Canadians are known for being fiercely patriotic, and I have always felt proud to be a Canadian. But after my experience in India, I am now very proud to be an Indian, confesses Tara Ayer, Director Residential Services of Salvation Army in Canada.
To try and capture the fullness of the impact that travelling to India can have on a person is no small challenge. Having been to India twice with two very different experiences, I will attempt to share how my experiences of travelling to India and being the daughter of a non-resident Indian shaped my life and left an indelible impression.
I first traveled to India in 1991 with my father and younger brother, and I turned 16 during that first visit. It was quite a culture shock for me when I arrived for the first time. I was a young, spoilt, Western-minded teenager. Having clean drinking water straight from the tap was among the many luxuries I took for granted. I had not yet developed my current love and appreciation for Indian food, and my unrefined palate revolted at the sight of curry for breakfast instead of the regulation cornflakes.
Canadians are known for being fiercely patriotic, and I have always felt proud to be a Canadian. But after my experience in India, I am now very proud to be an Indian, confesses Tara Ayer, Director Residential Services of Salvation Army in Canada.
To try and capture the fullness of the impact that travelling to India can have on a person is no small challenge. Having been to India twice with two very different experiences, I will attempt to share how my experiences of travelling to India and being the daughter of a non-resident Indian shaped my life and left an indelible impression.
I first traveled to India in 1991 with my father and younger brother, and I turned 16 during that first visit. It was quite a culture shock for me when I arrived for the first time. I was a young, spoilt, Western-minded teenager. Having clean drinking water straight from the tap was among the many luxuries I took for granted. I had not yet developed my current love and appreciation for Indian food, and my unrefined palate revolted at the sight of curry for breakfast instead of the regulation cornflakes.
Language barrier
Not only was the food, customs, and people so alien to me but there was the language barrier as well. I was appalled at the poverty, and the sight of young children begging and living on the streets. I had no resources from which to make any sense of it all. So not long after my arrival, I was desperate to be back home in Canada. All I could think about were my friends and the comfortable lifestyle I had become so accustomed too. I got so homesick that I begged my father to change my flight ticket for me to get home sooner.
Having matured considerably and now working among the poor and drug addicts of my own country, I was determined to redeem my experiences and memories of India.
This was no easy task. Because of his love for me and the distress I was in, he granted me my wish. I travelled home alone after only a week. I was simply too young and immature to appreciate and engage in any meaningful way. I failed to embrace the adventure and open my mind to new experiences. In the years to come, I grew to deeply regret my experience and impressions of India and felt guilty about how I may have disappointed my father on that trip.
Ashes and memories
I returned 20 years later, again accompanied by my father. But this time he was traveling with me in a carved wooden box. All that was left of him were his ashes, and our memories of him. Having matured considerably and now working among the poor and drug addicts of my own country, I was determined to redeem my experiences and memories of India. I wanted to fulfill the holy command to “Honor Thy Father” even though he had died almost six years earlier. His laugh, his smile and his constant words of love and encouragement were what I missed most.
Throughout this second journey back to India, I was surprised to discover the ways in which I would experience his presence again. I sensed echoes of his laughter through family members who not only bore a physical resemblance to my him, but had similar mannerisms as well. I was travelling to India this time to honour his memory, and meet family members for the first time. I was coming to fulfill my father’s final wishes, and lay him to rest in his homeland. I was coming “home” to say a final goodbye to my dad, who still sometimes appeared to me in my dreams.
In my youth, I remember my father would wear suits to go to work, and how he would always complete the crossword in the newspaper before he left for the day. He would sometimes tell us stories of his childhood growing up in India. And, as children we were always fascinated with tales of how people ate with their hands, wore turbans or dhotis, and how children were easily entertained with just a stick and a ball. We would often tease him about his accent, and the way he would say “bath” and “banana” because it was so different from the Canadian accents we had developed and become so accustomed to.
The last visit
My dad would do his best to stay connected to his family and his culture – but over the years as first his younger brother, then his father and mother all passed away he gradually became disconnected. The time between his visits grew much longer, and financially became more impossible. His last visit was with my sister Sheila, and he would often remember that trip fondly. It was almost as if the more time and distance that passed between him and his country, the stronger the pull to return back to it became. It was in these latter years of his life, as his health began to fail, that he would speak of returning home once and for all.
In the Fall of 2010, an opportunity came to visit Mumbai and I remembered the wishes of my father. I contacted my sisters who still live in Toronto and through tears and much deliberation; we made the necessary arrangements to have his ashes brought from Toronto to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I now live and work for The Salvation Army.
My family was with me on the banks of the Mutha River in Pune to lead me in prayer, and wipe away my tears as I returned my father back to the land from where he came from.
When I arrived in Mumbai in the early hours on the last night of Diwali, I was fascinated by how vibrant and busy the city was even at 2am. There was an energy that was almost palpable and I was immediately aware that I was in a foreign land. The heat was a stark contrast to the constant cool and rainy weather of Vancouver. The city’s air was thick with exhaust fumes and lingering smoke from the celebratory crackers.
Although part of the purpose of my visit was to attend an international conference on Human Trafficking and Justice that I had been invited to, it quickly became apparent that it was connecting with family members that would prove the most meaningful experiences for me.
Indian family
What I think surprises me the most and can still bring me to tears is when I think of how instantly and fully embraced I was by my Indian family members. The love I received from them was genuine and full. It didn’t matter that we had grown up on opposite sides of the globe, it didn’t matter that our skin tones were different, it didn’t matter that I spoke a different language; the only thing that mattered was that we were family and that meant I was accepted.
I had read about and heard people speak of how hospitable and gracious people in India are, but to have Indian blood flowing through my veins made me feel like royalty. The experience was even more magnified because of how fondly my father was remembered. I was driven wherever I needed to go. I was taken to see whatever I wanted to see. I was doted on and spoiled rotten. I felt overwhelmed by the kindness I received. I was overwhelmed to be a part of a family that I had never known. My family was with me on the banks of the Mutha River in Pune to lead me in prayer, and wipe away my tears as I returned my father back to the land from where he came from.
Canadians are known for being fiercely patriotic, and I have always felt proud to be a Canadian. But, after my experience and taking a second chance of falling in love with India, I am now very proud to be Indian.
