Growing Up In Australia

In the quiet hours of dawn, when the world was still wrapped in a soft, hazy embrace. I found myself tracing the lines of my grandfather’s face in the tattered, monochrome photographs that perfectly encapsulate a treasured moment. Forever held in time. Loved and cherished. Each crease and curve told a story of resilience, of a life lived with unwavering determination. Each warm smile was a sanctuary. A home away from home, etched deeply into the fibres of my soul.

Growing up in Australia, a distant land, secluded from the bustling streets of my ancestral home in India, I often found myself caught between the two worlds. Caught between the culture, stories, and traditions. Sheltered in the gentle embrace of my parents, I was nurtured with majestic tales of our heritage, woven with threads of culture and wisdom passed down through generations. Yet, separated from my people and my land, I longed for the warmth of my roots. A connection that stretched across oceans and time. A deep connection of love.

Every few years, like a pilgrim returning to sacred land, we would pack our bags and head home. It was a pilgrimage of the heart, a special journey of anticipation and ecstasy, binding us together in a tapestry of love and longing. As the plane touched down on familiar soil, the air seemed to hum with the echoes of my ancestors, whispering the tales of long forgotten lives and unfinished dreams. A wave of mixed emotions washes over me, thoughts whirling through my head. Excitement. Passion. Love. And fear, what if I’m not everything they think I am? But all of this immediately subsides when I step on to my beloved country.

The streets of my grandfather’s village welcome me with open arms, enveloping me in a warm hug. A symphony of sights, sounds, and smells stir something deep within my soul. A sense of belonging. The vibrant colours of traditional clothes, fluttering in the breeze, The melodic chants of mandir bells, and The luscious aroma of spices wafting from the bustling dhabas. Home.

Ecstasy buzzing through my veins, radiating from my body, I was finally home.

But little did I know.

Little did I know that amidst the pure joy of reunions and celebrations, there lingered a shadow of sorrow. A silent reminder of the fragility of life. All too quickly, my time was up. It was on the day of my departure, filled with the golden glow of summer, that tragedy struck with a merciless hand.

My grandfather, a pillar of strength and a beacon of love, was suddenly taken from us, leaving behind an unfillable void. His loss echoed through the chambers of our hearts; an infinite ache was birthed. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t make sense. We all grappled with the harsh reality of his loss, vowing to take forward his undying legacy of love and sacrifice. Thirteen agonising days passed by in a blur of rituals and mourning, the air heavy with the weight of grief and shock.

Yet there was a flicker of hope. For in the embrace of family, united in sorrow and solidarity, I found a safe place. We shared stories of laughter and tears, reliving each moment with heartache and nostalgia. So was written a story of memories that would endure long after the tears had dried and the pain had dulled. Amid unbearable loss, I discovered a newfound appreciation for the precious gift of family. A bond that overcame time and and place. Though the oceans may separate us, and the years may pass like mere moments, the love that binds us together is as strong as time itself.

The time finally came once more, to depart my beloved home. As I lay in my bed, I felt a sense of peace wash over me like a gentle tide. For in the darkness, there shines a beacon of hope, a guiding light that illuminates the path forward. My grandfather. His legacy I will forever hold in my heart, our memories I will forever cherish.

As the time comes for me to bid farewell to my home, his voice echoes through my ears one last time.

“Aashini Aashini Aashini!”

And I reply.

“Nana, Nana Nana!”

I carry with me a special chest of memories, filled with treasure of love and loss. Though the road ahead may be brimming with challenges and uncertainties, I finally understand that I am never truly alone, for I carry the spirit of my ancestors, guiding me with every step I take. I finally know who I am. A piece of the puzzle. I am a token of my culture, representation of my family, and the product of hard work and endless love.

Growing up in Australia, the distant land, may not be so bad after all.