I live in two worlds, I dream in two worlds, I exist in two realms that are parallel to each other but are starkly different all the same. Yes, I am still in limbo, living between San Francisco and Mumbai. The last few days have been a downer for me, as the memories of San Francisco have been magnetizing and mesmerizing. I still find it hard to believe that I have left 10 years of living in the US and am now trying to settle down in India. I really exist in two worlds, because while I am living and functioning in Mumbai, my memories keep drifting to my previous life in San Francisco.
I don’t know how to explain it to someone who has not gone through this experience – of transitioning from one continent to another, of adjusting to a completely different culture, of exposing yourself and your vulnerabilities to a different kind of people, and of having to leave behind the luxuries and memories of a very comfortable and secure life. It was certainly a choice we made, although we are still not sure that it was the right one. But, nothing is for sure in life; nothing is guaranteed. There is a certain level of trust and surrender that I need to have in order to make it through each day. It’s funny though, a lot of my friends and family, both in the USA and in India, are convinced that my husband and I will be back in San Francisco before you could even say “chimichanga” (it’s a deep-fried burrito that is popular in Southwestern US cuisine. We used to love having Mexican food in San Francisco). I laugh every time they remark about our eventual return, and I know that it will not happen. We are making a life here – building a private practice (for me), renovating our home, developing a social and professional network, and letting our own personal roots sink into the soil of Mother India. I honestly do not foresee another move in the future, at least not for a very long time. But, nothing is for sure in life; nothing is guaranteed.
It’s so surreal this move, as if I were always in a dream, constantly in a haze of the past and the present. Sometimes I am lost, especially when I sit in a public bus or train, drifting through the streets and crowds that go on and on. This is a tiring process and a process I am assuming that one has to go through, whether they like it or not. It’s so hard to describe this feeling to anyone because it is so personal. 8 months later, it still does not feel like I belong here, like this is home. And I am hopeful, quite hopeful, that with the re-creation of our apartment, and the opening of our 19 boxes that have been shipped from the USA in September (and have not been touched at all), I may be able to make peace with my new life, my new beginning.