Life
Ghar Waapsi
Those feeling the tug hardest feed on a heavy dose of Bollywood’s make-believe happy homecoming films, where towards the climax, the eternal clarion call echoes yet again, forcing the hero to choose between watan ki mitti over pardes kaa moolah (soil of his motherland over money in a foreign land).
The protagonist (on celluloid) bids adieu to the decadent western capitalistic world, abandoning his ABCD (American Born Confused Desi) status. In the process, he protects his kids from growing up in an immoral society, collapsing under the weight of pre-marital sex, post-marriage divorce and same sex live-ins, and heads for the land of the pure. The NRI green card holder chucks it all in one go and lands smack in the center of one of India’s many world-class international airports.
They have missed the cues the celluloid visuals failed to scream out.
Clue 1, the wife in tow is almost never happy to return to India, where besides other irritants, topmost will be her in-laws. Did you really think the heroine’s smile wasn’t faked? Which woman looks forward to reuniting with the in-laws, really?
Clue 2, the shots of those hyper excited relatives. Their happiness is real, but prompted not by what you might discover on Google.
Concealed behind those ear-to-ear smiles, are LOL (laugh out loud) and ROFL (rolling on the floor laughing) images, oozing out of every pore payback time Mr NRI, welcome home.
Now you are one of us! Yes, you shouldn’t have laughed at the power shortages, pot-holed roads, our potbellies, bad hygiene ….
Clue 3, the film almost invariably ends when the happy family lands at the airport, embraced and welcomed by the extended family and the over-extended friends circle.
In truth, this is when ghar waapsi really begins.
Take Ritesh Kochar*, a technology professional, who left for London in 2001.
The world’s financial capital gave him a steady income and soon India gifted him a willing wife; kids followed as did a small house in the city and eventually in 2015, a British passport. But Ritesh began experiencing the side-effects of a mid-life crisis, the English lifestyle and his new citizenship. Depression, loneliness and a sense of ennui caught up with him.
Disregarding his friends’ suggestions that he come home for a short trip, unwind, recharge and return to his British life, he shut shop in London and headed back to India, lock, stock and barrel. He had seen enough Bollywood films to know that India is where people really live, socialize, eat and pray. Family, friends and relatives were a given, as much as an uninterrupted supply of sunshine, which was in dismally short supply in London.
Kochar’s London ordeal revolved around a xerox like existence and a complete absence of social bonding. Even old Indian friends were much too busy to light up those gloomy London evenings with laughter, spouse-bitching and reminiscing over the good old days back in Mother India. Then there was the ever escalating costs of living in London. Considering the exchange rate for the pound and the potential to buy a far more upscale property in India, British life seemed decidedly dispiriting.
For Kochar, the pill for all his ills was the eternally sastaa tikaau (cheap and sturdy) India.
He returned to India jubilant and overjoyed at the prospect of finally reconnecting with old friends; booze and laughter would flow every weekend. Going by his Facebook chats, his friends were as eager to see him as he was. On the professional front, Kochar came to India secure with a job in the country’s sagging IT industry.
The salary may not have been in pound sterling, but it was generous enough to indulge at the local malls in NOIDA and allow for excursions to Goa and Kerala.
Within five months, ghar waapsi had transformed into a nightmare, however. Kochar was on the verge of divorce and detested by his own kids, who moved to their mother’s house in North Delhi. A month into his return, his children had developed a breathing disorder, which he attributed to the pollution. His wife’s chronic back pain, which London had subdued, was back, thanks to the bumpy roads. Since he chose to live close to his office, nearly 24 miles away from his old home, his friends were available only on WhatsApp, unless Kochar offered to come down to South Delhi and buy them booze.
Unlike London’s office culture, where the check-in and check-out time were well defined, Corporate India was strict only about check-in. Weekends meant jostling in traffic and running into a sea of faces almost everywhere, not to mention the smartphone, which tied him perennially to work.
Road to Heaven
Dinesh Murthy*, 30, who worked in the information technology sector in Hyderabad, got his dream job in New Jersey, followed by marriage to Sudha. Ten years later, both returned to India, for good. Materialism and greed may have been bad words, but in the land of opportunity the Murthys toiled ceaselessly, until the day they figured that the way to live life rather than witness it as spectator was possible only in the motherland. India, they assumed, had come a long way during the last decade and wasn’t an economic powerhouse for nothing.
The hoopla over E-commerce and dreams of owning a condominium in Gurgaon (now Gurugram) was decidedly better than a small apartment in New Jersey. The Murthys also could not foresee their 5-year-old daughter growing up in the USA.
Their idea of ghar waapsi was to allow Sudha to spend time with the child at home and pursue her passion for classical dance, followed eventually by a second child. Time or free time should have been plentiful.
It took the Murthys exactly three months to gauge the full extent of their folly. The condominium was awesome and worth every penny (including the extra they spent for tanker-water and generator powered electricity), but the road to their heaven was paved through hell. Pot-holed roads that one day almost disappeared after three hours of off-season rains and lawless roads, devoid of street lamps, often confined them to their home, except when they could pull together enough friends to venture out in small groups.
On the financial front, his daughter’s education cost him far more than the free public education in the USA, counting the “donation fees” and home tuition charges. He also traded one ABCD status for another — Aayaa (nanny), Baai (maid), Chowkidaar (guard) and Driver.
Petrol cost almost twice as much as in the United States. His wife Sudha had to abandon her housewife ambitions and get to work so that they could maintain their lifestyles. They also couldn’t quite adjust to the peculiar obsession of friends and strangers cuddling their “Amrikan” daughter.
The Nautch Girls
Neha Singh*, 22, and Raavi Panchal*, 24, were professional dancers in Queens, New York, having studied and lived there for more than 12 years. Eventually returning to India after running into visa problems, they struggled to secure rental accommodation. Many landlords were dubious of the “nautch girls,” disdainful especially of their dressing habits. They ultimately found a flat in South Delhi with a single, middle-aged man and a flourishing social life.
They still reminisce about New York, but life has smiled upon them. They have both found love, although not to NRIs, and are counting the days to family bliss.
Circa 2016, the other NRI birds have again flown their nests. Kochar took up a low paying contract job in Glasgow late last year, happy to be back in the UK. His wife traded the divorce papers for British Airways tickets and she and the kids joined him here in April. Dinesh and Sudha Murthy are back in Connecticut, USA, both pursuing part-time teaching jobs. Their daughter, presently under the watchful eyes of Sudha’s mother in Hyderabad, will join them in April 2017 after finishing her school term.
*Name has been altered to protect privacy.