My American Diary

Last fall I finally managed to set foot in US and some of my friends know what made it mentionable. But this event per se is not so important. What is important is that there is no escape from the eternal question “now what?” for me. All along I steadfastly refused to recognize that it is part of the problem and it is easier to do so if one can pass it off for a drive or impetus for all the “good” that has happened to one in the past. But in spite of all the goodness it has bestowed upon me it is like an anti-biotic pill that my body can’t get accustomed to and the side-effects have started casting a shadow on the perceptible results lately. This problem is compounded (or rather manifested) by the fact that I’m not feeling at home yet, not quite.

Things are very different here in US as I see it and I have undergone a full cycle of anticipation, elation, boredom and now realization in past eight months.
Villages I saw in Columbus aren’t like Indian villages. They are way too sophisticated compared to their Indian counterparts. Trees, flowers and weather are also pretty different. I was once told by a philosopher friend of mine that the settings we usually come to associate with home or coziness are the ones we spent our childhood in. Since I have spent a lot of time in my young days in a small town and couple of villages my idea of countryside is the one where cattle cross your path, you can run through the corn fields and smoke billows from houses made of bricks and mud when dusk envelopes the village. Prevailing serenity, only to be broken by the jiggling of cowbells, has such an unwinding influence that you slip into a trance before you know and live the moment that seems eternal. Speaking of trance, this semiconscious state or daze is a beautiful thing. This descends upon you only when you are partly oblivious of yourself and nature doesn’t accept you as part of itself as long as you are too aware of your physical surroundings. But once in that state, you no longer think life is unfair or is fraught with dangers. I have often believed that once we stop demanding and experience what it has to offer, life will not seem so hostile to us. Our expectations are like a child’s tantrums which, if not fulfilled, make us see life as a villain, clouding our vision of larger plan it might have for all of us.
So as I was saying an American village doesn’t fit my perception of a “village”. It’s not the impoverishment, closeness to Mother Nature or the innocence so scarce in cities, alone that fills this image but all of the above and the effect is a really distinct one. Something you always cherish once you have relished it and are now away from it.

Coming back to the point, this alienness, this inability to identify myself with my milieu is like an itch I can’t put my fingers onto and what makes it more difficult is this truckload of luxuries all around me I’m getting used to with each passing day. I fear my sensitivity will finally subside to such a level that it will stop “nagging” me one day and I’m not ready to let it go, not yet at least.