Before I start to write any personal article, I google to find some references or read through similar thoughts. It is always surprising for me to realize how many people have gone through similar experiences and emotions as I have. For a while, you stop to wonder if your own experiences are even worth writing and adding to the huge repository of the Web. But then again, if YOU don’t tell your story, who will?
I came to the USA roughly 2 and a half years ago. Cocooned in university life, it was easier to see myself as an international student than an immigrant. Over time though, I realized that the struggles I faced are probably not that much different. When you spend 22 years of your life in one place, the wirings in your brain become deeply embedded and re-learning takes way more effort. A new country brings with it new culture, new language, new people, mannerisms, food and so on. It’s easy to pick up on these things while your brain is still in its formative stages, but the neural plasticity decreases significantly as you grow older. Research shows that it takes one full generation to completely assimilate into a culture.
And here I was – a zeroth generation immigrant, all by myself in a country on the other side of the globe. In a heterogenous culture like USA with a large number of immigrants from India, it is not too difficult to find your own “community” even in the oddest cities, or in my case, universities. But sharing the same country of birth serves only as the ice-breaker for forging friendship. The rest of the path depends a lot on individual personalities. Unfortunately for a social introvert like me, I don’t bond well with most people. So while many of my batchmates (seemingly) settled down comfortably into their new environment, I struggled to not get higher doses of Fluoxetine. My English-medium education and binging on American TV shows only helped me to get fluent in English and be vaguely aware of what I was putting myself into – it however provided me no notion of the cultural dilemma I was going to be confronted with.
They say there are five stages of culture shock. Although initially I considered myself too “modern” to encounter such problems, slowly but surely, I too started experiencing them. Apart from the capitalist society trying to pass off as socialists and general dislike for immigrants, my country of origin and my country of residence share only a few things in common society-wise. I had grown up in a community-centred system, so I wasn’t quite prepared to be suddenly dropped into an individualistic society. While I was looking forward to my graduate program, I also felt deeply unsettled about leaving my family, friends, and comfort zone behind. The Honeymoon Stage didn’t last long before the Irritability and Hostility set in. Now I have never been a person too attached to or boastful of my culture. Traveling around the country had taught me to appreciate different cultures and even blend into different ones easily. But it’s way easier to do that if you’re surrounded by a sense of familiarity and there’s a root you can go back to. When you’re uprooted from that community, what you’re left with is an identity crisis. As independent as I felt, I could not help but yearn for affection and warmth- the kind that you receive only from your own people. The country, as giving as it was in career opportunities, was still cold to this outsider.
In psychological terms, acculturation is an additive process for the brain, occurring when new connections from a new culture are being acquired. The opposite action is subtractive as the connections not culturally relevant anymore are removed. This Gradual Adjustment process is a brutal workout for the adult brain. My English accent had changed to suit foreigners, but I couldn’t wait to communicate with someone else in Bengali. I had learnt to appreciate the cleaner air with no noise pollution, but I missed seeing small stores lined up on the side of the streets and a constant presence of people. I could now taste world cuisine at the click of the phone, but nothing would give me more satisfaction than dal-bhaat-alusheddo (rice, lentils and mashed potatoes). India is a big country and Bengalis are only a small subset of it. People even in the rest of the country know very little about our history, our culture, our food beyond a handful of things. So how do I even expect a country that is a melting pot of all cultures to make me feel at home? It was on me to redefine the concept of a home.
And that’s how I moved to Adaptation. For the longest time, I was afraid to let go in order to adapt – adaptation to me was associated with loss. The rebel in me refused to acknowledge my “western” way of life and held onto the Bengali more than I had in Bengal itself! What I was naive enough to not realize is that culture isn’t just formed of religious beliefs or way of life – it is an integral part of your personality. A mere change of location couldn’t take away my love for literature and art, my opinionated self or even the way I had learnt to perceive religious festivities beyond religion. Similarly, I wouldn’t trade my freedom, my independent lifestyle for the sake of nostalgia. My internal conflicts were meaningless – love it or not, I no longer had a single identity. In Hindi, there is a saying – “Na ghar ka, na ghaat ka”. It couldn’t hold truer for people like us – no matter how much you try, you have to settle for a middle ground. That realization hit me hardest when I went back to India after a year and experienced the Re-entry shock. I didn’t feel ‘at home’ in the place I had so longingly wanted to come back to. My homecoming didn’t feel like a reunion, it was more of a short visit. Before long, I was pining to get back to my routined life, my life of solitude. Where did I even belong then?
Maybe I didn’t belong anywhere anymore, and that liberated me to be everywhere (that my Indian passport allows me to go to). Three years ago, if you had asked me what home meant to me, I would have philosophically (and partially truthfully) answered that home isn’t a place, it’s the people. For the first time in my life, I realized the true essence of those words. Home isn’t your place of birth, or the house you grew up in. It isn’t even limited to your family and friends. Home is more like that cup of hot chocolate on a snowy day – one that fills you up with warm, cozy vibes and soothes your soul. How else could I have a found a home in a remote village in Meghalaya, in the monsoon-drenched Goa or even in the numbingly cold Zanskar Valley? Home is also the memories I carry inside me and visit every so often. Home isn’t fixed, home keeps on changing as you transition through the phases in life. And the same holds true for my identity. I was afraid I was losing it, but in reality, I was merely reshaping it. And knowing the difference made all the difference.
Thanks to Soumik Ghosh for the proof-reading!
Really beautifully written 🙂
Thanks, Athif!
Excellent, dear Mom! Keep on writing! I see an alternative career for you! With warm regards, RC
That’s a bit of a far-stretch 😛
Amazingly well written. Packs so many insights in every paragraph. It’s bursting with flavors.
Thank you so much! 🙂
Extremely well scripted Shreya…..
your experience and culture shock realities were so poignantly put forth…. very nice and relatable to all expats first generation……
At least you people get access to get connected to the family members
That is true! We certainly have it easier on many levels but some basic emotions still stay the same.
Lovely write up Shreya👏
Thoroughly enjoyed reading your musings and can identify with your pangs of homesickness and cultural clash, been there 27 years ago, still trying to figure out on my end.
Keep up the good work!
I am sure you’ve had it much rougher. After my experience, I have a newfound respect for immigrants. And thank you!
Hi Shreya,
I just went through this beautifully written blog of yours. I am your, well you can call me Kaustav Uncle. I met your mother and had a lovely “Adda” and she recommended that I read this blog.
Well we have both something in Common, “SPHS”. 1988 batch. Well the other thing is the Bohemian Nature. The only difference is in The Army they will make sure you fit in irrespective of Cast Creed Religion or Race.
But I did understand your predicament as when I visited USA between 1998 -2001 I found the India Diaspora very PHONEY. Neither they belong there nor they belong to India anymore. You rightly summarised with the Hindi saying.
The only thing you must do is Find yourself. Travel as much as possible, see sights and most importantly read about the places you visit. This will give you a better idea and better preparedness. Know this, that America is a land of Immigrants and some of them are still trying to find their place.
I don’t agree with your concept of home though. It is the “ROOT” that matters to me most. It is said, “Home is where the Heart is.” So find the right chord to your heart and you will find home.
I was very excited to hear about your stay in Meghalaya. Kudos to you. For being so daring.
God Bless you and you keep writing and sharing more of your experiences. You are a Prolific writer and should continue this as and when Possible.
Stay safe.
Jai Hind.
Capt. Kaustav Nath
Thank you Capt! I will surely share more about my stays in different parts of the country. Travel truly changes you and widens your perspective than any lesson ever can.
Too true about the power of sharing your own take on a common struggle, especially one as complex as living in a new culture/country. I find it interesting to read about people’s experiences moving to my native country – so often the media portrays the opposite, or people feel pressured to make it sound better than it is (for their pride or to avoid offending me). Your honesty is appreciated! I hope you find a sense of home you’re happy with somewhere or another.
I think a lot of people come for “The American Dream” and that’s how the media promotes it. It’s also true that a lot of people find their own communities in the country and stick to those primarily, restricting themselves or coping(?) that way. So people can have different experiences, depending on their personalities.
I hope as I see more of the world, I will understand better what home truly means to me.