Reflecting on her journey from a young resident alien to an American citizen, the author shares her experiences and gratitude on the 250th anniversary of the United States.
On the 250th birthday of the country I now call home, I feel a profound sense of gratitude for the life I have built here. I arrived in the United States on January 14, 1985, at the age of 23, stepping off a trans-Pacific flight into a new world. I still vividly recall the outfit I wore—a skirt and blouse suitable for a South Indian summer—when I landed at San Francisco International Airport on a chilly winter morning. The skies over the Bay Area were deceptively bright blue, but the temperature hovered around 55°F, with drizzle and patchy fog marking my arrival.
The drive from the airport to our modest apartment on Tradewinds Drive in San Jose was marked by an eerie silence. I had been transported from the vibrant chaos of my home country to a place that felt almost clinical in its quietude. The sensory overload of India—filled with the scents of rancid coconut, burning incense, sandalwood, and fresh lime—was replaced by the antiseptic air of what I would come to know as ‘Purell Nation.’ Here, even the noise and smells seemed dictated by law and order.
As I settled into my new life, I grappled with the feeling of being an outsider. I had arrived in America as a “Resident Alien,” and it often felt as though I had landed on another planet. For many Indians who made the journey to America, this experience served as a wake-up call, forcing us to confront what it truly meant to be alive in a world so different from our own. I had come here as a young woman married to a man I barely knew, having exchanged letters for a year before tying the knot. Did I truly understand who he was? And would this new country support me through both my triumphs and failures?
At that time, I was too young to ponder the deeper questions of life. What makes a life worth living? Why do we feel compelled to cross oceans? I left behind the warmth and security of my family for a land where nothing was guaranteed, especially my sense of identity. Little did I know that my journey would eventually lead me to become a part of the rich tapestry of immigrant history in the United States, particularly in Silicon Valley, as it transformed from apricot orchards to a hub of innovation and wealth.
As the years passed, my husband and I watched our children grow, celebrating milestones from kindergarten to college. In the span of 25 years, we navigated the challenges of parenthood, from emergency room visits for various mishaps to late-night waits for our children to return home safely. We experienced the joys and trials of family life, often leaning on each other for support during difficult times.
Regular trips to India were a priority for us, ensuring that our children remained connected to their roots and heritage. We believed it was essential for them to understand their culture and language. However, we often took for granted the beauty of the American landscape, thinking we could always explore it later. Looking back, I wish we had taken more family road trips across the country.
In recent years, my husband and I have made a concerted effort to explore our adoptive nation more thoroughly. We embarked on several memorable road trips, including a journey to New Hampshire and Maine with a local friend, and a visit to Yellowstone with Canadian friends, where we traversed multiple states and national parks. One of our most enriching experiences was an impromptu trip from Florida to New York, which allowed us to discover historic sites that shaped the social, literary, and political fabric of the United States. We visited places like Washington, D.C., Fredericksburg, Charlottesville, Charleston, Savannah, Fort Sumter, Montgomery, and Selma.
Our visit to Monticello was particularly eye-opening, as it challenged my perceptions of Thomas Jefferson. I admired his brilliance as an engineer and architect, yet I was confronted with the contradictions of his life as a slave owner. Walking through the slave quarters and plantation grounds, I gained a deeper understanding of the complexities of American history.
Each journey across America has revealed how much I still have to learn about the country I now call home. My husband and I strive to explore new regions of both our native and adoptive countries each year. While we are unsure how long we can maintain this pace, the more we see, the more we realize how much there is still to discover.
As I approach Medicare eligibility and my husband enters his eighth decade, I am increasingly aware of the physical changes that come with age. We are committed to remaining healthy enough to care for my husband’s parents in India and to keep up with our one-year-old grandson when he visits.
On this momentous occasion of the country’s 250th birthday, I reflect on the immense gratitude I feel for the opportunities I have received in America. The nation’s appreciation for its own history has deepened my understanding of my Indian heritage and the importance of preserving it. The ongoing debates about freedom of expression, decency, and justice have profoundly influenced my approach to writing. As I contemplate the future, I am humbled by the thought that I may not be alive to witness the tricentennial celebration in 2076.
My journey from a resident alien to an American citizen has been filled with challenges and triumphs, and I am thankful for every moment that has shaped my identity in this diverse and dynamic country.
According to India Currents.
