I remember that evening when I gathered with cousins of same age group, who later lost touch to an extent of forgetting their existence, in the lush green front-yard of an elder cousin's house. It was the elder cousin's wedding that got our families gathered there, two days before he tied the knot. That cousin was special because he was already an NRI. A poster boy in the eyes of parents and a quasi-superman for us kids, evangelizing the idea of 'States'.
That's my earliest memory of States aka USA aka US as folks home here fondly call it as. That country kept up its stature in my head by only giving positive reasons for people here to dream about it from afar. A fanciful land of freedom, pizzas and rugged jeans had formed in my head by the time I had finished my first 10 years of my life.
Enter the 2000s and the associated myriad of events (viz. DotCom revolution and etc) had further extolled America's unmistakable 'ahead-of-its-times' quality. Outflux of students who later turned into high-earning, earning-in-dollar-saving-in-rupees professionals only upped the mysticism this country had managed to inject in me.
I had begun viewing America as a place of freedom from all sorts of Indian dogmas. A country that I had dreamt of as an ideal place where I could work all day with a hope of gifting myself a peaceful drink by the fall of the day in a quiet bar, staring at its walls that are adorned with baseball jerseys and punk era's souvenirs of its stars. It was a hazy and a cinematic dream of wanting to belong to a place where I wouldn't be judged for anything that constitutes me.
Then the writerly dreams flushed into my head and there was America again. A country that offers illimitable number of tales to be told. A casual stroll along the alleys of a downtown and stories of another race, culture and history, waiting to be consumed and retold. A country where world literary scene is at its bustling self, with relatively humongous number of platforms to express myself on.
And then this America has come into being. Like how life gets melancholic with each day's volume of existing. This country has become a mere impostor of the dreamland in my head. And the melancholy of each day's existing has only unearthed the ugly truths that have always prevailed, just under the skin. (Or I think life gets melancholic as it progresses because we accumulate too much and process increasingly little). And the country - America - no longer is in my thoughts where I dream to head to a bar at a day's end to have my drink without being judged.
I'll be a walking probable of being squinted at, stared at, scorned by and in the end, feel fearful to exist within the country's boundaries.
To America, a country that had once been my dreams' paradise,
You are slipping away from my thoughts.
That's my earliest memory of States aka USA aka US as folks home here fondly call it as. That country kept up its stature in my head by only giving positive reasons for people here to dream about it from afar. A fanciful land of freedom, pizzas and rugged jeans had formed in my head by the time I had finished my first 10 years of my life.
Enter the 2000s and the associated myriad of events (viz. DotCom revolution and etc) had further extolled America's unmistakable 'ahead-of-its-times' quality. Outflux of students who later turned into high-earning, earning-in-dollar-saving-in-rupees professionals only upped the mysticism this country had managed to inject in me.
I had begun viewing America as a place of freedom from all sorts of Indian dogmas. A country that I had dreamt of as an ideal place where I could work all day with a hope of gifting myself a peaceful drink by the fall of the day in a quiet bar, staring at its walls that are adorned with baseball jerseys and punk era's souvenirs of its stars. It was a hazy and a cinematic dream of wanting to belong to a place where I wouldn't be judged for anything that constitutes me.
Then the writerly dreams flushed into my head and there was America again. A country that offers illimitable number of tales to be told. A casual stroll along the alleys of a downtown and stories of another race, culture and history, waiting to be consumed and retold. A country where world literary scene is at its bustling self, with relatively humongous number of platforms to express myself on.
And then this America has come into being. Like how life gets melancholic with each day's volume of existing. This country has become a mere impostor of the dreamland in my head. And the melancholy of each day's existing has only unearthed the ugly truths that have always prevailed, just under the skin. (Or I think life gets melancholic as it progresses because we accumulate too much and process increasingly little). And the country - America - no longer is in my thoughts where I dream to head to a bar at a day's end to have my drink without being judged.
I'll be a walking probable of being squinted at, stared at, scorned by and in the end, feel fearful to exist within the country's boundaries.
To America, a country that had once been my dreams' paradise,
You are slipping away from my thoughts.
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