Memories of an Immigrant

When you are an immigrant, people often ask you if you miss your home country. Without giving it much thought, I would often say that I didn’t miss it because now this is my new home, and I have so much to explore here in this new place. It was just a change in geography, and although I agree that I spent a significant amount of my life in my home country, I now look forward to the rest of the time I have left in this new country that I choose to live in. While answering the above question, I did not realise that though I don’t feel like I miss my home country, I am reminded of it every other day in the small changes and experiences that occur.

Some days, I am quietly sitting by the glass windows in my apartment, staring out into the garden when it starts raining, and I am reminded of the monsoon season in my home country. It was my favourite season while growing up. I felt a calm atmosphere when it started raining, and the force of nature took charge. The first showers were so exciting; my friends and I would gather in the courtyard of our apartment and dance in the rain with joy. We would try to fight the force of the wind and pose as though we were sailing on the Titanic ship like Jack and Rose. This season would also advent a whole new cuisine, which, to be honest, was very basic but would taste finger-licking good because of the rain in the background. It was almost customary to have hot Pakodas (an Indian deep-fried snack typically made with a filling of vegetables) and Cutting Chai (a half-cup tea native to the region of Mumbai) or hot Maagi (a brand of instant noodles) during this season. As the earth would cool down during this season, I used to feel a sense of calm like the one I feel when it rains here in the country, I now reside.

Then there are days during the summer when I am reminded of all the childhood summer holidays I spent with my grandparents in our ancestral home. My brother and I would visit them every summer and spend the holidays playing with their dogs. This home had a mango tree, a jackfruit tree, and many other coconut trees. As youngsters in the house, our grandpa would pamper us with fresh fruits from these trees every evening. My brother and I would while away our time watching television, playing games, or teaching new tricks to our dogs during the day. Then, at night, our grandma would narrate frightening and magnificent tales of mystery to make us fall asleep faster. It was a time of freedom for us; when we weren’t answerable to anyone, for the fun, we would have all day long.

Now, when it is the winter season here, and I am covered with multiple layers of clothes, I am reminiscent of the winter season in my home country. Every winter, my family and I would take a trip to a colder region of our country to enjoy a bit of the cold weather. Since the city we resided in barely had any winter, we would plan a trip to the northern part of the country. It was only during this period that we would remove our winter clothes from the storage, dust them off, and get them cleaned for the holidays. And, as soon as we returned from our holidays, these winter jackets would go back into storage and remain there until the following winter. It’s ironic how I used to experience one week of cold weather in my home country as a child as opposed to having that experience almost throughout the year here in the country I now reside.

So now, when people ask me if I miss my home country, I have the same reply for them, that I don’t miss it. But all the memories that I have had in my home country live within me, and I am reminded of it every other day in the small changes and experiences that occur.