Hey there,
I traveled to India earlier in the summer, and wrote this note while I was there:
There is no silence here. Voices are always calling my name, or talking through someone else’s business, or yelling out to passerby. The hum of the television, the traffic on the street, the fan, all shift in and out of focus. Even when I steal a moment to myself outside, I hear the bats screeching, the peacocks calling, the orchestra of birds chirping and crying and fluttering by before I’m interrupted by another visitor or relative or unfriendly insect.
What came alongside the chaos, however, was a comfort in knowing I had a natural part in this symphony. My grandma’s constant worry of whether I was hungry, my uncle’s daily drop-ins with snacks and fruit, my grandpa asking me to teach him how to use a smartphone, my little cousin tapping on my shoulder to get help on the coding course I introduced him to. Even the way that just ten minutes spent sitting outside resulted in countless sightings of family, acquaintances, and friendly wildlife made me feel a sense of belonging that is hard to find anywhere else.
I rarely looked at the clock, and found myself thinking that I could close my eyes and listen to the hum and a whole day or week or year could pass without resistance, without me having to exert any effort. I think in western society it’s easy to see yourself as different, unique, an originator of action. But in India I was reminded that I was very much the same as the people around me. I didn’t feel a single anxious thought, didn’t have a need to doubt myself in any situation because whatever I experienced, I experienced with other people. I found belonging in caring and being cared for – nothing else seemed to matter as much.
And this isn’t to say that my time in India was all sunshine and rainbows. Family and family history can be messy and sad and frustrating. But regardless of the annoyance caused by a marked lack of personal space, the people there gave me a sense of purpose. When I boarded my flight back to America and saw everyone’s crying and smiling faces I was reminded that my very existence was the source of their joy and sorrow and worry. I didn’t have to do anything to deserve it, it just was. Returning back to western society and life in a new city where almost every relationship and task takes singular effort felt like an exhausting and anxiety-inducing task. Why was I doing this to myself? What did my work and career and independence even amount to if I was doing everything alone?
I’m lucky to be close to family here and grateful to have cultivated a close circle of friends from home and school that also offer me unconditional love and support regardless of my words or actions in a given moment. The only issue is that we’re all sprinkled across the country, every person in a different city on a quest to find and pursue our individual source of motivation or passion or fulfillment.
What I feel every time I return to India is the delicious ease of fitting into a community, something that isn’t easily found in young adulthood here. It’s a bit of a false paradise– I never stay there long enough to be burdened by my relative’s expectations for my future or frustrated by my tendency to put pleasing people above my own desires. I often find myself thinking about the benefits and drawbacks of spending time in tight communities. Growing up in an immigrant community in the Bay certainly felt stifling but I also miss the sense of acceptance I had there. College, on the other hand, gave me a more healthy mix of peer support and independent space to figure myself out, but it was a temporary experience.
I wonder what the best way to recreate a meaningful community experience is. One that enables each individual to exercise their own agency without sacrificing the care and support that comes from being closely tied to a group. Perhaps the first step is learning to value life as more than a quest for individual fulfillment – accomplishment without community feels meaningless, yet it’s the path many of us lay out for ourselves in our twenties. I guess writing this essay was an exercise in articulating that lesson for myself :)
Talk soon,
Anita
P.S. a playlist for your time ~ I leave you with a little assortment of old and new Tamil songs I’ve been listening to. If any of you have more Indian music recommendations do send them my way 💓