My Journey Part 4 of 4 parts
Forty eight years later, I still remember how heavy my heart felt, to leave my ammoomma and everyone else, but how the parcel of blessings that I carried with me acted as an umbrella that raised me in the wind to waft me over the waters, a parachute that assured my smooth landing, on new ground.
On my last night at home I sobbed on my Mom’s shoulder. “I can’t leave all of you.” She replied with dry eyes and a firm voice, “karayathe ponnu-molé, don’t cry my golden daughter, you will see your dear husband Balu soon. Your place is with him. We will be all right.”
All blessings come with strings attached. When loved ones bless you, your father, mother, ammoomma, maami, they also transfer their power and their past on to you. In accepting their blessings, you feel it essential to carry on the legacy and the work bestowed upon you by the broad, but often tired, shoulders that carried the burdens before you.
But, despite the blessings and despite the empowerment, I felt totally lost and totally alone in a new country. As much as you are happy to see your husband after such a long time, you miss the many that surrounded you every day, and the loneliness seemed almost insurmountable, at the time.
The purpose of the journey will always color the experiences of the traveler. Being that my one and only aim was to join my love at the other side of the world, love colored all my experiences as the traveler.
What I did not know then was that a journey is not a trip. A trip starts from the point of departure and ends at the point of arrival. In my journey, the point of departure was not a clean break, because the sum of all that had happened in my life up to then came along for the ride. It was with me when I reached my ‘destination.’
My journey had just begun.
part 4 of 4
Shakuntala Rajagopal
Shaku Dreaming 
You write as if you are speaking directly to another. I can picture your expressions. Your storytelling is amazing. Thank you for sharing yourself.
Shaku Auntie, “What happens next” is one of the questions I always ask my students. I hope you’ll write more about your arrival here, more about Uncle, and more of your dreams.
The sight of you and your dad walking through Millennium Park reminds me of stories I tell Tommy about his great grandparents. At 3, I don’t know if he understands even a third of what I say, but I look into his big brown eyes as I tell the stories and think that his spirit knows the truth already, that my telling is just a feeble expression of verity that lives on through generation. I also tell him about your wonderful husband every time I give him a Kit Kat.
Patrick