often a security blanket for most people on good days and especially bad days. It’s knowing you have family who will hold you and see you through the bad. I was fortunate to have immigrated to America with family. I have encountered several 20-21 year olds in college who immigrated alone and often miss the comforts of that security blanket. As immigrants, forging a sense of being home in a new country is often the hardest task. In spite of having family with me, India has continued to be my home. It is the inexplicable that makes India home for me. It is friends who don’t need words to sense how you feel, family and sense of belonging that makes India home for me.
As the holidays are upon us and we celebrate it with friends and family, I am especially thankful for the family and friends I made in America who make it almost home.
We met my freshmen year of college at San Jose state university in a computer engineering class in California. He sat in the front of the class while I sat at the back. I was one among the many Indians in the cliched computer engineering class while he was the only African American guy. We noticed each other but were too shy to talk to each other. After two years of hi’s and bye’s in the hallways, we met again in an electrical engineering class. I wanted to avoid him but my friend insisted we sit behind him. We ended up being in the same group project and exchanged emails. I wanted to ditch class one day and decided to give him my number in case of a class quiz. We did not email or call each other. Instead one day during class he offered to give me a ride in his car since we lived in adjacent cities. The thirty minute car ride was one of the most boring rides. I spoke the whole way while he barely said Yes and no. Upon reaching my house, I asked him if he wanted to come meet my parents. Most of my guy friends until him always said “I don’t do the parent thing”. I could hear that answer in my head but instead he surprised me with a yes. I knew then he was weird. I swore never to ride with him again. Instead, five years after that boring car ride we ended up marrying each other!