My uncle thinks that it’ll be because I’ll find life more convenient and easy.
And since I was about eight, my grandmother has lived in mortal terror that it’ll be because I’ll fall in love with a charming, smooth-talking hunk of an American boy who effortlessly sweeps me off my feet.
And yes, it was a little disturbing to hear my grandmother say the word “hunk.”
I don’t know how it is for the rest of the world, but going home to India typically involves a simultaneously heartwarming and exhausting number of family gatherings. We exchange news; we gossip; we sing; we eat far more than is good for us; we tease; we reminisce. But for me, after asking the mandatory questions of “How is Princeton?” “Do you like your classes?” and the essential “Are you sure you get enough to eat?” it also turns into an opportunity to try and extract solemn, binding, pinky-swear promises to return to India after I finish my education.
My extended family’s way of going about it is not to explain all of the advantages of returning home. Instead, their carefully perfected (and much rehearsed) strategy is to insist that I will want to stay in the United States, build a life there and abandon them. I don’t know whether it’s intended as a pre-emptive warning, a methodology of reverse psychology or a misplaced belief that I’m a manic rebel who does precisely the opposite of what she’s told. But like many of the families of friends who are also studying abroad, they are genuinely afraid that the United States will be too attractive, India too problematic, and, thus, our choice too easy.
Their fear is easy to understand, given the bleak ‘brain drain’ context in which they grew up. It was disturbingly common to watch people of their generation pick up the little details and memories of their Indian lives and plant themselves on foreign soil to begin a new legacy. But what I’ve been trying to explain to them for the past few years is that, though I love Princeton, though I’m getting an astonishingly diverse, enjoyable and rich education, and though that it’s painfully difficult to find a good Reese’s peanut butter cup back home, Bombay runs in my blood, and I have no intention of settling down anywhere else.
Living at Princeton for four years has certainly begun to change the point of view from which I regard my country, but it is not in the way that my extended family expects. It has made my perspective more critical, analytical, perceptive, vigilant and watchful; but these attributes don’t make me more negative, they permit me to better identify how to help. I don’t look at the issues India faces and think, “How could I possibly live here after I’ve seen what life is like in the United States?” Instead, I wonder what lessons, ideas, solutions and discussions I can take back from my time here and use to construct a brighter Indian future.
I run the risk of sounding like a poster girl when I say this, but the University’s motto has a great deal of relevance here: “Princeton in the nation’s service and in the service of all nations.” It’s not “Princeton in the service of an exclusive, privileged club of nations.” It’s not “Princeton in the nation’s service: We steal smart immigrants for America!” It’s not “Princeton in the service of all nations: We decrease developing countries’ populations.” A Princetonian education is designed with the intention of giving you the intellect, commitment and passion to make a meaningful contribution to whatever part of the world you choose to.
I hope to put the skills that I develop here to good use back in the country that I call home. I believe that the students of my generation, with their exposure to a different way of life, will be able to bring a fresh, more nuanced perspective to the problems that need confronting.
And I hope that writing a published column that makes my intention to come home crystal clear will gently convince my aunts, uncles and grandparents to stop their campaign.
Camille Framroze is a sophomore from Bombay, India. She can be reached at framroze@princeton.edu.
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