Most of us know the familiar tale that we came out of Africa, but do we really understand what this means? This means that all of our so-called differences are superficial, and we are more alike than not. I recently watched the above National Geographic show on The Human Family Tree, and was amused to see it was based in my diverse neighborhood of New York: Astoria. I moved here after spending nearly five years in India, where my husband is from. The show traces the common ancestry of those participating in the genetic experiment, and explains the different migration patterns of groups as they left Africa.

Throughout my own life journey I have had plenty of migrations and have spent lots of time exploring questions of culture and belonging. I am constantly struck by the irony that despite being surrounded by crowds, it’s very easy to drown in a sense of separation. Without knowing many people in a new place, I have searched for a community in which I can belong.

On the surface, we are all unique. Yet rather than cherish our individuality, we constantly strive to fit in to our perception of what is socially desirable. We need the validation of others. Rarely do we relish our innate qualities.

Dig a little deeper though, and there is not too much that distinguishes us from each other. From the cellular or genetic level, to the more metaphysical level of thoughts and emotions, we are all humans.

Why is this so hard to see sometimes?

I also wrote a guest post on this blog called Lesson 127: We are All Connected (But Who am I?).

In pure immigrant fashion, last weekend we moved from one sub-let apartment in Astoria, New York, to another, bigger one via pushcart. The big dent in the plan was Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene, who had yet to rear her not-so-ugly head and the preparations were on in full force throughout the paranoid city. By Friday afternoon, I was enjoying the calm before the storm by ignoring all the news, but suddenly it all hit me and I panicked.

We were moving to only a block away from the “C” evacuation zone–should we spend the night in our old apartment, just a block away? Should we rush and try to transfer all our stuff on Friday night, before everything shut down the next day? I started throwing things in the suitcase and running around like crazy. Why was my husband not sensing the urgency and continuing to work? After a quarrel, I only made a couple trips before collapsing in exhaustion. But after eating dinner, we finished most of the packing and waited for Saturday, and Irene, to show her face.

I awoke at 5:30am in a state of emergency, the only way out of which was to get busy. We had to get everything done before it started raining, which could happen at any minute as far as I was concerned. The weather reports said it would rain “by late morning.”  By 7am we had brought the first of many cartloads to our new place and inherited a new cart so that our efficiency could be doubled. We finished around 11am and it was only just starting to drizzle; we were at the uber-crowded supermarket at 1ish when it started to pour, but then it stopped soon after. So we just began waiting, too fatigued to do much else. We watched a movie and enjoyed ourselves.

We noticed some loose windows by the time the winds picked up on Saturday night. Unfortunately, we also had an active leak in the bathroom, which was un-Irene related and which we had known about previously. By Wednesday, the crack finally became a hole. Fortunately on that day, we had a friend from Jaipur visiting and spent most of the day sight-seeing with him!

We have been cleaning more than we ever have in our lives, and just when it feels never-ending I begin to notice how much we’ve done. It’s rewarding to see the results of our labor, and to create a new home together. But it has also brought up some issues from our past in Jaipur.

I’m not exactly sure why I’m more tolerant of the difficulties we’re facing here, and why things bothered me more there. We also had some leaks there which really got under my skin. Maybe I’m more mature, and I’ve learned that problems exist everywhere; maybe I’m just more willing to be here than I was there.  Either way, I constantly feel like I’m at a crossroads–shedding the past and hurtling towards a mysterious, miraculous future.

I really wish I had more before and after photos, but in the heat of the moment I couldn’t capture much. I guess I had more on my mind at the time!

I got excited when we broke into working groups and discussion turned to creating a portal to provide more information to immigrants and governments. Sri Lanka has an interesting example of this in their e-Foreign employment program. And there’s also a Facebook page for the Information and Communication Technology Agency of Sri Lanka (ICTA). Awesome!

It was nice being with such an international crowd and I learned a lot about South Asian immigration. Being an immigrant myself and struggling plenty of times with visas, I found the topics relevant. (I did finally just get my PIO card recently…)

I’ll share some of the info I learned but I’m hoping the participants will discuss more in the comments below.

• The Indian diaspora is estimated at 25 million people
• Approximately the same number of Sri Lankan men and women migrate. (Strangely enough, I heard the word ‘manpower’ a lot.) Their prime destination in Europe  is Cyprus. Sri Lanka has 92% literacy, the highest in South Asia.
• In Bangladesh, remittances total $10 billion, 10% of GDP. It’s no wonder that they plan to establish a market research unit to understand where the labor opportunities are abroad.

Since last summer was particularly rough–we lived in our bedroom and hardly ventured out–we’re taking lots of precautions. As you can see below, we celebrated Sunday’s holiday by getting blacked out. This room is usually our office, but since it’s on the Western side it takes a beating from the afternoon sun. So we said “Goodbye Mr. Sun,” by shutting him out and shifting our desk into the living room. (Please note that the bright spot is not actually direct sunlight!)

Despite feeling fit and well, the heat can totally drain me of brain- and will-power. It also tends to make me go a bit mad, but not like the dogs & Englishmen who go out in the noon day sun. That means I basically hibernate!

Do you live someplace cold? I’d love to hear from you in the comments below…

At least I can enjoy this song from the cool comfort indoors:

[youtube MIDOEsQL7lA]

This post is dedicated in gratitude to all of the wonderful women in my life. I feel so lucky to have known so many strong, intelligent, talented and truly beautiful women. Happy women’s day to you all!

I know it’s not Mother’s Day, but I feel the urge to thank my mom who sent me the info on the above film. She has an insatiable thirst for knowledge and I must owe my own to her…

Thanks to my grandmothers, whose hard work and dedication to family were remarkable.  They both went to law school well before it was a common thing for women to do.

Sometimes the contrast between women’s roles and lives in India and the US seems so stark, but then when I really think about it they both pretty much boil down to the same thing: well-being for the family and community. It’s just that in the US, we’ve gotten accustomed to the luxury of being able to think about ourselves, our desires and our independence.

But wherever we are, being a woman is a complicated affair. And being able to go through it gracefully with head held high, and make a contribution to people’s lives, is a commendable deed.

As I see my relatives and peers becoming mothers, I can’t help but wonder at the tremendous amount of patience and courage they have. What a gift they are giving of themselves.

Being a woman is the opposite of delicate; it demands fierceness and fortitude. A steadfast commitment to compassion. Just like the Devi, Linga Bhairavi…

After struggling with Vodafone India to activate international roaming, I leave for San Francisco tomorrow sans their crappy service and despite their promises that someone will come to my home.

I’m thrilled to have the chance to attend the TechSoup Global Contributor’s Summit as an organizer of Netsquared Jaipur. Some more info from their invitation:

Please find Beth Kanter’s interesting assessment of these two networks here: http://www.bethkanter.org/tsg-net2/

We believe strongly that with all the power of social media to connect us virtually, the ‘right’ face-to-face convenings become rare and valued social currency, enabling and engendering unique conversations and connections:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/allen-gunn/netsquared-2009-making-th_b_211600.html

Will be sure to provide updates from the other side!

I can say with more confidence that I am celebrating my two year anniversary of attending the Inner Engineering program and being initiated into Shambhavi Maha Mudra, which has catapulted me on yet another journey–this time a never-ending inner one, facilitated by this and my other Isha Yoga practices. I can also saw with certainty that had it not been for this initiation, I would not have made it this long in India! Below, you can read more about this rocky journey…

“I don’t want to go,” I said as we were on the plane to India in July 2005. That was the first of many trips. But alas, there has been no turning back.

As I awoke this morning, the same nagging “I don’t want to be here” tormented me. I have a very strong escapist urge: to go back to the comfort and convenience of the West, where I’ve been for a mere two months.

It’s baffling to me how, before I left in July, my attitude was so different. I was as settled as I ever have been here. My mom says it’s human nature to adjust; people even got used to living in concentration camps. The parallel, though controversial, is somewhat appropriate. I’m both victim and agressor.

I spoke to Savira, a fellow blogger and yogini from Living Laughing Breathing who is also re-adjusting to life in India. She aptly said that there’s a battle waging within me between the part of me that wants to be here and that which doesn’t. I’m not sure the two sides can ever be reconciled! This culture shock has taken me completely by surprise–I would’ve thought I was beyond it by now and nothing about India could phase me.

But it seems I’ve gone soft, lost my defences. The smells, the noises, the fear and utter disgust all bombard me like I’m back to square one. How can I actually be choosing this life over other, more sheltered, more straightforward ones? Even I’m baffled and can’t provide a rational answer.

Maybe my life should go back to normal, whatever that means. Maybe I should settle down and stop seeking more. Maybe I should start having clear goals. Maybe I should know what I want out of life and have a clear plan of how to get it. But I don’t know. Is that such a crime?!

Thirty minutes before our bus was to leave from Jaipur, we realized that we should have notified the Foreign Registration Office of my departure, as per regulations. Salil rushed off to get the necessary stamps…

Fortunately, he made it just in time for the bus. Having to haul all of my luggage alone signaled to me that I needed to do some lightening up. The small bag I was pulling kept wobbling to and fro, partly because of the pocked road and partly because I had packed it unevenly with over a kilo of gul kand on one side! It turns out my medicine is not the most travel-friendly as a result of its weigh. But I’d rather be healthy & deal with the heaviness… At least I have moved on from being a snack mule (I used to have to bring lots of food with me, in case hunger struck at an inopportune time).

The stamped papers turned out to be unnecessary, since the border control didn’t ask for them. He did, however, ask if I was traveling alone (and his eyes seemed to ask, “Why?”). He wasn’t shy to ask why I didn’t have kids, and to offer his condolences for the lack thereof (“That’s too bad!”). It’s no wonder that the lady who did my metal detection told me, “You look strained.”

After my normal wait to board as late as possible, I found myself behind a very well-dressed, Euro mother-daughter duo, the latter of whom was eagerly tapping away on her Blackberry with her boarding pass stub in her mouth for verification—the steward joked, “Are you hungry?” It turned out they were in my row, just across the aisle.

As we were getting ready for takeoff—switching off all devices and uprighting all chairs—the daughter was talking on her phone. Another steward repeated numerous times, “Madam, please turn off your phone now,” which she proceeded to ignore until her mom whacked her and confiscated the phone. Though she must have been at least 18 or 20, she burst into tears which didn’t dry up until well after take-off.

Once we arrived in the Zurich airport, I set off for the chapel—my chosen spot to do my Isha Yoga practices. Although I asked for directions, they only led me to the wrong side of the wall. I stopped in a pharmacy to ask again; I was reminded of how I used to love spending what could have been hours, perusing all the European healthcare products which seem so much more sophisticated and interesting than items one might find in a CVS. The employee told me the chapel was in fact just on the other side of the wall, but to get there I had to go outside of passport control (again).

On my way, I spotted the mother-daughter duo, happily doing their duty-free dance. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity; here they are, stuck in cycles of contradictory over-communication and consumption of which they are probably unaware. On the one hand, the daughter is so hooked to her Blackberry, but most likely has very poor communication with her mother, who is prone to violent outbursts. But yet they seek some connection, which they find through shopping, until the thrill wears off. Repeat.

Then there’s me, seeking free wireless. The information desk lady laughed and explained that nothing is free in Switzerland. But I had the last laugh—I found free samples of chocolate in the Lindt store just beside her desk!

I have a fiery heart

Yet, I take little pleasure in the fact that I will leave for an almost-annual visit back to the US. It feels so weird to think about going. I do want to see people, but it always brings up so many issues that I’d rather not deal with.

It feels like going back in time. Ironic to say that, considering that it’s so much more technologically advanced than India. But for me, and my personal chronology, the US is backwards!

I’ve not just left behind the people and the places–but more importantly, the parts of myself that I wanted to shed. Emotional baggage starts surfacing again the moment I think about returning.

It’s like I’m caught between two poles, neither of which is a perfect fit. I have to be the chameleon…

I like to travel light