The Wonder Years

By next year, I’ll have spent as many years in my adopted country as in my birth country. I suppose I’ll become an “Indian-American” in a more tangible sense.

Some days, though, I can’t help but wonder what our lives would’ve been like if we hadn’t emigrated. Then again, the thought of having kids different from the ones my husband and I have now, is unimaginable. And these babies of ours are rapidly growing up. They have endured their share of cultural confusion along with the normal, tumultuous confusion of the adolescent years, but I’m glad to see their unique, multicultural identities form, blending some of the best aspects of both cultures.

They value individualism over communal approval, but in the same breath, I also see them value the simplicity, humility, and shared experiences of a collectivist society. It doesn’t matter to us which religion or philosophy they embrace, who they marry, or what line of work they choose as long as it resonates with their sensibilities and personal values. And this freedom is the magnanimous gift of a modern, individualistic society. India seems to be moving steadily in that direction as well, as urban societies become increasingly progressive.

I rewind a little now, to my elementary school years in India, when my American cousins would visit during summer. Their visits would be both fascinating and intriguing. Relatives would fawn over them because of their extended absences and urgency to make up for lost time. They seemed so close yet alien. Their American accents seemed mysterious, and their clothes had this flower-like fragrance -having tumbled in dryers with perfumed softening sheets. They brought interesting board games like “Mastermind” and “Monopoly” to spend their lazy summer days with us.. We borrowed their walkmans to listen to the latest numbers from Bon Jovi, Michael Jackson, and Queen, and envied their mysterious, esoteric life in the United States.

It’s funny how that has come a full circle.

Yet, as an immigrant myself, even after having lived in the United States for 23 years – I still think of my cousins’ lives as mysterious and cool, and wonder how fun it would be to exchange my American Y2K+ years with their hippie days of childhood. That’s the thing about memories- they always seem more intense and alluring- whether they’re about growing up in India or are fantasies of growing up in another country. Who knows how different my life would’ve been were I to have been born here. Maybe I’d have followed my unbound spirit and pursued writing instead of getting a couple of useless technical degrees, or maybe I would’ve followed that same unbound spirit, and run away at 16 and joined a cult. I’ll never know. But here I am, American, yet always Indian, and still exploring what it means to be ME-in a land faraway, yet somehow my own.