March of Aliens

One of the days in the long gone past
We came with tiny suitcases
With nothing valuable inside
But a zeal to succeed
Stayed in a tiny sometimes crammed apartment
Studied and studied
No dates or entertainment
Cooked without training
Learnt how to understand English
How to be understood in English
Found friends or predecessors
Of birds of the same feather
Who patronized and helped

Time passed
The degree was granted
A job with a green card
A better apartment
A better or a new car
Time to realize that
We are not  American after all
Strive and strive
To become more and more
What we were to start with
Joining a microcosm
Wherever we went.

We rushed back home
To find a partners in a hurry
Got married to  strangers
And back to the States
To move to a little bigger apartment
New life, new touch, new interaction
Reaction, counteraction, shock and woe
Welcome to the land of
Lived happily after.

Now the babies come
One or two
To be cuddled,
To be loved
To be disciplined
To be lectured to be Indian in spirit
We have the great past, you know.

A rise in status
Citizenship
Green sprawling lawn
Hugging a million dollar house
Filled with arts from India
And may be from other places
Two or three car garage
With a Mercedes
And one SUV
And may be more
And a stock portfolio
To support it all
Hopefully
During crash and crunch time
Thanks to credit default swap.

Time sped up
With parties, classical dances
Samosas, beer and wine
And playing cards
Invitation
To baby showers
To birthday parties
To sweet sixteen parties
To graduations
To weddings
To twenty fifth marriage anniversaries
To the funerals of the friends
Who go away
Without saying goodbye.

With less and less hair on the head
And with aching joints
And morning stiffness
We go on doing daily chores
With the help of medical miracles

With time
We become more what we were born as
Dive into
Meditation, pranayama, yoga
To rediscover
Ourselves
To uncover
Our astral existence.

In the timescape
We see it all repeat again and again
Others come
And join the line
And we march forward
To the terrain of ageing
To cuddle grand kids
And wait at the end of the line
For the inevitable.

((*.*))

Babru
August 2009