Musings on a flight

As I cruise somewhere between Chicago and Frankfurt in a giant air bird with people packed tightly together like some Intel processor with its millions of tiny transistors, I find myself slowly venturing into philosophy and self-introspection, something that happens every time I travel far and alone. “What is it that has you worried this time around my friend?” you might ask. I really don’t need a reason to self-introspect, just time and a lack of something to do. Since I’m spoilt for both choices right now, I have been unable to control the vagaries of the devil’s workshop slowly taking shape upstairs.

The issue I find musing over, as I write, is naturally the difference between living in India and the USA. I say “naturally” because there is no better setting to analyze this issue than on a plane traveling between two nations that cannot be farther apart in their culture, people or way of life, but that I have come to accept and love in different ways. Where do I see myself in the next 5 or 10 years? Do I identify myself with this country enough to settle down here and raise a family or do I get frequently inspired by movies like 'Rang De Basanti' and consider returning to India and giving something back. All these questions have no easy answers, and I find myself pondering over these over and over again. Then for reason I find myself going back to that letter I wrote on a similar flight a few years ago…

My mom passed away when I was pretty young, and my dad and I have never been the best of communicators. I guess its true for a lot of sons and fathers at some level. I could probably count, to this day, the number of meaningful conversations we’ve had. But I’ve always been given the freedom to make my own decisions at every stage in my life. When it came to life after school and choosing a college, I gave up the Anna Universities and RECs to go to BITS, Pilani. I’m not sure if it was my independent streak striving to get away from the confines of home and see the outside world, or my desire to know what people from other parts of the country looked and sounded like - probably a little of both. I think my stay in Pilani, more than anything else, probably defines who I am now as a person. For someone who’s never been particularly close to his family, atleast in outward appearance, I was taught some important lessons during my stay in Pilani. It taught me the skills to survive anywhere, but reinforced that there’s nothing like home. Ofcourse, I could never imagine going back and living with my parents in the same house, or even probably in the same town. But distance, as they say, does make the heart grow fonder. And I found myself looking forward to going back home at the end of every semester, and I started making a conscious effort to communicate with my family.

Maybe all this came a little too late, or maybe I still appeared to be detached when I visited home. I don't know what it was that forced my grand dad to write me a letter when I was in Pilani expressing his concerns over how I was slowly leaving my moorings and appeared to have become what he termed as a “rudderless boat”. He went on to praise my dad (“A gentleman, if I’ve seen one”) and told me that family was the most important thing. All this surprised me, since I really thought I had improved my relationship with my father.

Eventually, I came to the US, finished my higher education and made a life for myself. It was probably the “follow the herd” mentality that originally brought me here. But now after spending a few years, I find myself going back to the question – “Do I want to spend the rest of my life here or in India?”. I still haven’t been able to answer this conclusively, but I do seem to increasingly prefer going back to my roots and my country.

A few years ago, I was on a flight from Kansas (where I was consulting for a few months) to Chicago for the weekend, and I suddenly thought of that letter from my grand dad. The previous few months had been tough for me since I had gotten laid off and had just managed to get back on my feet. I had not been in touch with my grand dad or most of my family for a long time. So impulsively, I took out my pen and a few papers and started writing a long personal letter to my grand dad, describing to him what’s been happening in my life, and convincing him that far from being a “rudderless boat”, I’ve always appreciated the value of my family and assuring him that I would always be there for them. It was probably the most personal letter I’ve ever written to anyone. It’s been 3 years since I wrote that letter, and its still lying somewhere in one of my boxes among some old family photos and memorabilia. I’m not sure why I wrote that letter if I did not mean to post it. Maybe it was just an attempt to convince myself that I was not drifting away from my family.