So, Where Do You Belong
A few transfers but the impact for a lifetime.
Years ago, while I was playing around in the apartment, my father made an unusual announcement that it was time to move again. I didn’t understand at first, what it meant to move to another place. Father was transferred to a place with a name longer than I had ever heard before. For me, life revolved around playing with my younger brother, going to school to meet my best friend, and trying not to get caught while stealing 1 rupee (Indian currency) every time I wanted to have a candy without my mother’s permission. I was 8 years old when my parents started packing to go spend the next five years of our life in Visakhapatnam, Andhra Pradesh, a state in the southern region of India.
When I learned what it meant to transfer, I could not bear the shock of leaving behind a school where I knew a few people and join another one where I didn’t know anyone. I could not understand why my parents were so calm about moving, after all, they were losing friends as well and the familiarity of the small and neat residential area in New Delhi (Capital city of India).
But essentially what troubled me the most was the terror of approaching new people and making friends. I was good friends with mom, dad, and brother, but I always struggled with the outsiders. I was shy and was amazed by the people who could talk to others as if they were eating their favorite ice-cream.
Five years later, dad was transferred to Kochi, in God’s own country Kerala, another beautiful state in South India. I was 13 years old then, and the feeling of separation from the “known” was still unfathomable, just like it was five years earlier.
Visakhapatnam was home now, a place lined with curved hills which disappear when the skies are pouring and when the fog decides to stand guard in front of your eyes. You cannot expect teeth-chattering winters in Visakhapatnam, all you experience is the cold, swift breeze, which seems nothing short of winter if you’ve spent most of your remembered life in South India. Delhi and its extreme temperatures seemed vague now. Delhi was now forgotten. But here we were again, on the verge of relinquishing one “home” and embracing another.
At this point, I had a lucid picture of what kind of life we were living. I understood that dad was servicing a transferable job that involved moving from one state to another, across different parts of the country at the interval of three to five years. But understanding something does not take away the feelings of severance that I had to undergo and perhaps, again in the future when I leave Kochi.
As much fun it is to witness the diversity and culture of the sub-continent, it is as much heart-breaking to not have a permanent “home”, a home where you can always return to after seeing all the wonderful places. Indeed, there is a native place.
I “belong” to the state of Bihar situated in the Eastern part of India. But to me, Bihar was more like a vacation spot that I was obliged to visit because my parents had memories and childhood rooted there. See? Even parents have memories rooted in one place, but not me.
During our schooling, we traveled to Bihar every year in summer vacations, which usually lasted for a month or two, and met the mother’s side of the family more often than the father’s. And when the school was about to reopen, we returned to our other “home”. Even though Bihar was home, it was only for a short span of one-two months in a year.
Sadly, a significant chunk of every vacation was spent in getting acquainted with our mother tongue Bhojpuri, the culture, and the painful hurdle of getting along with numerous relatives and cousins. This happened every single time, as we stayed away from Bihar more than we stayed close. It was a cycle of knowing and forgetting our native in one year and perpetually for many such years in the future.
After school, the frequency of our visits is no longer annual. Instead, it happens every three to five years, much like father’s transfers. Earlier we were restricted by our father’s job, now we are constrained by our work.
So, where do you belong? I believe many of us would have answered and asked this question innumerable times in our lives. Every time we would have a prompt reply — the name of the native state. But does it really apply to people like me who don’t have memories monopolized by a single place? Rather when it is a mix of many!
The birthplace is not rememberable, because we moved immediately to the city of dreams. That was the place where I learned my first words. Then it is a long journey — from the city of dreams to a city, which is a feeling in itself. Primary, middle, and high school, all in different places. I understand we all live in multiple locations for work, but is it the same when your childhood is divided too? I’m not sure.
Can you have childhood friends when you switch schools so much? The answer is no. Can you have long term friends at least? Again, no or less likely. Can you be comfortable when you’re bombarded with weird inquisitive questions about you and your place every now and then? No. But also, yes, because you get used to it. This is perhaps just the tip of the iceberg.
There are other things that you face once you step into a new place as a child, or a teenager, or even as a young adult. The language, state-based conflicts, and prejudices, to name a few. Whose side are you on when people are defending their states? Which state do you protect? Or you soon find yourself engaging in every meaningless argument? These thoughts occurred to me very recently. Although I don’t know if it’s valuable enough to ruminate. Nevertheless, I think about it.
On a positive note, the experience is sure filled with sparkly perks. You meet a variety of people, live in beautiful cities, learn new languages, and adore the diverse beauty that dear India is.
The problems that have emerged over the years can continually be cured with mindfulness and a bit of sensibility. It is a never-ending process, but acknowledging that they are there, is relief and solace and a big step towards tackling them. It also helps in being thankful for the varied blissful beings and cities who are the central characters of my life story.
