Migration in my family

Inventure Academy

Etched in our memory are our childhood, culture, food, family, friends, society and surroundings. Relocating to a new country implies leaving behind all these factors. Here I examine my own family to unravel the migratory occurrences.

My grandpa was the first person in my family to go to Africa looking for greener pastures in the 1950’s. Leaving the comfortable environs of his small town in India, and moving to a big city in Tanzania was overwhelming. He had no support of friends or family. People looked different, food tasted insipid, language was a barrier and the culture was alien. But he didn’t give up. His excellent English impressed the British so much that he was employed by them for 20 years. After his retirement he toured the European countries and North America to experience the diversity of human race. He then came back to his homeland.

My father’s voyage from Mysore to Minnesota was in the 1990’s, when there were multitudes of youngsters migrating to USA in search of a better life. The glitz and glamour of the city excited him immensely. In the land of opportunities, many dreams came true of owning a home, driving swanky cars and living a good life. I was born there in 1998. Despite the assimilation and new connections made in USA, my parents didn’t feel a sense of belonging in a foreign land. They missed the simplicity of Mysore and their family connections that somehow validated their existence.

Amidst all the allure of America, the Starbuck’s coffee couldn’t replace the Mysore filter coffee. We remembered nostalgically the delightful remnants of our identity. The song of cuckoo bird started ringing fondly in our sub consciousness, the smell of curries and the multihued life of India started beckoning us back. We relocated to Bangalore, India again in 2003 to be with family. After all, there is no place like home!!

by Varun Biddanda (13)