Partly Yours, Partly Lost

Some places stay with you long after life has moved elsewhere.

There is something strange about destiny. You just cannot overcome it, but at the same time, you cannot simply do nothing because something is destined to happen.

In India, it is not uncommon to have your horoscope charted about a year after birth. Grandparents wait with bated breath to hear how well the stars were aligned, and what remedies might be needed to appease the Gods.

So when I was a year old, my grandmother took my birth date and time to Dharmaraja Ghanapadigal, one of the most revered astrologers in Pudukkottai. He apparently told her that I would do reasonably well in studies, travel to multiple countries, and eventually live abroad.

Here was an old lady asking about her grandson from a small town. My parents were then living in Gobichettipalayam. This was the eighties, long before economic reforms had changed the country. My grandmother thanked him politely, but quietly wondered how any of it was even possible.

My parents eventually moved to Bangalore, and I was academically decent through school and college. I gave my GATE exams hoping to get into IISc. I scored 97 percentile, but it wasn't enough to get into the program I wanted.

More than anything, I couldn't imagine leaving Bangalore — especially my life in Malleswaram. The temples, the vendors on 8th Cross, the masala dosa at CTR, chaat shops in every nook and corner, evening meetups with friends at the railway station, and my quiet walks on 6th Main Road had become part of me.

Somewhere along the way, both places begin to feel partly yours and partly lost.

I grudgingly gave my GRE and somehow ended up in the US against all odds.

My father did not have the money to send me abroad. There was the complexity of securing a bank loan, collecting paperwork, and figuring things out one step at a time. I have written before about Shivanna, the manager at Canara Bank, who helped us through the process. Thanks to my father's friends, we somehow managed to put together what was needed to get me onto a flight to America.

Looking back now, it all feels unreal. But at that point, I could see the tension in the family. I could see my parents carrying the quiet burden of wanting to fulfill their son's dream.

Even during the visa interview process, I did not know what to ask God for. So I left the decision making to Him. I had no crystal ball to know where life would take me.

I still remember standing in line at the Chennai consulate wondering what exactly I was doing with my life. The tension in the air was impossible to miss. Heart pounding. A young man in a suit walks out looking relieved. An elderly couple explains something frantically to the visa officer. A young woman pores over her documents repeatedly, as if she is trying to find one missing piece of evidence.

There are life stories all around you.

Life has taught me never to look down upon anyone. Two people can begin at the same point and end up with completely different lives.

Here I am now — someone who tried very hard not to move to the US — having built a life here.

Years later, I still miss India. And yet, I know that if I left all this behind and moved back, a part of me would ache for the Bay Area too.

Somewhere along the way, both places begin to feel partly yours and partly lost.

The definition of home shifts with time.

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