My dad, Partha, moved to the United States in the early 1980s to study; my mom, Jhumkee, followed right after. They ended up staying for higher than a decade before uprooting the family and moving back to India when I was four. My sister and I grew up in their hometown of Pune around passports and came back every summer, enjoying, as the cliché goes, “the best of both worlds” and a fantastic level of privilege.
So when I called my parents this time around, I decided to also interview them — about their quest for the American Dream, their decision to give it all up, whether they had any regrets, and how their experience can help to understand this moment of tremendous turmoil for immigrants.
America: A land of opportunity, and ‘computers’
“If I had got the Hindustan Lever job I probably would not have come to the US,” that he said.
The company hired three of the final five candidates. He wasn’t certainly one of them. He also did not get into some of the top Indian business schools. But at one particular school interviews in 1980, he ran into an acquaintance who was simply visiting from the US and told my dad that he should consider getting into this “up and coming” field called computers.
“This friend asked: ‘Oh are you interested in hardware or software?'” my father recalled. “I had no clue what he was talking about, what hardware is and what software is, so I said ‘Both! I want to do both!’ I was that clueless.”
That’s how, in 1982, my dad entered the alphabet soup that is the US immigration system. He came to the US on an F-1 student visa, pursuing degrees at two schools that offered him educational funding, before returning to India to get married. My mom joined him in the US in 1985 on an F-2 dependent visa.
“I was very excited,” she said. “It was my first time going out of the country.”
But there were also profound moments of homesickness in those early years. “Your dad had to completely stop listening to Hindi songs, poor thing, because the minute he put them on I would start crying,” she said.
My dad finished grad school with a job being an analyst at a defense subcontractor that made aircraft engine parts. At that time, that he had one year to work in the country under the Optional Practical Training (OPT) rule.
“I knew that I had to impress them enough in that one year that they would be willing to do my H-1 process,” he said. “Back then this whole immigrant visa and all that wasn’t as big a known thing as it is now.”
A moment of uncertainty
About six months in, he gently broke the news to his employer that there is an additional process they’d have to proceed through to keep him for longer. Fortunately, the company agreed, hired an immigration lawyer, and in 6 months he had the H-1 visa, as it was called back then. By the end of 1989, he’d requested and received a green card.
In the roughly three years that my dad was going through the now common work-visa-to-green-card process, my mom had switched from the F-2 visa to her very own F-1 to do her Masters from Tufts University in Boston. She then joined tech company Pitney Bowes on her behalf OPT, but only had to wait a few months since her green card was tied to my dad’s.
“This very rocky situation that exists wasn’t there back then. There were uncertainties of the execution of the process, which is normal,” my mom said. “But [the notion] that the whole process could possibly get an trauma… that did not exist.”
The most precarious moment they faced was just before the green card arrived, when my dad’s company got acquired and planned to shut down the Connecticut plant where that he worked. Had he still been on the H-1 and lost his job, he wouldn’t have been able to apply for unemployment and would have had to leave the country.
“It was a little bit touch-and-go,” he said. “Luckily it came in time.”
Caught between two worlds
Soon after I was born, my father decided to pursue yet another part of the American dream: entrepreneurship.
He left Gartner, the tech advisory firm where he would spend most of his career, to start their own firm, providing strategic consulting to US companies and also bringing consultants over from India to work with projects at those organizations.
At that point, my father had held it’s place in the US for almost 11 years and my mom had been here for eight, having also higher level in her career as a designer. They started to have what my father referred to as “the itch.”
“At all the Indian parties that was the favorite topic of conversation: ‘Are you going to stay here or are you going to go back?'” he said.
In the early 90s, my parents witnessed several friends who went to India, spent several months there and moved back to the US because it was too difficult to readjust to life back home.
A trip back to India for my first birthday made the decision clear. “We came back here and realized what type of a life it will undoubtedly be with [our] parents aging and bringing up a kid in this culture,” my mom said.
Still, my parents continued to vacillate on the decision for a few years — during which time my sister was born.
By that time, India had liberalized its economy, opening itself up to the rest of the world. My dad sensed the opportunity and successfully pitched Gartner — by then one of the clients of his new firm — on taking its tech advisory services to India.
“I got lots of recognition and appreciation for my work … completely unrelated to who I was, where I came from,” she said. “That was a wonderful thing that I knew I wouldn’t get in India … going back was a very, very daunting process.”
But they decided that when they took the plunge, there would be no turning back. “Most of the people ended up coming back to the US, [a] sort of path of least resistance,” my father said. “We decided we’re not going to try, come hell or high water, we’ll make it work.”
How it’s impacted me
Two decades later, my parents still are now living in Pune, but my sister and I live in the US.
Whenever someone asks, “Where are you from?” we don’t have to think twice. We instinctively say, “India,” and immediately have a momentary identity crisis.
We’ve spent nearly all of our lives in India and it’s where our roots are, but being American can also be a fundamental section of our identity. I’ve never thought about giving up my US passport, but I imagine doing this would feel a bit like being locked out of half the rooms within my home.
It’s also meant lots of privilege guilt, especially growing up with friends now in the US going right through the same process my parents once did — some of whom have already gone back, other people who are planning to.
“I’m also mentally done with this whole uncertainty and insecure life where I don’t know about what’ll happen,” one of those friends told me the other day.
As so many wrestle with the decision of whether to remain in a country that now seems to be making it as difficult as you possibly can for them to do this, I asked my parents what America represents to them. Their answers, recorded separately, were strikingly similar — and strikingly different to what the country feels like for a lot of right now.
“The openness and acceptance, just merit is what gets you ahead,” my father said. “It was really about what you could achieve and what you proved you could do.”
While watching the US from afar the last few years has “diluted” that image for him significantly, “I think the underlying spirit of the country still exists.”
My mom also used the word “acceptance,” right after listing the other countries and cultures she was exposed to here — friends from Egypt, Liechtenstein, Morocco, Tunisia, all brought together by the American Dream.
“The realization that people are the same everywhere, that used to hit me very starkly every time,” she said. “It didn’t matter who you were, where you came from. What you did, your performance … that is what mattered. It represented something wonderful, and that is the America we lived in.”