by Saranya Radhakrishnan
My father had made the journey from Chennai, India to New York in order to obtain his Master of Science in Engineering degree and maybe even a prestigious future job. He had never been apart from my year old sister or my mother for the two years of their marriage so saying goodbye was difficult. My father was fortunate enough to stay with a friend who helped him assimilate to the American lifestyle and college life at New York University. Nevertheless, it was all so alien. Back in India he had both of his parents, his two younger brothers, his younger sister, his wife and child all under the same roof. Life got really lonely especially in a city as big New York. My father and mother would always exchange letters during this time in order to have some form of contact living half a world away. My mother would always talk about the occurrences of the household while my father talked about New York and college but they both expressed the misery of each other’s absence.
After a year and ahalf, my father was able to bring his wife and child over to live with him. They lived in a one bedroom apartment in Jamaica Estates. Like my father, my mother learned the difficulty of becoming independent. Learning the meaning of nuclear family, my mother only had my sister while my father was in college. After my sister started school, my mother realized that she was no longer confined to the life of housewife in America. After college, my mother had wished to gain further education and have a well-respected profession. However, her dreams were cut short when the talk of marriage came about. My mother did not realize how suppressed she was due to her culture until she came to New York. She was taught to play a submissive role at home and live a life serving only her family. However, America played a new influence and my mother was in the land of opportunity. She went back to school and became a certified public accountant. She even acquired a job at a travel agency. My mother looks back at this time of her life proudly because she was able to accomplish something for her own happiness.
In my family’s neighborhood there was a beautiful red house that my father spotted on Aspen Place. My father would drive by the house occasionally when he had the chance. Miraculously, the house went up for sale but my father knew he couldn’t afford it. My mother encouraged him to take out a loan and buy the house anyway. With much deliberation and cold feet, they finally got the house and we’ve officially paid off the mortgage last year.
I was born a few years later and this red house on Aspen Place is the only place I have ever lived. Luckily, my parents had made friends with other Indians and Americans on our block so anytime I needed babysitting, wanted to play with other kids, or runaway after a fight with my sister I had other family to turn to. Although, it was challenging to adapt to a foreign country, my parents were able to integrate the better qualities of Indian culture with aspects of American life.
