I envied his clarity and pondered his words. It wasn’t that easy for me. I wasn’t as clear on who I was or even wanted to be. Until this trip, I would have chosen America and its values—the good and the bad—over India’s without hesitation. I wondered if that was because I had put on blinders. When the goal was assimilation, there was no blending and balancing of cultures. Assimilation required total devotion. And I had devoted myself to America’s dominant caste, doing everything I could think of to be accepted. Not realizing privilege was something you were born into and could not earn.
“Do you have friends from other castes here?” I asked him.
“Not really. To be honest, it doesn’t come up much. The reality is that the people who have a similar background are likely to be from the same caste anyway, and that’s who I interact with. The only people I meet otherwise are when I help my papa out with his foundation work. But those are all such tragic stories, and people are in so much pain, so it’s not a breeding ground for friendships.”
“Monali Auntie mentioned that. What exactly does he do?”
“The work of the gods, if you ask my mother!” Biren laughed before turning serious. “It’s great work, really. He helps abused women and children find safe new homes—often overseas because we made so many contacts while living outside of India. Mostly women and children, and he helps them start over. Works with them to get them set up with immigration papers and jobs and money to start off with. For so many, it’s a step up because while the West has its own caste system, too, Western poverty is rarely like Indian poverty!”
I thought back to the single immigration case I had worked on with Jared. He had taken on a pro bono case to help his image within the firm, which meant that he had me do all the work while he took the credit. But I hadn’t minded because it had been interesting to hear the story of the family who had arrived from Nicaragua to seek asylum, and it was impossible not to think of my family’s journey to America and want to help.
“I’d love to learn more about the foundation.”
Biren’s eyes lit up. “Papa would love to talk your ear off about it! And he’ll probably try to get some legal advice out of you if you know anything about American immigration laws. They’ve become so strict, so he’s been placing more people in Canada and Australia, but I’m sure he would take any advice you could give.”
“I’ve done a little bit of immigration work, and if there’s anything I can do to help him, I’d love to do it.”
“Don’t seem too eager,” Biren said with a wink, “or you just might end up with another lawyer job! Papa has been trying to hire an American lawyer to help him all year.”
I smiled, thinking maybe that wouldn’t be the worst job in the world.
24
When I returned home that evening, I found Neel slumped in his bed staring at his laptop screen. As he had as a child, he was burying himself in video games to avoid the world around him. Some things never changed no matter how much we aged.
“How was work?” He said the last word somewhat sarcastically.
I tried not to bristle at the edge to his voice. “If only photography could be work,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Was happy to even do it on Christmas. How was she today?”
He shut his eyes as if exhaustion had just overtaken him.
“Were you able to talk to her more?” I pressed.
He closed the lid of his computer, his head resting against the wall. “She’s in a bad place.”
“What did she say?”
He now opened his eyes, and I saw the hard look in them. “She is even more determined to stay here. She just mopes around in bed all day writing letters to Uma. That’s just not healthy.”
“If that’s what she needs to heal, then you have to support her in it.”
“I know you’re trying to help, but how can you possibly know how to deal with this?” he spit out.
I was taken aback by his tone. “I’m not saying I do. I’m just saying that people heal differently. Our family has never been one for emotional discourse, so if that’s what she needs, then maybe that’s why she’s with her family.”
He threw up his hands. “No Indian family is big on emotional shit! That’s the defining characteristic of being in an Indian family. We all grew up that way, and we’re all fine, right? Doctors, lawyers, we all turned out fine.”
He was right. The Indian measure of “fine” was your profession. By that standard, we were fine. But looking at the disarray my family had been in over the past few weeks, in terms of emotional well-being, it seemed we were all a long way from “fine.”