I have now lived for over three decades in these United States. That is nearly two-thirds of my life. Sixteen years ago, I became a citizen of the US, but I had started to feel like one long before that. In fact, in the nineties, returning from every trip to India, even as my plane taxied to the gate at the airport, I would feel greatly reassured that I was back home at last. This feeling, which I’m sure many other immigrants can relate to, is not at odds with the fact that I still love India, and grew inexplicably fonder of her as the years rolled on. But, home is where the heart is, as the saying goes, and much of my life’s learnings and moorings are right here. And, as yet another anniversary is being marked, I can’t but reminisce warm-heartedly over my evolution through these decades.

The unremarkable manner of my decision to study in the US surprised many because it was never an ambition of mine. Coming from a middle-class south-Indian brahmin family, it was just something one did backed by a supportive family. We were self-respecting and educated, but of limited means and opportunity, and therefore, were sure to sink into mediocrity if we stayed back in India. Or, so we thought, and why not? After all, USA was the land of opportunity for even average ones like me. If we managed to get here, we just needed some elbow grease to make it good in the US, and then some more to polish it all off to a bright sheen.

The trend was to come here on a student visa, toil hard, earn a master’s degree, perhaps even a doctorate, then line up a job, get a work visa, go home to an arranged bride, get married, return with the bride on a dependent visa, make a baby, buy a house, get the green card, climb up the career-ladder and so on. After all, this was life in paradise, lived up in creature comforts, without any of the venality our cousins endured back home to get through everyday existence. I fell into the groove of this trend like the others and went through all of these metamorphic stages. Well, most of them anyway.

Looking back at this journey, much personal transformation took place. Some changes were superfluous, while others deeply cultural. The superfluous ones were those that made me “fit in.” My English, for example. Although I was fluent in the English language prior to getting here, to fit in, I had much to unlearn and discard, and even more to absorb. I had to straighten out my Vs and Ws; leave behind the “do-the-needfuls” and the “may-I-know-your-good-names”; become gentler on my Rs and discover a new “a” sound; place emphasis on syllables differently, and mostly, learn new spellings of old words. Other changes were taking place too. There were new standards of personal hygiene – shower twice a day, dab anti-perspirant, wear an undershirt, no facial hair and those sorts of things. Then there were behavioral modifications -- like showing up to engagements on time; no jay-walking anymore; and, most of all, not following street signs was no longer an option.

In this transformation, it strikes me, the most valuable changes were the cultural ones. Some changes were deliberately implemented. For instance, my colleagues at work would frequently get annoyed at how I interrupted more and listened less in conversations. Over the years, I did learn to wait my turn to get in a word in conversations – truth be told, I still struggle at this! I also determined to lose the “no, no,” at the beginning of my sentences. I fixed my head nod, shake and roll, so my American mates would not misunderstand me when I said “yes,” or “no,” or simply agreed with them. For an exceptionally impatient guy, I also learned to stand in line at places like the DMV. Growing up in India, I did no such thing. Back then, I remember queuing up at the stop to get on a Delhi metro-bus until it arrived, but the moment it turned up, I would race to be the first one to hop on the footboard. Such is the extent of my change now, that I don’t even do a “California Roll” at a stop-sign at midnight! What’s more, I surprise myself when I occasionally stop to pick up trash while on a trail!

Even as I was getting settled in as a student, travel and vacationing became an integral part of life and an invaluable tool to learn about the country. The easy ownership of automobiles, the vast network of pristinely maintained highways, traveler-friendly road signs and conveniently located rest areas beckoned me to get around. Soon I became acquainted with and connected to the USA and its diverse landscapes settled by people that came in waves from distant lands, but had same aspirations as me.

Cultural transformation also meant learning the uniquely American way of living – coupons, credit cards for this and that, frequent flier miles, club memberships, and so on. In fact, keeping a monthly home mortgage and a car loan payment became a part of your reality. If you were the kind to learn quickly, you knew how important it is in the USA to keep a clean driving record alongside an even cleaner credit file with a good FICO score. The latter habit determined just about everything you became entitled to in your life in the US.

When you are an immigrant like me, there are other lessons as well – that you can’t live vicariously through your US-born children, and steep them in Indian tradition. Even though we did our part as driven Indian parents do – pushing our son to make the best grades, excel at music performances, academic Olympiads and out of town games – there came a time, not too long ago, when the realization hit me that our son is likely to make choices very different from ours. I’ve also now reconciled to the reality that one can only hope for some continuity to the past. And, if I don’t get it, I have to accept it.

There is much more to write on this subject, and I will get back to doing so at a later time. However, as I conclude this piece for now, I find myself a very, very different person from the one that boarded the Air India plane to get here more than three decades ago. The person I am now, is infinitely more aware and plugged into the world. I am also supremely confident that I can effect change with my choices and actions. This faith in my ability to choose and act is the greatest gift America gave me. It is the one ingredient that makes up the basis of immigrants' American dreams.

Cheers