“Where are you from?” – Part 1

“Where are you from?”

One of those questions which I have several answers to, and yet, I pause, hesitate, or even fumble, depending on the situation, before I can blurt out an answer. And more often than not, I am not satisfied with it.

Like the other day, I was filling in my particulars on Facebook, and didn’t know what to put in the “Hometown” Field.

New Delhi, INDIA?

That’s what it says in all my official forms.

Country of Birth: India.
Nationality: India.
Race: Indian.

Says so on my passport too, which I’m very proud of. But do I really feel like India’s home? It’s been 3 years since I last set foot on Indian soil, and every time I do go back, a new India greets me. One where I feel like an alien because everything’s changed so much from my previous visit and the India I took back with me. It’s probably a good thing anyways.

There’s not much that calls me back.

Friends – One? Two? Who I haven’t met in 5-8 years because after leaving the town we left in, my parents didn’t leave too much behind which compelled them to go back to it. Family friends moved out as well, and our trips back to India were so busy and short, that fitting in all the close relatives took up most of the time. At the age of 10 – 11, keeping in touch through letters was exciting at first, but eventually more interesting things, such as adolescence happened, and soon writing letters became too tedious. By the time e-mails became commonplace, friendships had faded.

Family – Relatives. Grandma, Uncles, Aunts and cousins are probably the main reason why I do miss India. At first, phone calls were made regularly to keep in touch, but IDD rates limited the time and thus the conversation to mainly pleasantries and a general overview of everyone’s well being. Cousins grew up and scattered all over the country for education and careers, and meeting everyone became close to impossible. Weddings were missed because of school, and thus I couldn't attend the few occasions on which my generation of the family got a chance to get together. Emails and IMs help in maintaining the ties, but barely. University life and jobs keep us far too busy to keep in touch. News and photos of major events are circulated, but that's about it.

Home – I never had a hometown. I always envy people with hometowns; places that have seen them grow, and have grown with them. Places where they can actually compare old photographs from and discuss how things used to be back when we were young. Visit parks as toddlers in strollers, as kids, playing hide and seek or tag, as adolescents, hanging out with the gang, as teenagers, sneaking off to make out, and as parents, who can bring back their kids to these places and say : this is where I used to play when I was your age.

*Nickleback : Photograph*

I don’t have a park or a playground...

I have faint memories of the houses I’ve lived in. We moved twice, once when I was very young, and then when I was older, 11 I think, when we moved to Thailand. On my first trip back to India after moving out, I went back to the city I used to live in to find my old house. The landlords (the house owner, who used to live on the first floor) and the neighbors remembered me, and it was all warm n nostalgic till I realized that now there are strangers living in my house. My hop scotch and the pencil mark on the wall showing my height, had been painted over. The kid who I’d left my bike with had outgrown it and passed it along to some other kid, who I didn’t know. Although the strangers welcomed me in and asked if I wanted to look inside my old house, I didn’t go. I never went back to that lane, that city again.

I am still drawn to the country. I miss the cousins. I miss the uncles and aunts. I miss my Grandma.

But somehow, the answer :

I am from India,

Is left hanging, with an unsure, incomplete feeling.

A sentence, truncated at a comma.