Today’s topic is about early pain, confusion, and loss. When I was thinking about this topic, I asked myself what is the earliest pain that I remember.

Being born is painful, but we don’t remember it. And as a man, I don’t know the pain of giving birth. Women know that. Even for women who have had a C-section, there is a lot of pain involved in the process of carrying a baby and giving birth, something we men will never really understand. Yes, there are different kinds of pain, but they are nothing compared to what women go through. When people try to patronize that pain and say it’s joy or a bundle of joy, yes, you can talk about children being a bundle of joy, but the pain women go through is a completely different thing.

When I look back, I don’t have memories of a lot of physical pain. I was not very adventurous. I never broke a bone or anything like that. So I don’t think I endured much physical pain growing up.

The pain of loss came later. I didn’t have pets, so I don’t know the loss of pets. I think the first time I really felt loss was when my grandfather, my mother’s father, died. That was probably the first time I felt that I had lost someone.

Both my grandmothers passed away, my dad’s mother and my mom’s mother. When my dad’s mother died, I was very young and I don’t really remember much. I have only faint memories of her. At that time, my dad was working in Iran and he couldn’t come home when his mother died because there were no frequent flights. I think there was only one flight every three months or so. I don’t remember much of that period.

When my mom’s mother died, we were in Dubai. My parents came to India and we stayed back in Dubai. Because of all this, I never really understood people’s pain when someone died.

Later, my dad’s elder brother died, but again I was not there. The first time I actually saw a dead body was when my dad’s younger brother died. I wasn’t very close to him. I knew him, but I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t really understand what death meant.

It was when my grandfather died that I truly felt loss for the first time. That was when it hit me that this person does not exist anymore except in memories. I’m not going to have a conversation with him again. I can’t see him again. I remember feeling that when I was in the ambulance, taking the body to the hospital. That was the moment I felt that I was not going to see him again. That sense of finality, that death was the end, stayed with me.

Then my dad died, within about a year. That pain I still carry. I was probably seventeen at that time. Through my younger years, adulthood, and even now when I am fifty, I still feel that pain. I still miss him. I have lived more years in this world without my dad than with him.

My mom died about a year back. I am still trying to process that loss. When your dad and mom are not there, you are orphaned. It doesn’t matter whether you are sixty, fifty, or twenty. You are orphaned.

I live in the United States. I have heard people say that when their parents die, their connection with their land is gone. I still have my sister in India, but when my mom and dad are not there, it feels like there is no one. People are happy to see you when you go there, but is there someone waiting for you? Is there someone counting the days when you say you will come after a month? Not that it has to be that way, but the feeling of being compelled to go somewhere because someone is waiting is very different.

I have lived abroad since 1999. I have lived in the United States for the past twenty-five years. I never took citizenship of another country. I am still an Indian citizen. It has nothing to do with patriotism. I was just lazy, and I always thought that one day my mom will not be there, one day my dad will not be there, and I won’t have a reason to be in my land. The Indian passport I hold is what connects me to my country.

I feel I will lose something if I change it. This is just me. I have nothing against people who take citizenship of other countries. People move from one country to another and make those choices. I just didn’t.

After my mom’s death, I find myself constantly looking for reasons to be in India. My mom is not there. My dad is not there. I have relatives, but beyond that, what connects me to India? Why should I be there? I want to be there. I want to contribute.

When I say I am an Indian, it’s not just about feeling Indian in my mind. Practically, in every sense, I am an Indian citizen. That makes me feel that I have a place to go, a place where I belong. Whatever is said and done, my home is in India.

People will ask why, if I feel this way, I am living somewhere else. Some of these things are not choices. When you are young, you drift. You go. In my early twenties, after I graduated, I never wanted to leave the country, but I did. I thought I would be outside for a few years. Then you get married, you build a career, you have kids, and life happens.

I have lived in the United States for many years as an Indian. Sometimes I feel I am not even American. I am, out and out, Indian. I feel I lose something if I lose the passport. If tomorrow I am no longer an Indian citizen, I think I will lose a part of myself.

People will ask why I don’t do it the other way around. I don’t know. Being Indian means a lot to me. Some of my opinions may not be liked by other Indians, and that’s okay. They are still my opinions, as an Indian.

Loss, pain, and confusion. One thing I don’t have is confusion about my citizenship. I don’t have confusion about whether I should take another citizenship or remain an Indian. I will continue being an Indian. That is extremely important to me. It is part of my identity.

I’ll see you all with the next topic. Take care. Thank you.