NRI's dilemma resolved

Every NRI asks - is he an Indian living abroad or a foreigner from India, writes Sunil Lala.

As I sit here in an Italian restaurant on fashionable Newbury Street, watching Bostonians go about their daily business, I get into a thoughtful mood.

Perhaps it's the wine, perhaps it's the sun. In any case, the big question haunts me. Who am I really?

No, this is not that age old, midlife crisis driven, "Who am I and why am I here" question. This is more an immigrant's variation, if you will. It is a question that most NRIs ask themselves at one point or another. Am I an Indian living in Boston, or am I a Bostonian who is originally from India?

And more importantly, as NRIs, what defines our Indian identity?

We all left India in search of whatever it is that we were searching for – more opportunities, a better career, the ability to travel around the world. A lot of us have achieved those objectives to a great extent. And yet, that elusive search for identity continues.

The India that we know as it was back then, and that we so irrationally cling to, exists no more. And the India that we read about and visit occasionally, seems to be desperately trying to mimic our adopted country.

Being an Indian seems to mean completely different things to us NRIs and to resident Indians. And therein lies our dilemna.

I think about the many contradictions we face, and I am often baffled by our own hypocrisy. We expect our American born kids to be fluent in Hindi or Bangla or Tamil, while we ourselves try to fake American pronunciations of words likebathroom and craft.

We fail miserably at both, of course. Our kids, sooner or later, forget the language of their parents, and probably snicker behind our backs at our pathetic attempts at sounding American.

Then we hear Leno make fun of how folks in India are changing their names to John and Kathy, and are answering support calls in phony American accents, and we don't know whether to feel proud of India's IT accomplishments, or hang our heads in shame at this egregious insult to our national pride.

On our trips to India, we love to complain loudly about the traffic, the pollution, the water quality and electricity shortage. And yet, we thoroughly enjoy the company of lifelong friends and the taste of authentic Indian food.

We miss the privacy that we take for granted in America, yet we adore the genuine warmth behind Indian intrusiveness. We are frustrated by the still existing inefficiencies and corruption in the Indian socio-political system, and yet, we instinctively understand them and relate to them.

Here in the US, we have adapted quite well, and are comfortable with most things American. We ski, we mow our lawns, we barbeque and we bake and stuff a turkey on Thanksgiving. And yet, there is that occasional joke by a stand up comic, that occasional reference to anold TV show or movie that we can't quite relate to.

We can recall from memory all our favorite restaurants and the best desserts they serve. Yet, when the waitress tells us about the day's special, we do not really grasp the names of all the strange sounding ingredients.