Of connecting with Siberian cranes, questioning migration, and finding a home away from home

VIVID MEMORIES. We all have some of these. Memories that are etched in the echelons of our minds’ historical register — they simply refuse to fade. One such memory of mine was gazing at the Siberian ducks at my farmhouse lake in the nondescript village of Amarpaatan, Madhya Pradesh. I was made to understand that these ducks migrated from Siberia to escape the harsh winters; they then migrated all the way back after the winter snow had thawed.

There was something about the flock of those Siberian ducks. They almost made the lake and that rural Indian heartland landscape their own, at least for the period that they were there. As much as I looked forward to seeing them each winter, I did wonder about one thing. Could the hassle of them having to fly thousands of miles each winter be avoided? As a kid, I was told that it was survival instinct that drove them to find a home away from home, albeit temporarily so. Little did I know I’d have a migration story of my own in years to come.

There’s another vivid memory from the Fall of 2002 in. I walked into one of the computer labs at my soon-to-be graduate school. The vision of hundreds of fingers typing away at their respective keyboards, almost conniving to create a rhythm of sorts, is still etched in my mind. Apart from the usual daze that you’d associate with a FOB (fresh off the boat — graduate school slang for someone new to the US), there was another thing that stayed with me from that first day. It was the number of Indians in that lab! It reminded me of the Siberian ducks.

The Indian Diaspora remained a consistent theme for the entirety of my doctoral studies in Arlington. The number of Indian students dominated the proceedings, be it the graduate classes, the research assistants, the on-campus jobs — you name it. Despite the numbers, I sensed we weren’t half as good as the Siberian ducks when it came to owning the landscape — not back then, at least. I still remember teaching a graduate class and receiving the most back-handed of compliments. I was told that I spoke brilliant English for someone from India. Not knowing what to make of it, I duly went about explaining to the folks that most educational institutions in India had English as their modus operandi for communication. Over the years though, I started to notice a gradual paradigm shift. While admittedly gradual, the shift was obvious with the passage of time — even to the blissfully unaware.

It started with the smallest of things, more Indian grocery stores in the metropolis, for instance. Suddenly, Indian grocery stores were burgeoning like spring flowers. Before you knew it, there was a multi-lingual Indian FM radio station on air. It didn’t stop there. Mainstream multiplexes, which only catered to Hollywood movies until now, were now showing Hindi and, what’s more, regional movies! The ticket queue for Baahubali ran longer than DDLJ had been running in that theatre in Mumbai, I tell you! A home away from home literally, I thought to myself. The real estate market suddenly had knowledge of vaastu, puja rooms and north vs south facing houses. Residential communities were being announced with the typical Indian buyer in mind (you know that when the highlight of the community is the best school district in town!).

Now here was a telltale sign of the Indian Diaspora playing an integral part in the economic development far away from home. A sign that we were every bit part of this landscape now — just like the Siberian ducks were of that rural Indian landscape. The analogy was compelling with so many parallels between the two. What better parallel than the motivation — for flying thousands of miles — for both! Was it survival for us, too, or simply a better way of life? At least the Siberian ducks could attribute their long arduous journey to forces of nature. But we?

A wise man once told me — sometimes the answer lies in the questions themselves, literally. As I was picking up a friend of mine, who recently came to Dallas for his higher studies, our conversation veered to the topic of his visa interview. As he walked me through the questions he was posed with during the interview, a thought struck my mind. What if every visa interview was accompanied with an “exit interview” by the Indian counterparts? The thought seemed to get interesting by the minute. Each question that my friend recounted from the visa interview almost automatically generated a counter-question for the “exit interview”. A sequence of questions would go like this:

Visa interview question: What is the purpose of your visit?

Exit interview question: What is the driver behind your decision to go abroad?

Visa interview question: Do you have enough financial means to sustain yourself there?

Exit interview question: Do you not have enough financial means to have the same lifestyle here?

Visa interview question: Why did you choose this school for higher studies?

Exit interview question: Why not a school here?

The list could go on. Some answers may not be what we want to hear, but the process seemed inherently democratic to me. More importantly, the answers for both interviews stand for hope and betterment, I hoped. The former for the migrant and the later for the home — and this time, not away from home! This might well be the “feedback loop” our “control system” is lacking, the engineer in me surmised.

The mental tête-à-tête aside, I found myself back home visiting family this last winter. I promptly took the time for the customary Amarpaatan visit. The walk through the farm, the tractor ride, the jumping in the haystack, the –choolahcooked food - it was a delight. However, the highlight of the day had to be the Siberian ducks. We had formed a bond of sorts by now. As I sat on the ledge, admiring the flock, I noticed we had a much smaller group than the days gone by. Upon enquiring with the locals, I was told that the migration had diminished over the years. The winters must have eased up there, I thought to myself. Just as I was walking back to my car, something dawned upon me. If the forces of nature can adapt and evolve — surely we can give it a try, too!