Migration

I remember only part of the day we left. At school everyone signed or wrote something to me on a piece of paper- something to remember them by. My best friend, Kunal, gave me his most precious pack of cards. At home, almost every room was empty. Everything we owned that wasn’t nailed to the ground was packed up- in fact some things that were nailed to the ground were packed to- and loaded into a truck. This had been going on for 2 months.

But now everything was done.

There was a plane to catch.

I packed up my things.

We left…

I am not sure whether I cried or was anxious, scared, happy… I was six. One (or two) of the most important days of my life and I don’t remember much of them. I do remember the flight was long and tiring, but the planes had one of those consoles to play with, and I was kept busy. When we reached Bangalore, we stayed at my uncle’s house for a week. It was nice, at first. We then moved in to our new house with our few belongings, made new friends, and coped until the rest of our things came- our furniture, computer, clothes, books, Lego sets (for me), everything. When you move, it’s like god says “You live here now. Deal with it.” And so I did. And so I still do.

The first year was great. I remember loving it here. At age 7, all I saw were the good things about India. The prospect of living in a place with so many kids your age, having so many friends to play with just a block away… I had never experienced that before. I went to a nice international school, a 45 minute drive away, and life was good.

In my second and third years, things got bad. I’d been pretty darn smart, and my parents found the school not challenging or something (its true, Im not bragging) and I was put into a real rowdy school called Shisu Griha, and it was hell. It was rough, for one thing, and I was singled out at first. I was basically some high-class nerd, dropped into the school. I was picked on a lot. I was car-pooling with this huge bully, who contributed to the whole “hell” idea. My kannada teacher was a monster, as were 2-3 other teachers too. 5^th grade, my 4^th year in India eased up a bit; in fact it got much better.

For the past 2 years I’ve been in Inventure, and now I’m reliving the first year. I’ve made lots of friends, and whether we get along or not don’t matter. I’m happy here, and look forward to staying for at least another year.