Through My Children’s Eyes: Why Our Indian Homecoming Became Just a Visit
The scent hit me first – that uniquely potent blend of dust, diesel fumes, blooming raat-rani flowers, and something indefinably home. Stepping out of the Delhi airport arrivals hall after over 16 years abroad, the wave of nostalgia was visceral. I was back. This time, clutching the hands of my two wide-eyed children, ages 7 and 5, born and raised oceans away. This wasn’t just a holiday; it was a pilgrimage, a test. Could we move back? Could this be home again? By the trip’s end, gazing at India through their eyes, the answer settled heavily, surprisingly: No, we couldn’t.
The Dream vs. The Immediate Reality
I carried with me the India of my youth – bustling markets filled with familiar shouts, the comforting rhythm of extended family gatherings, the deep-rooted sense of belonging that comes from soil soaked in generations of history. I envisioned my children running through the same fields I did, learning Hindi organically, absorbing our culture not as a subject, but as the air they breathed. I pictured grandparents nearby, cousins becoming best friends, the rich tapestry of festivals celebrated with the authenticity only being there provides.
The first few days were pure sensory overload for the kids. The sheer volume of life – the constant honking, the vibrant colours of saris against dusty streets, the press of crowds – was exhilarating for me but overwhelming for them. Their initial wonder quickly mingled with fatigue and confusion. Crossing a street became an Olympic event requiring intense focus and a firm grip. The structured parks and predictable routines of their Western upbringing felt galaxies away.
Seeing Through Their Lens
It was during a visit to a local children’s park – a place I remembered fondly – that the first real pang of dissonance hit. Where I saw joyful chaos, they saw a lack of familiar, safe play structures and rules. Where I heard the lively chatter of other kids as welcoming, they felt shy, unable to easily join games where the cultural codes and language nuances felt foreign. Their hesitant attempts at Hindi, met with rapid-fire responses they couldn’t grasp, led to frustrated whispers of “Mama, what did they say?”
Visits to relatives, while warm and filled with delicious food and affectionate pinches, were also endurance tests. Hours of sitting politely while conversations swirled around them in a language they understood only fragments of was exhausting. They craved downtime, quiet spaces that weren’t readily available in the constant flow of hospitality. The cherished concept of ‘Indian time’ – the relaxed approach to schedules – clashed fundamentally with their internalized routines. Bedtimes dissolved, meal patterns shifted, leaving them disoriented and irritable.
School was another profound eye-opener. Observing classrooms where rote learning often trumped open questioning, where conformity was valued highly, and the sheer size of classes was staggering, I suddenly saw the educational system my children thrived in with new clarity. The emphasis on critical thinking, individual exploration, and smaller group interactions in their current school wasn’t just different; it was foundational to their learning identities. Could they adapt? Perhaps. Would it be an easy, or even beneficial, transition? Unlikely.
The Crumbling Pillars of the ‘Return Home’ Dream
As the weeks passed, the pillars supporting my dream of moving back began to visibly crack:
1. The Child’s World vs. The Adult’s Nostalgia: My nostalgia was powerful, but it was my memory, not theirs. Their reality was built on different foundations – safety norms, personal space expectations, educational approaches. My rose-tinted glasses couldn’t shield them from the jarring contrasts they experienced daily.
2. Systemic Friction: The practicalities loomed large. Navigating healthcare systems, understanding new bureaucratic processes, managing daily logistics like commuting or finding specific resources felt daunting even to me, let alone integrating children into it. The sheer effort required for basic functioning compared to our established life abroad was immense.
3. The Outsider Within: I realized a profound truth: my children are cultural hybrids. They carry India in their blood, their features, perhaps their love for certain foods, but their primary cultural identity is shaped elsewhere. Trying to force them into the mold of the India I knew at their age felt increasingly unfair. They weren’t just visiting a country; they were visiting a concept of home that wasn’t organically theirs. They were neither fully ‘here’ nor fully ‘there’ in India, experiencing a subtle but persistent sense of being outsiders.
4. The Sacrifice of Stability: Uprooting them meant sacrificing the stability, the educational consistency, the social networks they had built. Was the cultural immersion worth that cost? Seeing their relief when discussing returning to their friends, their school, their familiar room, the answer became clear.
Finding a Different Kind of Connection
Leaving India this time wasn’t filled with the same bittersweet ache of my previous departures. Instead, it carried a quiet sadness mixed with resignation and a new kind of clarity. The dream of “moving back” had dissolved, replaced by a more realistic understanding.
But this wasn’t an ending; it was a recalibration. I hadn’t lost India. I gained a profound insight: our connection to heritage doesn’t have to mean physical relocation. It can be nurtured differently, perhaps more intentionally.
Our commitment now is to build bridges, not relocate the entire family across them. It means:
Prioritizing Visits: Making trips to India more frequent, but framed as enriching cultural adventures, not tests for permanent residency. Shorter, focused trips might be more manageable.
Deepening Cultural Roots at Home: Doubling down on Hindi lessons, celebrating festivals authentically within our community, cooking traditional meals together regularly, sharing stories and family history.
Embracing the Hybrid Identity: Acknowledging and celebrating that my children belong to both worlds. Their unique perspective is a strength, not a lack.
Leveraging Technology: Using video calls to maintain close bonds with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, making those relationships tangible and consistent.
Standing in my kitchen abroad, months later, the scent of tadka for dal fills the air. My daughter practices Hindi vocabulary flashcards. My son asks about Diwali plans. The pang of “not moving back” still surfaces sometimes, a bittersweet echo. But looking at them, comfortable, thriving, connected to their heritage in their own evolving way, I know the decision, born from seeing India through their overwhelmed, curious, and ultimately honest eyes, was the right one. Home isn’t always the geography of our past; sometimes, it’s the ecosystem we build for our children’s future, wherever in the world that may be. Our India is now a vibrant thread woven into the fabric of our lives abroad, cherished, visited, and loved deeply – just not as our permanent address.
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