NRI : By Choice or By Chance?
Between departure and arrival, one woman pauses to ask: what if home is neither? When life straddles two continents, where do you truly belong?
“Arjun, where are your shoes?”
The day arrived. He seemed very calm and collected, while I was a rollercoaster of emotions. I reluctantly woke up at the ungodly hour of 1 AM. I had spent the last few hours packing everything and repacking. I gestured to my husband to weigh the hand baggage one last time since we had now added a sweets box and a namkeen packet. He stood on top of the scales and noted his own weight 71.2 kilos and then, with a straight face, lifted his hand baggage and urged me to look down at the number shown on the weighing scale. My heart was pounding fast, and I noticed it showing 77.8 with the luggage. His face changed as I read it out, and he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “You know what, they will allow it. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
There was a slight hint of an accent, and I noticed he does a good job hiding it because he feels like he doesn’t want to be judged by others here in India. I recall the first time we flew to Los Angeles and we were very keen on fitting in. I had packed so many of my salwars, and none of them came to much use because I noticed people like to blend in more and wear what is often available in stores there. I also wore many of those trendy pants and tops – despite not fitting into many of them due to the varied sizes, I still felt good, almost like I belonged there, as I wore nice clothes and went out in town for the night with a couple of my friends.
Of course, most of my friends were Indian friends because it was just easier to interact, and we would actively seek each other in workplaces, parties, or just casually in the neighborhood. It felt nice to be asked where I come from, which state and which city, and what we are doing here. But the most painful question is: How long are you going to be here? What is your visa status? And why have we not applied for a green card yet?
Eight years. I gave eight years of my life to this life. This fancy NRI lifestyle, which looks glorious on social media but is in fact very lonely and depressing. I noticed what anyone and everyone really talks about is India and what is happening there. I was more updated on the current events and trends of my city back home than I was of the country where I lived, thanks to the insane amount of forwards and discussions in the Indian social groups. I often wonder, when other people left India, did they ever really leave? Why do they mourn more for our motherland even though they have now decided to apply for citizenship in another country?
I felt like this world that I am living in is a farce. If I wanted to be living an Indian life in an Indian neighborhood with Indian friends, then I am better off living in India. I don’t blame anyone for this, because I understand. I walk in Times Square and my heart and mind are still mulling over the streets of my city where I grew up – where I know where you can get the best chai, and where we can get the best deals on momos, where I can bargain for a nice pair of kundan stone earrings, where my misspelled “Guccy” handbag could pass off as a real one because of brilliant workmanship.
Don’t mistake me – I love the USA and the spirit of lifestyle it represents, but the crowd in Las Vegas, New York, and LA especially always gives me nostalgic Delhi Kumbh Mela vibes or Kolkata’s Durga Puja pandal walks or Mumbai’s Ganesh Chaturthi visarjan on the sea docks.
This isn’t just me talking – but every person I come across, they have some type of argument over India’s state of affairs. But very few realise they have come far from that country – physically and geographically – but it still looks like they have left behind a huge chunk of their emotional capacity. We go to Costco or Walmart for low-cost deals, but we don’t miss out on giving a ransom amount for center and front-stage seats if it’s an AR Rahman concert or Falguni Pathak, the Garba Queen. Very few of us watch Super Bowl or NBA, but we get our bets and adrenaline pumping for an IPL match and World Cup games, checking score updates every day. Indians mingle with Indians, befriend Indians, go out with Indians, work with Indians, and settle down next to – you guessed it – Indians.
“No one stopped you from interacting with other nationalities. Global corporations have so many nationalities working under one roof. A job there will make you feel like you are now in the UN,” said Arjun’s uncle, settled in the US. I said to my husband in the car when coming home, “What job? Who is giving jobs to housewives like us who have left our high-paying job and moved to the US after marriage on the dreaded H1B’s dependent visa?”
My husband always had only one idea in mind: if we must stay in the USA, we must do everything we can for the green card. And now that it is in sight, I know my husband will not falter from his path. The goal was near. He could sense the apprehension, and I could sense it as well. But I masked my feelings for the moment because I knew the Travels vehicle would be arriving any moment now and we would have only moments to spare before the luggage ruckus starts. I quickly rushed to the kitchen and came back and said, “Please take this special aashirwad vibhooti ash that came from our family temple.” He looked at me a bit weird and just obliged, because I knew he was tired of arguing.
Arguments are what made most of our NRI life miserable. Simple arguments over why didn’t you speak to my mom properly, why didn’t you tell them about our promotion, why did they tell about us to their kith and kin out of fear of evil eyes and jealousy of our cousins, why didn’t we call that sick aunt, why didn’t we send money to India – for EMI, for a sister’s wedding, for parents’ birthday – and the list goes on. All the time spent together was memorable and beautiful, but when it was more than just the two of us, we both knew something was missing.
Our son Akul was born exactly two years ago and we have been at our wits’ end convincing one or the other set of parents to visit us and stay with us for the whole six-month period so we can get some company at home while going through all those diaper-changing, bottle-or-mother-feeding confusion-feeling, mom-exhausted-needs-a-break type of moments. Every time my mom traveled, I could see her bend less, sit more, eat more meds, and show fatigue needing rest. Every time my in-laws came, I could hear them complain about the cold, their back and knee pain showing they are old, same Star Plus or Zee Cinema instead of Netflix – and they are sold. But after a few days, they start complaining because they are bored.
Life has changed for us and not for them, so asking them to change to our whims seemed selfish at first but seemed concerning more or less because we simply couldn’t handle the fact that they are growing old.
Sometimes we have said, “Enough is enough! Let’s go back to India,” and we would both become quiet and awkward for a few hours, brooding over what that would be like. Then slowly came the hesitation from my husband: “We can’t just be hasty… we have to give this some time. I like my work here and I know someday you will move from the dependent H1B to your own work visa. Our present may not be great, but our future will be – this I promise.” And he would hold my hand and squeeze it tightly until my nerves would calm down.
Calm I was this time, unlike my last. I decided to leave my past in the past. “Taxi has arrived,” announced our trusted advisor by day and watchman by night, Ramu Kaka. “Car, car!” jumped my boy Akul, and I knew the time had come for our final goodbyes. We went around kissing and hugging everyone while Ramu Kaka and the driver loaded the samaan.
We had so many mixed feelings this time, and I held on to my son’s hand, gripping his fingers a little too tightly. But instinctively, as if he sensed something amiss in me, he nuzzled his head into my neck and said, “Mommy, you are going to have a great day. I know because we are going to see aeroplanes!” he announced loudly and did a little happy dance that always makes me laugh.
We arrived at the airport, and as usual, my husband took the lead to get the luggage checked in, and the moment of truth came. He walked up to me and slowly mentioned that they didn’t notice the weight of the hand baggage and how it was good luck that everything went according to plan. Ah yes, plan! We are a couple always with a plan – that’s how I remember. He looked at me in a pensive mood and his fingers held my hand tightly, but this time it felt different. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I wondered – what do I want to do? You mean what do we want to do. Which part do I tell him that I disagree or agree with? But more importantly, will anything change? Will I ever feel like I belong there? Will I become that NRI that everyone wants to see, or a person who can choose her place in this world – a place where she can be who she wants to be, work where she wants to work, and never step into another office or embassy for a visa extension or visa stamping? No green card needed to prove her self-worth. Will she find a place like that?
I removed my hand and placed it on top of his, and this time I squeezed his tightly and smiled and said, “I am sure as I will ever be. We are partners in life, but we don’t have to give up on our dreams. You work hard for us, and remember Akul’s face is just waiting to hear your voice every day, so call us with a big smile. In a few months, in summer, we will come there to stay.”
With that, my little son and I waved bye-bye while my husband walked over to the immigration counter, not entirely happy with my reply, but knowing very well this is important to me and I must try.
There I go – a new chapter in my life, a new dawn. Proudly walking out of the airport, clasping my excited boy’s hand while my partner goes abroad according to his plan. I have a plan too, you see – to be grounded in one place and bring up my son without being two-faced. An NRI in India, a place where I truly want to be.
A whiff of the aroma, dusty breeze of the sea… I smiled proudly when I heard a seller shout: “Madam, chai or kaapi?”
Epilogue
I once believed that choosing to stay behind was a kind of failure. That in letting him board that flight alone, I was giving up on our shared life. But time, space, and the grounding presence of my son taught me otherwise. I didn’t choose the NRI life, and maybe it didn’t fully choose me either. But what I did choose was clarity – a clarity that living isn’t about visas, zip codes, or time zones. It’s about belonging, and sometimes, the bravest choice is to stay exactly where your heart no longer needs translation.
– a non-NRI by choice