Contrary to popular belief, the US is not really a land of fortune where you can just “strike it rich” (as Arthur Miller described it in his book “Death of a Salesman”) Appearances and imaginations are often deceptive but real life experiences are memorable teachers. This I quote from the unforgettable vicissitudes and adversity that challenged my immigration to the United States. I will always attribute my personality, character, attitude and achievements to that summer of 2006 when I left Mumbai and every change it brought to my life thereafter.
I envisioned myself stranded, foreshadowed times of loneliness and homesick feelings with no end in sight. My family strengthened me with an assurance of a happy life and a bright future in the US, but my unyielding self condemned it as a futile attempt – a deceptive optimism.
Because obstacles were many and each time I met another one, the modicum of faith I had in US was shattered. To begin with, the complexity of structures, gigantic malls, busy drive-thrus, flying cars on highways, people who turned a blind eye because they were “plugged in” (no offense to ipods) and the incredible pace of life they portrayed (much more than what I has witnessed in Mumbai) perplexed me as we drove "home" from the airport. This was followed by living at a relative's house for a few weeks who did nothing but made every effort to portray how much people change after spending 25 years on this foreign land . This politely but lucidly conveyed that my family’s “American dream” must be a pie in the sky. I always viewed my parents as successful professionals and my sister a friend to toy with, but the added responsibilities that each one of us assumed, drastically changed things. Both my parents worked at a grocery store. Our “new life” began in a small basement. Financial stress began to prey on our happiness and alter the course of our actions and this realization intensified as my parents spent 45 “worthless” Indian rupees for every dollar. No deprivation had been as bad as that of a car which dramatically limited our mobility. I was in sheer desperation and my mind was in a medley of intense frustration, utmost dejection and extreme disappointment. For some timeless moments, I cursed my life but slowly my anemic body got accustomed to the daily mile-long walk and the long wait for infrequent public transportation. As I trod on the sidewalk to the library for internet access vehicles signed their names in mud on rainy days but surely I had accepted it as a fact of life. I learnt that life is not a bed of roses and that this was just my share of thorns.
Brief moments of happiness punctuated our life and tempted me to hope for a bright future. But, failure to show even an iota of improvement and mitigate my predicament even after a year of hardship, dealt the coup-de-grace to my aspirations. I finally gathered my wits to look into my parent’s eyes. Their weary faces, even after long hours of work, made the best attempt to dissemble the pangs of their heart but instead conveyed a message like a doctor does to a dying patient – that of expecting one to adjure divine intervention. This did not deflate my hopes but for the first time in life I realized that the responsibility of making our dream come true lied solely with me, that it was time for me to support my family, receive the education for which they paid such high costs and harness the opportunities that our immigration to the US had brought to my doorstep.
I was mystified and stupefied at sight of the typical US high school which strikingly contradicted the image of my alma mater – (St. Annes, Mumbai) an all girls campus, where ladylike behavior, respect and simplicity were central to education, uniforms were mandatory and even long nails, fancy shoes and loose hair were considered violations of the dress code. But this exposure to the outside world, discordance of cultures and battle with conscience gradually made me tolerant and more importantly, helped me muster courage to expect the same respect from others in response to our differences. Wearing my traditional dress, expressing my ideology, publicly speaking my native language, ignoring the mocking laughter and sharing my values suddenly assumed a place of importance in the scheme of things since they identified the person I was. It urged me not to imitate my past nor to ape the ways of others but be myself! After all, the western world with its doors wide open proudly claim that it is not a “melting pot” but a “mosaic”, doesn’t it? [:P]
Anyway, then it was time to apply for college… another host of career, residential, financial and family decisions to make! Time does not wait for things to get stable for you to make informed decisions, have confidence in them and a sense of preparedness for its consequences. Academic counselors advised to look for cheap schools (I’m not sure out of stereotype about my family background or uncertainty about my calibre, both of which I can proudly say are seriously flawed assumptions by the way!!!!) My parents insisted on applying to whatever was available close to home. But I decided to come to the University of Rochester. (fall 08 - present)
So much has changed over the last year! I am pursuing a dual degree in genetics & public health, have managed to get scholarships, am elected to several leadership positions, become a part of many social groups, currently have a fulltime summer research job & plan to pursue an Md-PhD (or Ms-PhD)… but more importantly I’ve learnt to deal with all kinds of roommates, friends, classmates, professors, colleagues, employers, weather, crisis, recession, food (& its lack of variety & taste), transportation (or the lack thereof) & many more problems – trivial and otherwise.
However, there is one thing that has endured ALL of the above and still stands unmoved – my hope! Believe it or not, every dark cloud has a silver lining. To overcome the seemingly insuperable obstacles I had to shun the thought of my encumbrances, muster the remnant of faculties and then canalize my slumbering energies purposefully and wholeheartedly. And today, it is not prosperity, popularity, luxuries, Americanization and average intelligence but an insatiable appetite for success and an unflagging will power that textures the wrap and woof of the fabric I call my destiny. The challenges in the last 3 yrs have truly taught me valuable lessons and wrought to forge the anvil of my life
No matter what I do, where I go or what I accomplish – it will always remind me of the price my family paid for it. Yeah damn right – You can’t just ”strike it rich” in America! But you can strive beyond the limit of your endurance, make your migration worth it and still live your dream!
