An Emigrant’s Reflections on India and America

“I feel like a Banyan tree growing in a Bonsai pot.” That’s what I told my mother when she asked why I wanted to leave home. My mother, an accomplished doctor, and my father, an Inspector General of Police, had built a beautiful life for us. And yet, I felt confined—by societal expectations of me as a woman, by tradition, by religion, and sometimes even by the responsibilities that came with my parents’ roles. I knew it broke her heart, as it does the hearts of many parents whose children leave home. But in her heart, she understood.

I left for America. America has always felt like a global nation; what happens here reverberates everywhere. From Friends to the Oscars, American media shaped our imaginations, while content from neighboring countries remains largely unknown. Decisions by the Federal Reserve ripple into India’s markets. American political stances on issues like human rights impact policies and conversations worldwide.

The allure of freedom that America promises is powerful. It’s been ten years since I left, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that choice. Here, I’ve become the woman I always envisioned—growing into the Banyan tree I was meant to be, strong, and unapologetic.

In America, my religion or gender is secondary; what matters most is whether I can deliver. Yes, there are societal expectations and ongoing conversations around gender and race, but these challenges feel less restrictive than those I felt at home. Here, I am empowered to go beyond traditional roles and explore my true capacity.

I’m not trying to compare America and India—they’re incomparable in so many ways. America, with its relatively young history, feels like a teenager—bold, occasionally reckless, discovering itself. It takes risks other nations wouldn’t dare, pushing boundaries in politics, finance, and social change. And sometimes, these risks pay off, propelling it further.

India, by contrast, feels like an ancient sage. Rooted in wisdom passed down over several millennia, it holds a depth that’s almost unfathomable, a wealth of traditions and philosophies that inspire the world. Those who say, “You’re lucky to be born here,” are right. India’s cultural heritage is its own kind of power, a treasure trove of meaning, resilience, and identity.

Yet, India is also undergoing a transformation, mirroring America’s journey of rapid development and entrepreneurial spirit. In some ways, India is following America’s path

from the ‘80s and ‘90s, marked by growth and new possibilities. But this mirroring has its challenges. It’s tempting to adopt Western ideals, sometimes at the cost of forgetting our own richness. Why do we so often give up our languages, traditions, and values in the pursuit of “modernity”?

As much as India looks to the West, America looks to India, adopting traditions we’ve held for centuries. Yoga, once a sacred practice of body and mind, is now a staple of American wellness. Turmeric milk, rebranded here as “golden milk,” is marketed as a health trend. Ayurveda, honed over thousands of years, is revered here even as it’s often overlooked back home.

Indians in America seem to celebrate their heritage more proudly than ever, knowing what it means to have it, lose it, and miss it. They see the greatness of our culture because they’ve had the chance to reflect on what it means. Here, there’s a renewed sense of pride in being Indian.

Industrialization has reshaped America, sometimes at great cost to its land and people. My hope is that, in our pursuit of modernity, India doesn’t make these mistakes. We have so much knowledge—ancient philosophies, sustainable practices, ways of life that balance humanity with the land. I hope we hold onto this wisdom, as it contains the keys to an extraordinary life.

As India evolves and America reflects, I see beauty in both. Each has something to offer the other, a unique role in the world.

The timing of where I was—and when—has been everything. Being born and raised in India, I absorbed values of tradition, community, and family like no other place could have taught me. Those years grounded me, giving me roots—a sense of belonging and understanding of who I am. Leaving India for America—a land of freedom, ambition, and dreams without limits—gave me wings, allowing me to discover parts of myself I hadn’t known: resilience, drive, and an unyielding pursuit of purpose. But in leaving India for America, I now see that I went searching for gold while sitting on a diamond mine. My hope is to return to India someday—not as the person I was when I left, but as someone equipped with the skills and perspective to contribute to her transformation, appreciating fully the richness of where I began.

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