Nothing Has Changed

A ride through my mother’s home village.

The purpose of my last visit to Goa was simply to live everyday in the present moment. I planned nothing except my flights and AirBnB rooms. The rest I left up to my natural instinct… I chose to travel alone, for the opportunity to practice my natural instinct, my internal navigation system.

I tasted new beers and food, shared my dinner table with strangers, made new friends, talked politics, meditated, made love, took risks, explored, all while getting acquainted with new feelings. I was genuinely happy being home in those moments.

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 It was during the latter part of my time in northern Goa that made me quickly think of my mother’s village. Again, not having any desire to search or look for clues; the brief images of driving through her village came and went.

I arrived to Agonda Beach and settled into my little bamboo framed beach hut. The days passed with sights of the Arabian Sea, sounds of traveling musicians, and the taste of fresh sweet coconut water.

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The bare beach was a place to feel alone, yet still have just the right amount of people to watch from afar. Thats when I notice him, perched up on a rock in the middle of the seashore. I was to later find out thats when he noticed me.

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Time passed and he approached me with a gift, sweet coconut water. New experiences and new feelings with him for the next few days.

One afternoon, we changed our plans and he offered a trip to a neighboring beach town up north to pick up his clothes from the cleaners. With no hesitation, I accepted and jumped on his bike. The thought of my mother’s village came back to me. I noticed that we would be passing through, so I asked if we could drive through on our way back to Agonda. Without hesitation, he replied yes.

With the sun setting and his phone battery dying, we found our way back to the place I left a piece of my heart, just a few years ago.

He drove slowly, taking sharp turns with ease so I could observe the streets she used to walk, the people she probably knew, and the shop that she probably visited. We followed the flags that lined the roads from a festival that had just passed.

I was still.

He reached his hand back around and touched me.

How are feeling?

I am angry?

I didn’t resist and I began to cry. He pulled over and wrapped his arms around me. The anger grows, and the tears flow.

At that moment, I realized my anger was towards the village, the people, the customs, the traditions, the detachment to the human experience of motherhood. It is their fault that my mother had to choose to…

 We hear a voice from down the road.

“You can’t do that here. You need to leave. There are children out here.”

Our explanation of our relations and my tears did not convince him that I was simply crying while being gently hugged by a man.

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If we were not welcomed to hug on the public street corner, I am sure single, pregnant women are still not welcomed back home.

Nothing has changed.

 

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Allow Me to Clarify

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Since my latest blog was shared on Dear Adoption, some confusion and rumors have been present among my family and friends.

I received emails and phone calls asking if I was moving to India forever. I was a bit surprised because not once did I mention the word moving or forever. After talking to my sister about it and reading my words again, I realized that there may have been a couple things that set the tone and created an image of me moving back to India forever. Allow me to clarify.

Mentioning that I have a one-way ticket to India I’m sure didn’t make sense to a lot of people. When I was originally planning my trip through Southeast Asia, I knew that I wanted to start in India, finish in another country and then head back to the US. The first ticket I purchased was from San Francisco to Mumbai. My heart sank and I wrote my last blog. At that point, I didn’t know where else I wanted to go and when I was coming back.

Another contributing factor is the meaning of the word home. For most people living in the same country that they were born in may see themselves as having one home. For me, I was born in India and grew up in the US, so I call both India and the US my home. For me to state, “I am going back home,” simply means that I am going back to my first home, whereas for someone that claims they only have one home may see my use of the word home as meaning forever.

This is a dilemma that some adoptees battle with. Where is home? Which one is home? Which one is my family? Do I have to choose one?  Why cant I have/claim both families? Do I have two birth certificates? Do I have two birthdays? Do I have two names? Can I have two homes?

Now that I am out on my own, it is my responsibility to build a bridge between my two selves and between my two homes.

My Support

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My dear friend, Reshma wrote the following letter to me after I expressed some anxiety about my trip back to India…

So much to take on but I know you will RISE. YOU WILL RISE! And if your instincts don’t kick in as quickly as you would like or in the way you hope, you’ll be resourceful. And then they WILL kick in. If anybody has got this YOU have got this. You already made the decision and that’s a pretty tough, bad ass part of this whole thing. My girl, you will RISE. It’s where you’re supposed to be. In this time. In this body. In this emotional, physical, and spiritual place. This is the time for YOU in INDIA!

Dear Adoption, I’m Going Back Home

My contribution to Dear Adoption,
I am returning back home to Goa, India.

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Dear Adoption, I’m Going Back Home

My passport was renewed. Renunciation of Indian citizenship was approved. Travel visa was granted.

I was sitting in my loft on a Saturday afternoon staring at the computer screen as each travel site loaded. I had been building the courage to actually purchase plane tickets for a few days by that time. My anxiety had kicked in and my emotions were rolling deep. I needed to surrender to the internal pull and return home again.

I found a one way flight to Mumbai. I read and re-read all the details, filled in my personal information and clicked “Purchase.” There it was, my confirmation number. It was official, I was going back home to India.

As I was sitting there, turning my desires into reality, I began to laugh and eventually my giggles turned to tears. I took a deep breath and sat with the…

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Khoya (Lost) at the San Francisco International South Asian Film Festival

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I am honored to be collaborating with The Adoption Museum Project on November 12th when they co-present the beautiful film, Khoya at the San Francisco International South Asian Film Festival. I will help create a larger conversation about adoption following the screening with writer/director, Sami Khan and the audience.

ABOUT THE FILM
Khoya (Lost) is the story of an Indian, transracial adoptee who grows up in Canada and returns to search for his birth family in India. The story is told from the adopted person’s perspective, and it points to some of the complexities and challenges of international adoption. This is a fictional story inspired by the filmmaker’s personal experience as the son of a first/birth parent. It’s a highly evocative film featuring stunning cinematography.

“A few years ago I learned that I had a long-lost brother, living somewhere in the world. He was put up for adoption ten years before I was born. When I began the process of looking for my brother, I was struggling to reconcile the conflicting emotions I was experiencing. Khoya came out of that process. It was a way for me to sort out those complex feelings of loss and longing and to make sense of them.” – Sami Khan, Writer/Director

Trailer: https://vimeo.com/142876771
Website: http://www.khoyathefilm.com

Buy DISCOUNTED tickets and join us:

http://www.adoptionmuseumproject.org/projects/co-presenting-film-khoya-lost/