Unfinished Story of a Migrant
Hundreds from my home-town emigrate every day.
The act of Emigration is not new to the human-kind. It is probably what has made the human-race survive for this long. People from my home-town also migrate for the same reason - survival. Survival from the depressing state of affairs in that poor state, brought down to its knees begging for mercy from the plundering nexus of bureaucrats and politicians. The desire to escape negative life situations, and to be able to earn a living and put food on the plates for their children.
From early 1980s the state has been dealing with poor governance, oppressing floods, and criminalization of politics. In-fact Kidnapping for ransom is the most sought after jobs for the aspiring, uneducated youth of this place. All through the 90s, the middle-class started to show their children a way out of this place followed later by even the poor strata who migrated to work as unskilled laborers. Earning a frugal living of USD 30 per month also was a challenge here - such was the colossal collapse of this most ancient city and once a capital of India.
Today, it is rare not to find a laborer in your vicinity whose roots are not from this place. We did good to put ourselves on the world map for all the wrong reasons and today can boast that the likes of "Bill Gates" and other global foundations have come down with humanitarian aids, though I seriously doubt that the aid is reaching the deserving.
Most of us from here suffer huge discrimination across the length and breath of our own country, even though our constitution warrants freedom of movement anywhere across the nation. We are after all the poor, uneducated cousins. Every affluent State of India wants to drive us out as we are nothing more than a nuisance to them. Most of us do not like to share their real where-abouts or associate ourselves to this place (even though our accents give away the secret). I for one play a little guessing game every-time anyone tries to ask where I am from, and when I finally give in, there are just 2 splendid reactions - " Oh you are from XXX (name of the most notorious politician from this place) Land", or "No, you cannot be from there, you speak good English".
So today I wanted to share my story, which is probably the story of every migrant. Since there is a human-interest side to the apathy I shared above. I left my parents behind like most others. My biggest treasures. Parents who were young and healthy then, but are old and unwell now. With little option to stay back, I moved out, making a customary annual trip for 2 weeks - only to realize that it won't work out at some point in time. I get a lump in my throat today when I write this that the parents who so happily supported me all my childhood and young age, whose strong shoulders kept me propped up always are sagging now. Every time I leave after my short-stay, I can sense their anxiety, loneliness and hidden fears which they will never bring to the fore-front as they are so good at camouflaging their emotions. Parents are a different breed after-all.
My mother is in utmost need for nursing care which is hard to find in this dilapidated small town, and where the state of affairs is so nauseating that its difficult to even talk about it. I can see my father losing muscle-mass every year I visit. When did they grow so old suddenly I do not know. Making them relocate is not an advisable option or an easy task even with their best interests in mind. I shudder at the thought of bringing them to a concrete and glass jungle after uprooting them from the only place they have ever known.
The act of Emigration is not new to the human-kind. It is probably what has made the human-race survive for this long. People from my home-town also migrate for the same reason - survival. Survival from the depressing state of affairs in that poor state, brought down to its knees begging for mercy from the plundering nexus of bureaucrats and politicians. The desire to escape negative life situations, and to be able to earn a living and put food on the plates for their children.
From early 1980s the state has been dealing with poor governance, oppressing floods, and criminalization of politics. In-fact Kidnapping for ransom is the most sought after jobs for the aspiring, uneducated youth of this place. All through the 90s, the middle-class started to show their children a way out of this place followed later by even the poor strata who migrated to work as unskilled laborers. Earning a frugal living of USD 30 per month also was a challenge here - such was the colossal collapse of this most ancient city and once a capital of India.
Today, it is rare not to find a laborer in your vicinity whose roots are not from this place. We did good to put ourselves on the world map for all the wrong reasons and today can boast that the likes of "Bill Gates" and other global foundations have come down with humanitarian aids, though I seriously doubt that the aid is reaching the deserving.
Most of us from here suffer huge discrimination across the length and breath of our own country, even though our constitution warrants freedom of movement anywhere across the nation. We are after all the poor, uneducated cousins. Every affluent State of India wants to drive us out as we are nothing more than a nuisance to them. Most of us do not like to share their real where-abouts or associate ourselves to this place (even though our accents give away the secret). I for one play a little guessing game every-time anyone tries to ask where I am from, and when I finally give in, there are just 2 splendid reactions - " Oh you are from XXX (name of the most notorious politician from this place) Land", or "No, you cannot be from there, you speak good English".
So today I wanted to share my story, which is probably the story of every migrant. Since there is a human-interest side to the apathy I shared above. I left my parents behind like most others. My biggest treasures. Parents who were young and healthy then, but are old and unwell now. With little option to stay back, I moved out, making a customary annual trip for 2 weeks - only to realize that it won't work out at some point in time. I get a lump in my throat today when I write this that the parents who so happily supported me all my childhood and young age, whose strong shoulders kept me propped up always are sagging now. Every time I leave after my short-stay, I can sense their anxiety, loneliness and hidden fears which they will never bring to the fore-front as they are so good at camouflaging their emotions. Parents are a different breed after-all.
My mother is in utmost need for nursing care which is hard to find in this dilapidated small town, and where the state of affairs is so nauseating that its difficult to even talk about it. I can see my father losing muscle-mass every year I visit. When did they grow so old suddenly I do not know. Making them relocate is not an advisable option or an easy task even with their best interests in mind. I shudder at the thought of bringing them to a concrete and glass jungle after uprooting them from the only place they have ever known.
I wonder if there is a work-around, a win-win solution. Maybe... maybe not. For now I live in the dilemma of what is the best way out, but shudder every time I see my phone rings and the number flashing on screen is from my home. Money is important, but parents are precious. My story of migration is still unfinished.
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