No country for expatriates
EXISTENTIALISM may be a failed theory in the eyes of contemporary thinkers. Moreover, the world has so much in it for a person to escape from the grip of existentialism. But it seems an expatriate cannot escape from its clutches.
As any other expatriate, once I too went for vacation with all that feeling of ‘home going.’
My first trip during all my vacations is to Trivandrum, a city which makes me nostalgic. A usual, I opted for a train journey.
I reached the railway station deliberately a little bit early to get that feeling of time wasted and enjoyed on train journeys.
Enjoying the fresh air to its fullest; thanks to the lullaby of banyan trees that decorated the railway station premise; I find it hard to believe that no friends are around me now. Before I went into a deep sadness, a woman in her forties, decently dressed, intruded my moments of aching joys.
She approached me with a smile and sat near me on the platform bench. Chit-chatting about the train that has to arrive shortly; slowly she showed an eagerness to know about my whereabouts.
Where are you coming from?
Are you a visitor here?
Where do you work?
In the end came a shocking request- “Will you please give me some money to take return ticket?”
Bewildered by her challenge that how I have become an alien in my own place, my heart plunged in deep agony and I found consolation in a soliloquy, “Hey woman, trying to cheat me. I too belong to this place. I am not a tourist like those Europeans who are watching all these.” (May be she had played the same trick with them)
Suddenly a mobile phone started ringing. To my surprise, it was hers. Out of shock she disconnected the call. But the caller was not to give up. The phone rang again.
There was no other way for the woman, but to answer. “See, I am not well. I am lying down. No dear…no need to see a doctor...?” It was obvious she was talking to her husband.
Ashamed of herself and to avoid me, she shifted the bench and went away.
But her doubt about my nativity troubled me throughout the journey. It came back once again, when I went to the village office.
An officer looking at me said, “No, I don’t believe. You do not belong to this place.”
Where do I belong? I am a worker in the UAE, and a native of India. I see both countries as my own home; both refuse to take me in as their own child. Like an orphan, I exist in between. No country for expatriates.
As any other expatriate, once I too went for vacation with all that feeling of ‘home going.’
My first trip during all my vacations is to Trivandrum, a city which makes me nostalgic. A usual, I opted for a train journey.
I reached the railway station deliberately a little bit early to get that feeling of time wasted and enjoyed on train journeys.
Enjoying the fresh air to its fullest; thanks to the lullaby of banyan trees that decorated the railway station premise; I find it hard to believe that no friends are around me now. Before I went into a deep sadness, a woman in her forties, decently dressed, intruded my moments of aching joys.
She approached me with a smile and sat near me on the platform bench. Chit-chatting about the train that has to arrive shortly; slowly she showed an eagerness to know about my whereabouts.
Where are you coming from?
Are you a visitor here?
Where do you work?
In the end came a shocking request- “Will you please give me some money to take return ticket?”
Bewildered by her challenge that how I have become an alien in my own place, my heart plunged in deep agony and I found consolation in a soliloquy, “Hey woman, trying to cheat me. I too belong to this place. I am not a tourist like those Europeans who are watching all these.” (May be she had played the same trick with them)
Suddenly a mobile phone started ringing. To my surprise, it was hers. Out of shock she disconnected the call. But the caller was not to give up. The phone rang again.
There was no other way for the woman, but to answer. “See, I am not well. I am lying down. No dear…no need to see a doctor...?” It was obvious she was talking to her husband.
Ashamed of herself and to avoid me, she shifted the bench and went away.
But her doubt about my nativity troubled me throughout the journey. It came back once again, when I went to the village office.
An officer looking at me said, “No, I don’t believe. You do not belong to this place.”
Where do I belong? I am a worker in the UAE, and a native of India. I see both countries as my own home; both refuse to take me in as their own child. Like an orphan, I exist in between. No country for expatriates.
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