The move

Having always been a person who dislikes any kind of change (wardrobe being an exception), I am yet again at a point where I can do little to control the situation.

A couple of months ago, appa informed me about the big promotion that he got. Yay!! I won’t say I was surprised. For the amount of work and effort he puts in, this to me is a trivial reward for him. Naturally my opinion is biased because it’s about a person who I yearn to become like someday — both professionally and personally.

Switching back to the point — he then put a very excited amma on the line. After our initial ‘ayiooo wows,’ ‘yays’ and ’sooopers’ she slipped in the other half of the promotion which was moving to another city.

I would be lying if I said this was great. And for being the heartless soul that I am, I gave my parents umpteen reasons for why this move isn’t worth anything, ranging from ‘the city is too crowded’ to ‘this is not the age to socialise and make new friends.’ Yes I know, I can be mighty immature and stubborn sometimes. But sigh. Me ain’t happy about this move.

To justify my unhappiness, here’s what I think. Many middle eastern kids (I said many and not all –exceptions do exist) get confused when they have to decide where they are from. We know that we are Indians and culturally identify with that term. But when it comes to discussing Indian politics, agriculture, weather, and other basic cultural facets — we’re limited to textbook knowledge. Our connection to India is limited to our birth and other annual vacations.

We move to the gulf at a very early age and live there through our entire school years. A few choose to continue there if there are options, but the rest move out to a whole new setting for higher studies. Eventually our parents also move out to another city, or back to India cutting off the last bit of connection left to our childhood. So when the time comes for us to answer the question — where do you belong? What should we say?