India diaries: day 1
This last December, I visited India again. The last time I was there was July of 2019, when I went to Mumbai with my Bangladeshi classmate to research cultural narratives around postpartum depression. A lot has happened since then - I’m a different version of me, the world is different.
One thing that remains true is how heart wrenching it is for me to be back. I was born in Ahmedabad, Gujarat on May 18, 1999 - the first daughter to be born to my parents, both of whom are the middle siblings in a group of 5. For the first year of my life, my parents raised me in a small two-story house holding eleven other people from my dad’s family.
At three, I left India with my parents. The walls that hugged me, the people that loved me, the familiarity of the smells and sounds, the language that taught me, nighttime ice cream runs with my grandpa - it was all swapped for the promise of a better life in America. None of our family, immediate or extended, lived anywhere outside of Gujarat. It would be seven years until we would go back again.
As with most people from the diaspora who consider themselves ‘hyphenated Indians’ (Indian-American, Indian-Canadian, etc), and even immigrants or multicultural folks more broadly, I’ve had my own journey of acceptance and belonging. Going back home keeps me grounded, nourishes my blood and bones, challenges me, forces me to reckon with privilege and positionality, and reconnects me to my holy spaces.
While I was there this time around, it was really difficult to put what the depth of what I was feeling into words. I still don’t have it all verbalized just yet, but if I were to boil the sentiment down, its essence can be captured through this poem. (that i wrote)
I will leave it here for today. Pick up where I left off for next time :)
If you enjoyed this musing, please do let me know. Leave a comment. Shoot me a text. Let me know what it brought up for you.
Sending you so much love
xx towriteakavi