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It has been roughly six months since I have arrived in the United States of America, and I still remember vividly the day I left my native country, India. The day before my departure, my parents and I made the rounds of all my relative’s houses. All of them were happy to see me and proud of me because I was leaving to the United States to finish my education. I was starting a new part of my life, embarking on a new journey. And they were a bit sad well, especially my maternal grandmother, whom I am very close to. She tried to smile at times and let me know how proud she was of me. But deep down, I could sense that she was very sad. I remember telling her, “Nana, don’t be sad. It is only for three years till I complete my education, and I will be back every year. I will keep calling you, three years will go by in a jiffy.” She could only smile and give me her blessings. I always miss her smile, and her hope, and her ability to cheer me up no matter what, and to give me courage.
That was my first trip to the United States of American – the Land of Dreams, and of Freedom. A long plane trip of more than twenty hours lay ahead of me – from my hometown, the city of Hyderabad in the state of Andhra Pradesh in the south of India to Mumbai, the heart of India and the largest metropolitan city in India. Then, another flight from Mumbai to Paris, and after a long layover of 3 hours, on to New York, and then finally to Philadelphia – my destination.
At the airport, my parents and pretty far-flung set of relatives came to see me off. Though the rainy season had not yet begun (it was mid-October), it was a pretty dark night, with heavy downpour and thunder striking the city. The weather seemed to reflect the state of our hearts that night. It gave me a feeling that something big is about to happen – whether it was something good or something bad remained to be seen. My flight was early in the morning at around 1:00 A.M. and since international flights required passengers to...