Bear with me as I take you on a little detour. I am only trying create a backstory to make my point.
It is Tuesday morning and I reach for my phone as the alarm goes off.
I check my messages and see one text and two voicemails, including a missed FaceTime call from my aunt who lives on the west coast.
I looked at the time stamp and it is 4 am.
My phone had sent it to voicemail automatically since I use the ‘Do not disturb’ feature between 10:30 and 7 am.
Heart pounding with a feeling of dread I listened in. I’m not too fond of those middle-of-the-night calls.
But, to my relief, it is her checking in to see how my day went.
Now, mind you, my mom and I just finished an almost hour-long chat with my cousin and aunt the previous day.
Aunt’s dementia is progressing rapidly and we are trying to capitalize on the time left when we can have these conversations.
The Matriarch
Let me share a little about my Aunt. For the sake of privacy, I will refer to her as The Aunt.
The Aunt immigrated here in 1963. She fell in love with The Uncle when he was stationed in Bombay, India. He was a US Marine stationed at the US Embassy.
The Aunt was always ahead of her time – this Goan Portuguese gal falling in love with an Irish American and not caring what anyone thought.
She moved out of her parents’ tiny one-room flat in South Bombay into her own flat.
Worked for an American Company. Got her hair and nails professionally done regularly.
Mind you, this is the sixties in India. Not America.
Attended parties at the American Consulate, Bombay. Which is where she met The Uncle.
He was charming, the silent Clint Eastwood type.
And one of my favorites.
I loved looking at his shiny patent leather shoes (and uniform) whenever he would visit us in Bandra.
Over the years they moved all over because he was part of the military.
We never heard much of the other countries but we heard the American stories.
Persecution and Patriotism
Stories of how she would call to rent a place, but when she would go to see it, people would not open the door because they realized she was colored.
Or the other time that they would not allow her into a restaurant when she and my uncle would go on a date.
These incidents turned a switch on in this fiercely patriotic lady.
Unlike many from our community, she had no desire to desert her newfound and adopted country in the face of persecution.
When she saw a flag torn and faded above her local mall building, she bought one and gave it to the management to replace it.
She chose to interact with everyone. Not just stick with the Goan community.
She would talk with everyone and anyone who cared to listen.
And helped many more – like her siblings who she sponsored to immigrate so they could have a better life.
Turning Tide of Time
Now, she is in assisted living with memory care.
It is heartbreaking to see our matriarch fading.
Now mind you she is still feisty.
And I am desperate to take advantage of the lucid moments to jog her memory of her journey.
What am I to do?
Why do I want to jog my aunt’s memory?
I want to learn from someone who came and faced similar if not more profound experiences.
I want to be part of a change in how we see the elderly here in this country.
I have chosen and adopted this beautiful country, but there are things that need to change.
I want to be part of changing this land into the ideals we heard and saw the first time we heard the constitution read.
How we treat the most vulnerable is a reflection of who we are.
We want to take care of her, here in America, just like they do in India.
I said all this to say, we immigrate here, and work and work and work some more.
Do we pause to talk with our ‘sponsors’?
Do we pause to take advantage of the lessons they learned?
When we move to America for a better quality of life, what are we truly seeking?
They Went Back to Where They Came From
I have seen a lot of qualified professionals who ‘made’ it in America, go back to India over the years.
Why? I used to ask.
May I be bold enough to say that the answer to this lies in the fact that they did not get the better quality of life they were seeking.
What do I mean by that, you ask?
Don’t they have everything they need? Big houses, vacation homes, CEO positions, unlimited perks, etc.
Isn’t America still so much superior with its great roadways, easy access to the simple things in life?
What about India with its crowds, beaurocratic redtape for everything and corrupt politics?
The Tossed Coin
I do believe that when discussing the pros and cons of both places, the coin toss is in favor of back home.
Why?
What they need is the support of the extended family as they grow older.
Indians are less likely, like many Asian countries to throw their elders into a nursing home.
What they need is a familiar community in which they feel safe in an increasingly polarized world.
You can go out and talk with the neighbors, strangers in a language that is understood, without having to explain cultural nuances.
What they need is not to feel like a guest who may eventually be thrown out.
I say this because never have I felt more like I am walking on eggshells and it is just a matter of time if I say or do something to offend someone, I can be asked to leave.
Or, if the rulers that be so decide they don’t want ‘foreigners or immigrants here any more’ we need to go.
Many have decided to buy homes back home, pick up the Indian version of the green card (OCI) and one foot there just in case.
Is this where I will end up?
I am again reminded of my aunt who came here in 1963 for a better life.
She too did go back home for 2 years.
But came back to her adopted homeland.
Now, she is in assisted living.
She does not want to mix with the others there.
I imagine she craves contact with her community of Goan Americans/Indians/Immigrants.
She craves Indian food.
Still I know she made the right decision for herself in returning.
Her family is here. So she is here.
And that is a conundrum for many of us who came here as adults, got married, had half American children.
We cannot go back.
Bloom Where You Are Planted
I can now understand why many of my generation dream of the dream house in Goa, or back on the subcontinent.
And so I ask the following questions.
Especially since many of us cannot go back.
Why not seek to be a part of the better life ideal here? Why go back?
Even if we as immigrants will never be absolutely comfortable here?
I think about it. Is this where I will end up?
I remember discussing this with a couple of friends and joking about retirement.
We dreamed of building or buying homes close to another so we can continue to share childhood experiences from back home.
And I say to this, may our dreams come true.
