Back

So, I’m back.

In fact, this is the third time I have flown to India this year. It’s actually pretty ironic that India has become such a large presence in my life. As a child in the ‘90s, the idea of coming to this country was like an obligatory family pilgrimage that took years for my parents to save up for and required months of planning and packing. Those trips involved discomfort from beginning to end, starting with the unpleasant wave of thick humid air that one feels as soon as they enter the Bombay International terminal, to pretending to recognize hundreds of blood-related strangers that claimed to know me. Even while coated in hand sanitizer and Off bug repellent, I feared for my sheltered immune system when I first encountered the Indian washroom, the lack of food regulation, and the side effects of malaria prophylaxis. It was in India that I understood the glory that is Cortisone, toilet paper, and potable tap water. I mean, I was a kid taken out of my home, experiencing sensory overload -- in the most negative fashion, while being mind-warped of my English by an influx of Gujarati/Hindi/Hinglish. I still remember the pujas my grandma would organize at the end of each trip, during which my mother and her sisters would inevitably start crying. My aunts would crush me in hugs, teary eyed and miserable, while I would sneak a glance at the clock, counting the minutes until our departure time. I think the only thing I really enjoyed back then was buying Indian outfits that would probably never see daylight in the US.

What happened between those times and now, I am unsure. I think much of it I have to credit to my mother who decided sometime in my teenage years that traveling to India was something that should be done yearly. Soon, family members weren’t just names -- they were my sisters and brothers, we started to stay in our own temporary flat in Bombay, we maintained the expat lifestyle within the Indian experience, and with that, uncomfortable became comfortable. I learned to pave my own way through Bombay, grow attached to my family, and visit India on my terms.

Concurrently, I entered a phase of my life where I was consumed by a mission of self-identification. I don’t know what made me feel so determined to define myself in my late-teens, but I wanted to be sure that I knew exactly what I was. My college essay was about the Indian-American experience. My courses turned to cultural anthropology, South Asian studies, and religion. My social life was immersed in one theme only as I attended Bhangra competitions, created a Jain Student Organization at GWU, and went out to every “Desi” event at the nightclubs of DC. The frequent trips to India were a validation of my cultural rebirth as I explored my ancestral villages, the social scene of the 21st century Indian, and the importance of family. Now, my trips out here have become spontaneous, packing takes about a day, and most recently, I've started to come alone. India has become as necessary for me as it was for my mother and if my Aunts ever looked up when I hugged them goodbye, they would see that my eyes are full of tears too.

And so, of course, as my trajectory would predict, here I am back in the “Motherland,” working at a global health consulting firm and serving the Indian population. My international health studies have somehow led me to live in this country for the next two months. Live in India...again?? I have been reassigned as a consultant to work for the USAID-funded Innovations in Family Planning Technical Assistance Project with Futures Group International, based in Gurgaon, Haryana.

I invite you to join me once again, through my experience as an uprooted and re-rooted, Indian-origin, ex-patriot yuppie, pursuing her academic degree while continuing a journey of self-identity in the glorious city of New Delhi.