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Kiana

Saturday, 24 December 2022 Santa Clara, San Francisco

‘I believe in the power of time. It’s always moving, always changing—sometimes it brings joy, sometimes challenges. But I hold on to my faith in time, because just as it changes for others, I know my time will change too.’

I n the summers, we yearn for the cool late evening breeze, and in the winters we want to enjoy the balmy afternoon breeze. We’re wired to always long for what we don’t have! And yes, it’s true that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. Sometimes, it’s even pinker and bluer!

I hadn’t been able to go for my daily morning run in Chicago because of the cold. And I missed that the most. So the first thing I do in the mornings here in San Francisco is put on my running gear and hit the road. There’s a community park very close to where Uncle Joe’s home is, and it’s been a testament to my long journey in America. So that’s where I go for my morning run.

As I walk out of Uncle Joe’s home and head towards the park, I can’t help but wonder how he got so lucky finding just the perfect place for himself and his family. Overlooking the scenic shoreline in the distance, it’s the sort of dream home that gets featured in magazines and newspapers, with readers cutting out its photographs and saving them. Honestly, it’s straight out of a fairy tale.

And inside? Well, it’s like stepping into a warm embrace. I’ve been crashing on the same bed in the guest bedroom every time I’ve come here during my vacations, and every morning, I’ve woken up to rays of sunlight falling into the room through the off-white lace curtains. In one corner of the room is a comfy reading chair begging you to sink in and relax, and there’s a fireplace as well that adds a bit of whimsy. But it’s really all about the little touches that Aunt Mannie adds, like the fresh flowers in every room and meals that fill you with warmth, that make this place feel like home away from home. Trust me, once you are here, you’d never want to leave her place. There’s so much love she embraces everyone with. She’s the kindest, purest soul alive, and I love her a lot.

I remember vividly how she made this journey in America easy for me. Sometimes, all you need in life is a little love and comfort from another human being, and that’s exactly what she gave me. Especially after I had my first panic attack. I used to feel so intensely homesick back then that I’d often wake up feeling extremely nauseous in the middle of the night. It made me question my choices and my decisions and forced me to challenge my values on a day-to-day basis. I felt like I was running through heavy fog, and I couldn’t see what was there to my left or right. I didn’t know where I was headed. There was a huge lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow, and on some days, an intense piercing pain would practically rip through my heart and leave me gasping.

The real wake-up call came one night when the pain in my chest got so bad that I thought I was having a heart attack. Thankfully, I was in San Francisco, and Uncle Joe and Aunt Mannie rushed me to the emergency, where we were told that it was a panic attack. Heck, I didn’t even know what a panic attack was back then!

I still remember feeling very bad about the fact that Uncle Joe had to bear the heavy expenses of that trip to the hospital. Unless you’re insured, medical facilities are extremely costly in the West. Unlike in India, where you have easy access to doctors and hospitals, people here self-medicate until they have no choice but to see a doctor. Once, my Indian classmate at the university fractured her arm and she had no choice but to make a rough cast with some cloth and wait for a month until she flew back home and got it treated by a doctor in India. As terrible as it may sound, that happens for real.

That night, after we got back home from the emergency room, I sobbed like a child in Aunt Mannie’s arms. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she whispered in my ears as she gently stroked my hair. ‘All change is uncomfortable in the beginning. But in the end, you’ll be able to connect the dots, and it will all add up.’

‘How did you cope with homesickness when you moved here in 1996?’ I asked her.

‘It was hard. When I left my family back in Mumbai, I knew I wouldn’t meet them more than once every few years. I was acutely aware of the fact that even if my parents lived for another twenty years, I would only meet them five or maybe six times. That feeling, that fear is real. Let me normalize it for you, beta. You’re not the only one going through these feelings. Every immigrant experiences this,’ she said with conviction in her eyes.

‘How did you talk to them? Skype didn’t exist back then!’

‘Oh! Don’t even ask. I had to go to a caller booth nearby and call them. It was so expensive to make international calls back then that I could only do it once a month and then too the conversation lasted for less than three minutes. That’s all that we could afford then. Imagine! I had to tell them everything that had happened since the last call and also understand everything they wanted to convey within that time. Things are so much more convenient and easier now.’

‘Things must’ve been so hard for you all … Thank you, Mamiji. You don’t know how much comfort I’ve derived from your presence and your words.’ I had no idea what one had to go through in life to have such clarity and maturity.

‘Comfort and all that is fine. But let me make you laugh a little,’ she insisted. ‘Once, after we got our own landline at home, I was trying to call my parents when I dialled 911 by mistake! The country code for India is 91, and while dialling the number, I incorrectly pressed an extra one. Now, as you already know, 911 is the emergency service number here. The next thing I knew, within eight minutes of my having dialled that wrong number, two rather burly police officers turned up at our door and kept inquiring if everything was fine. They probably thought I was a victim of domestic violence who was too scared to speak up. I caused myself and your mamaji so much embarrassment that day. I can’t explain how scared I was. But today, all I can do is laugh hard!’ she said, her hand pressed against her stomach as she broke into a fit of giggles.

‘We’re bound to make stupid mistakes because life is so different here, I suppose. It’s like being reborn and then trying to understand everything all over again,’ I empathized with her.

From then on, Aunt Mannie has stood by my side like a rock. Even after I went back to the university, she called me regularly and stayed in touch. She would nudge me to plan my next vacation to San Francisco so that I’d have something to look forward to. She enrolled me for driving classes the next time I landed up at her place and took me driving on the weekends. When I finally got my driver’s licence, I can’t explain how liberated I felt. There comes a time in our lives when, after having faced many struggles and challenges, we finally find ourselves in the driver’s seat. Becoming independent is the most empowering thing you can do for yourself, because the more you feel in charge of yourself, the better you’re going to get with each passing day. That’s what Aunt Mannie did. She taught me how to be independent. She helped me figure out this new life like a mother would. When I told her about my family’s real story, she wasn’t very surprised. It was as if she’d always known what I’d been going through. She is my godmother, my guardian angel. If I ever have a chance to choose who I can be in my next life, I would want to be like her.

Lately though, whenever I visit Uncle Joe’s family, my conviction about living an independent life grows a little weaker. I find myself confused about what I want. While I take pride in my independence, the truth is that I would also love to have a family of my own. I would love to have a life like Uncle Joe’s, with a partner, children and a home that’s mine. I want to celebrate festivals with my family the way we used to in India. I don’t want to be by myself on Christmas and New Year. I’ve been lonely for a long time now, and if I’m honest with myself, somewhere deep within my heart, I want the AILENA app to help me find love. Yes, I really want to sue Asmitha for a million dollars, but more than that, I just want to find love.

I spend the rest of the day whiling time away with the family and only return to my room at around 8 p.m. And now here I am, ready to enter the world of AILENA again.

The engineer in me is itching to analyse how AILENA has been programmed to match two people. What could Asmitha have used? Did she copy what we’d planned for our project? How can I figure this out? I open the app and explore its features, but I’m disappointed to note that nothing seems to have been copied from our project. Asmitha has certainly worked very hard on this idea and refined it. So, all my aspirations to sue her take a backseat. I’m rather inspired to work with her and become a part of this project instead. I’m still mulling over what can be done, when I get a chat notification on the app.

Neer: Hello! I miss you already. How’s your day going? I said NO to her. It felt so good to break up.

I’m quite surprised by Neer’s messages. He reminds me of Nirvaan. Only Nirvaan could’ve done such a thing. He used to do everything I told him to do! Or maybe men are actually na?ve enough to let go of the old for the new. Maybe Nirvaan was like any other man, and now so is Neer.

Me: What! You really broke up?

Neer: Yes! I did.

Me: Wow.

Neer: Yeah, well. Anyway, how did your day go?

Me: My day went well. I went for a long run in the community park, then picked up my favourite burger on the way back and spent the afternoon watching a Christmas movie on Netflix with the family. But wait, how are you coping? Breakups are hard.

Neer: Don’t ask. I’m banking on you to fix me, baby!

Me: Haha! Now I’m a little more convinced about being here! Let’s try giving ‘us’ a shot.

Neer: Thank God! Do you ever come to India?

Me: I’ve … umm … only gone back for my visa renewal, so I don’t really think I went back in the real sense. I might have to come for my next visa renewal this March.

Neer: Don’t you feel like coming back home sometimes?

Me: Don’t have any reasons to.

Neer: Family?

Me: None.

Neer: Then come just to see me sometime?

Me: I can’t promise that right now.

Neer: All right. What do you do for a living?

Me: I’m a senior product manager at a software firm. How about you?

Neer: I’m a serial entrepreneur and investor. I’m a hot thing in India’s startup scene right now.

Me: Wow! That sounds inspiring.

Neer: Does it? Honestly though, I can’t imagine doing anything else. On a different note, have you ever been in love?

Me: Once. Many moons back. He was the first guy I ever fell for. You?

Neer: Ditto. The first girl I fell for in school.

Me: Why did you guys part ways?

Neer: She abandoned me. You?

Me: I had to leave him because of some family issues … but I never told him the truth.

Neer: Why?

Me: He wouldn’t have understood.

Neer: Why? Was he a dumbhead?

Me: He’s from a modern and well-respected upper-class family, while I come from a lower middle-class family. He wouldn’t have understood my family’s struggles or what it means to belong to a broken home.

Neer: You just assumed that. Maybe you should share your feelings and see what the other person actually has to say rather than making an assumption in the first place.

Me: Noted, mister! I’m an introvert and I’ve never really known how to bare my heart.

Neer: I can help you with that. I’m an extrovert; my life is like an open book. Anyway, I owe you a favour.

Me: You do? Why?

Neer: You taught me to move on and become independent. In return, I’d like to help you be more expressive, to share more and take that weight off your chest.

Me: Hmm … That sounds good. Let’s be the wind beneath each other’s wings. Even if this doesn’t go the way we hope it does, we can at least be friends.

Neer: Sounds good, Kiana. But circling back to what you said earlier, are these things that happened in the past the reason why you don’t talk to your family?

Me: It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it some other day.

Neer: Why not today?

Me: Let’s take it slow, dude. You can’t expect me to change in a day!

Neer: Haha! True that! But you did force me to take a big decision after our last chat.

Me: I like exclusivity. It was the right thing to do.

Neer: What else do you like?

Me: As in?

Neer: As in, you can tell me anything.

Me: You go first! Tell me your weirdest fantasy.

Neer: You don’t want to know.

Me: Except, I do want to know.

Neer: I like to make out in public places. The thrill of being caught turns me on.

Me: OMG! I can’t imagine doing something like that. Have you ever tried it?

Neer: Of course. I once made out with a stewardess in my first-class cabin on a flight to Amsterdam.

Me: What? Really?

Neer: No! I was just fooling around!

Me: Ugh, you can be candid. I won’t judge you.

Neer: I’m being honest. I want to make out in a public place, but I haven’t done it. Maybe, if we get along with each other, we could explore that? Would you be up for that sort of thrill?

Me: I don’t know. I can’t commit!

Neer: What is your weirdest fantasy?

Me: I’m not telling you about that so soon!

Neer: What? That’s not fair!

Me: Everything is fair in love and war.

Neer: Not the right time for this dumb phrase. Come on! Give me something to think about when I think of you tonight.

Me: Oh! You’ve already started thinking of me?

Neer: Yes! I have. I can’t help it.

Me: Wait until our next chat to know my weirdest fantasy! Byee!

After this, I don’t receive any messages from Neer. He could’ve at least said bye before logging off. Men don’t know how to be subtle. They’re pretty direct most of the times, sometimes at the cost of being civil.

For the next hour or so, I keep checking my phone like an idiot before I finally decide to just keep it aside, lest it take away my sanity. Even though I don’t want to think about things too far ahead in the future, I end up wondering if dating this guy would mean relocating to India at some point. But then moving back is completely off the cards. I don’t even wish to travel back temporarily, let alone settle down in India. So, would anything even work out between us? Should I even be chatting with Neer? Is this even worth the effort? I’ve always been very clear that I don’t wish to go back to the shithole called home. There is nothing back there for me. The only thing I had back there, the only person I could ever call home is lost.

I pull up the blanket over me and decide to finally call it a day. I can’t believe that Neer broke up with his girlfriend so quickly. I’m just a stranger after all, how could he take my advice so seriously? How could he be this gullible? He’s really like Nirvaan.

One thought leads to another, and eventually, my mind is flooded with memories of my first break-up. What if Neer was actually right? Should I have told Nirvaan about my family problems? Did my not communicating honestly come in the way of our relationship?

People say that in the hours before your death, you see all your significant memories flash by in front of your eyes. All the important moments and all the important people make an appearance. For me, something of this sort happens on nights when I hit the bed with a troubled mind, but I can only see the days I spent with Nirvaan, nothing else. Tonight, I can’t help but think of that fateful night when I finally made up my mind to leave India forever.

It was a cold winter day in February. I was studying in the living room of my old house in Delhi. The house didn’t just look old, but it smelled old too. It smelled exactly like those out-of-reach storage spaces that you open only before Diwali as part of your annual cleaning ritual. The walls were old and full of cracks. There was seepage almost everywhere, and electric wires hung loose in front of our balcony that was less than 2 metres apart from the balcony facing ours. The entire building looked like it was about to fall off any second. The negativity inside our tiny third-floor house wasn’t as much due to the absence of light and fresh air as it was because of the repressed emotions and constant family brawls over money.

My father was a frustrated man who had, for some reason, failed in every business that he had tried his hand at in the silver market in Chandni Chowk. He often took loans from relatives and personal moneylenders, and even sold off my mother’s jewellery. But he just wasn’t good at managing money, and his ego was his biggest enemy.

That afternoon, it was just me and my mom. My sister had already left for Australia with her new husband and my father was out.

A few goons suddenly showed up at our place. They barged into the house and started hurling abuses, first at my mother and then at me. They were there to recover the money my father had borrowed from the market. My mother was pleading and begging them to give my father more time when one of them started to beat the shit out of her. I froze. It felt like every bone in my body had collapsed. I started to shiver. My mouth went dry and I felt like I was about to faint. I was trying to make myself move and scream for help when another goon pulled me by my hair and then threw me on the floor. I hit my head hard against a sofa leg as I went down. They left after that, but promised to return again if the money wasn’t paid back in a couple of days.

I had seen many similar fights over money while growing up. Sometimes my relatives would beat up my father, and then my father would come back in a rage and beat up my mother. I had seen everything silently. But I never told anyone about what was happening in our house because I was old enough to know that nobody would ever understand my plight.

As long as Harpreet was there, we used to hold each other and cry every time something like this happened. But after she left, I didn’t even have that bit of comfort. And my mother wasn’t the kind to tell me what was going on. She would always put a brave face on and pretend that nothing had happened. She probably thought that her denial, her reluctance to open up and her aloofness were all for my good. But in reality, her behaviour and the violence I witnessed at home turned me into an anxious person, so much so that if someone raises their voice slightly, it triggers my anxiety even today.

When my dad returned from his shop that night, I told him over dinner, ‘Papa, I want to leave the country and build a life for myself. You want me to leave this house anyway, the only difference is that I’ll be pursuing higher studies and not getting married. And Joginder mama is willing to help me. Please let me go. I’ll send back money. I’ll help you and Ma with the household expenses. Please give me one chance.’

Instead of saying anything, my father just hurled his plate at the wall, and as it shattered into a million pieces, he got up and slapped me hard. My mother jumped out of her chair and came to rescue me, but he simply turned and beat the living daylights out of her. ‘Bitch doesn’t realize that I can’t take money from her,’ he shouted. ‘She’s a liability that I have to marry off. What kind of life do I have? Why will I take money from my daughter? She’s a girl!’ He hit my mother until his cruel urges were satisfied, and then he walked away to the local bar where we knew he would get wasted.

I helped my mother get up from the floor and gave her a glass of water. ‘I will go away, Ma!’ I told her. ‘I didn’t tell you this earlier, but after Joginder mama’s call that day, I spoke to him again, and with his help, I took the SATs. My scores are excellent. I can study in a good American university and build a better life for myself. I have to leave, Ma. I have to. You just take care of yourself, please. And someday, if I find enough courage, I’ll come back for you and take you away from this prison.’ I hugged her tightly.

‘Please stay, beta, stay for me until you’re in the safe hands of your husband,’ she pleaded. ‘What will you do? Where will you go? The women in our family don’t step out alone. They don’t go out and work. It is against our values.’

‘Someone has to break this toxic cycle, Ma. And that’s the purpose of evolution too. You need to be two steps ahead of the generation before you.’ I smiled through my tears.

‘Stay beta, stay for me!’ she urged, grasping my hands.

‘Why should I stay? Just so that you can get me married to a stranger?’

‘Stay, please,’ she whispered, but this time, she didn’t dare to look into my eyes.

‘No,’ I said curtly.

And for the first time in my life, as I said no, it did wonders for me. It was such an empowering feeling to take back control of my life. In that instant, I gave myself permission to prioritize my own needs and happiness without feeling guilty about it.

People are driven by power. Even the slightest degree of influence they can exercise on your life makes them feel powerful. They need not be necessarily interested in improving your life for good. And that’s why it’s liberating to walk out of such power dynamics. Being servile in front of your parents is not always good for you.

That night, while my mother thought I had locked myself up in my bedroom because I was distraught, I managed to leave the house without her knowing and took a bus and then an auto to Nirvaan’s home. I knew his parents were not in town. He was surprised to find me at his doorstep, but I told him that I missed my sister terribly and was afraid of sleeping on my own. I could never tell him about the heartbreaking circumstances that had forced me to sneak out of my house and go to him. He let me sleep in his room, singing me a lullaby and caressing my hair gently until I fell asleep in a minute. In those days, when I was struggling with sleeplessness on most nights, if I had the slightest belief in magic, it was because of Nirvaan’s touch and presence.

The following morning, instead of telling him the truth, I lied again and said, ‘I want to pursue my ambition in America. I cannot stay here in India.’ Then I left. And that was it. That was our story. I did not have the courage to say a proper goodbye and end things.

And that is how I experienced my first break-up nine years ago.

With these upsetting memories surging through my mind, I struggle hard to sleep yet again. In the bedroom, shadows of my painful past dance across the walls and haunt me. Growing up in a broken family is like working in a coal mine. While you are on the lookout for the diamonds that might help you find meaning in life, you never know when an explosion could be powerful enough to make everything cave in and bury you under. Those nights of getting beaten up by my father, seeing him thrash my mother, all of it reverberates in my mind, and I place a hand on my thundering heart to calm it. My chest feels tight with anxiety. The years I spent with my parents have left scars on my soul which run far deeper than the physical cuts a knife can make on one’s body. And while knife wounds can heal with time, it feels like the ones on my soul will take an eternity to heal. I learned early on that love and attachment are a double-edged sword. And that helped me reinforce my belief in the fact that living alone was much better than trying to make a family.

But Nirvaan was the real home for me. And that is what I miss, that feeling of being home . I could tell him everything, and he’d get me. He always supported me. He was in awe of me. I had never felt that I was even worthy of being looked at until he told me I was beautiful. The way his eyes looked into my soul, wanting me so badly all the time, it made me feel wanted, because I’ve been unwanted from the moment I was conceived. His love made me feel special, his love made me feel alive. Ahh! I wish I could walk back home to him. There is something about the first time you fall in love. It just doesn’t feel the same after that first time! And I never found another love like Nirvaan.

But as I try to pull myself together, I also realize that the financial independence I gained over the last few years has helped me plaster those wounds. I tell myself that my scars are a sign of survival, not weakness. So, I wear my bad days and my anxiety like a badge of honour. I refuse to be defined by my past. I have risen from the depths of despair like a phoenix rises from the ashes, and I will forge my destiny on my own terms, no matter what. I’ll be my very own ray of sunshine even when the clouds of unhappiness decide to descend.

I believe in the power of time. It’s always moving, always changing—sometimes it brings joy, sometimes challenges. But I hold on to my faith in time, because just as it changes for others, I know my time will change too.