12. Even if I try to leave the enchantment, it won’t leave me ...

It’s extremely cold here right now, meaning it’s the peak of winter. Oh! How cold it is! Even though I’m wearing thermal wear inside, thick woollen clothes on top, and gloves on my hands, this chilling cold makes me shiver uncontrollably, freezing both my body and mind. No matter where I go, this cold forces me to sit in front of heaters. Sitting there, as the warmth from the heater starts to spread, my frozen body slowly begins to relax. As my body warms up, my mind too, without any effort, gives in to a warm feeling. A little while of sitting and warming up, then moving back from the heater. I repeat this cycle. Sitting in front of the heater, a strange sense of comfort begins to pull me in. I want to leave the heater, but it doesn't let me go. Even when I try, it doesn't let me... the enchantment! Before we came to Libya, our consultant had told us a lot about the cold here, but we were dismissive, thinking it wouldn’t be much. However, as soon as the winter season started, we realized our consultant’s words were true. The thermal wear we brought from India was not enough, so we bought more clothes, specially made for the winter, from the local market. With the new clothes, our bodies still couldn’t adjust to the cold here, and we suffered quite a bit. Slowly, our bodies started reacting allergically to the cold. It became unbearable, and we wandered around without sleep. Many times, we considered leaving our jobs halfway and going back, but the large salary we were earning kept us going, with the hope that "maybe today or tomorrow things will get better." Later, Indian doctors at the local hospital gave us intramuscular injections to alleviate the condition. Gradually, our bodies started adjusting to the cold. At times, when we were not used to such extreme cold, we would think, “Do we want this life?” It felt like we should leave it all behind. But one commitment after another in our lives, along with our hopes, kept us tethered here. Along with that, small commitments from our siblings and relatives also kept us from leaving. Looking at it from a distance, those of us working abroad initially come here thinking we’ll work to pay off some debts and then return to India to resume our usual work. But gradually, as we need money to get our children into good schools, we think, “Let’s work another year to save up for that.” Another year passes by. As soon as that’s done, our friends and relatives have bought property. I think, "I should buy one too," and we stay for another year or two. Once that commitment is over, we think, “Let’s buy another property, maybe for a rainy day.” And so, another couple of years go by. Once the loan is paid off, we think, "The salary here is good, why not save up for a home of our own?" So, we extend our stay for another year or two. As all this is happening, the thought of leaving and working in India for a smaller salary starts to seem difficult, considering the large salary here. So, we extend our stay again, saving the money in the bank and convincing ourselves that it will bring us peace of mind. And again, we decide to stay for another year or two. This cycle keeps going on... wanting to leave... but extending the stay... again and again... When will human desires end? By the time we have fulfilled one desire after another, we realize that we have lost 20 or 30 years of our lives without any true satisfaction.

Many times we think, “Let’s live just as we are, where we are, and how we are. Why live a life of quiet death here?” But the mind doesn’t listen. We calculate our salary in dollars, dividing it by the daily exchange rate, and then multiplying it by 40 rupees to figure out how much we’ve saved that month. We proudly announce, “We saved this much this month.” At the end of the year, we proudly say, “Wow, this much income,” but our mind quickly calculates, "Let’s work another year and we’ll save more." As that year ends, we again extend for the next. In this way, we keep calculating in fractions, multiplications, and collections. But we never calculate what we’ve lost in life. The world doesn’t calculate our loss either. The outside world has many fantasies about our lives and us the NRIs. We, who earn large salaries, appear as beings of heaven and bliss to them. They never realize that we have been deprived of many earthly comforts. Our pains, sufferings, anxieties, and frustrations are incomprehensible to them. Neither the outside world nor even our own close relatives, friends, siblings, or cousins understand. They just think, "They are NRIs. They earn well, so what do they lack? They must be living happily." But the pain, struggles, confusion, and sorrow of those of us who are sitting miles away, working hard to build a life, are known only to us. When we first come to a foreign country to work, we strive for a social life. It doesn’t take long to make connections because people are everywhere. The color of skin, language, and customs might be different, but aren’t emotions the same? Slowly, we choose people who align with our emotions and form bonds with them. We start creating new memories. However, alongside this, memories of our siblings, relatives, friends, and family back home in India haunt us. We regret missing family weddings and gatherings while we are away. We also feel the longing to read the books of our favorite authors as soon as they are released, or watch new plays and movies, or enjoy the food we miss so much—like the M.T.R masala dosa, Maiyas’ meals, the one-bite snack at Gandhi Bazaar, or the pani puri from Yediyur. We miss the movies at malls, the plays at Rangashankara, a quick shopping trip at Fort Block, a stroll along M.G. Road, a casual hangout with friends, the excitement of riding the metro, the joy of watching scooter girls crossing signals, pubs with dim lights, weekend resorts... We feel deprived of all these simple pleasures that once seemed so normal. There are no English medium schools here in Libya. Even if there are any, they are of poor quality and not worth mentioning. In such a situation, how can we even think about sending our children to school here? Therefore, it becomes inevitable for us to be away from our families back in distant India. In these circumstances, despite being so far away from India, many rumors about us spread, and not only about us but also about our families, creating stories that get passed on. The world is much more eager to hear bad news about good people than good news about bad people. Regardless of what comes, the immense trust between us and our families keeps us strong here, and sometimes we take things lightly and enjoy ourselves. However, these rumors, even if sometimes true, create doubt in our minds, making us question if they might be real.

Once, a doctor from Uttar Pradesh, who works with me here, had an old friend of his wife visit their house after many years. The friend told her, "I heard your husband married someone else there. Look at you, you're still the same. Why don't you remarry?" This left the woman, who was the mother of two children, confused. Initially, she didn’t believe it, but then she called her husband to confirm that he hadn’t married anyone else. To make sure, she kept calling his colleagues here and asking, "Is my husband married to someone else?" to get the assurance. Another time, rumors about the wife of a lecturer I work with here spread and reached her husband's family. She works in a bank in faraway Vijayawada. She was initially a cashier but was later moved to the housing loan section. Before sanctioning loans, she has to visit the site with one of her male colleagues or her manager to inspect everything. On one or two occasions, someone nearby saw her traveling with her male colleague on a scooter or auto, and the neighbor spread a story to her husband’s relatives, saying, "Your daughter-in-law is seen running around with someone." When the relatives called her husband to inform him, he laughed and reassured them, explaining his wife’s work and how it was necessary for her to travel with male colleagues for her job. Another time, a colleague's wife in Lucknow had gone to the movies with her husband’s friend, which also became a big issue. These are the types of stories that spread about us and our families. We take such matters lightly, occasionally laughing and joking about them. Despite all this, there are some who have spent fifteen to thirty years here. They have managed to educate their children well and get them good jobs while building homes for themselves. They have accumulated some bank balance and invested in fixed deposits. They have bought gold for their wives and children. They have provided financial support to their brothers, sisters, and relatives. They have completed all their duties and are now leading a peaceful life. On the other hand, some still come here looking for work in their old age to repay the loans for the house they built or to marry off their children. Dr. Basker, who came here at the age of fifty-seven, worked for four years and then returned to India. Dr. Shankar worked here for about thirty years and got his children good jobs. He returned to India just two years ago. Dr. Sahu spent sixteen years here and recently returned to India. Once, I asked them, "Don't you think you lost more than you gained?" Their only response was, "While we stayed abroad for work, we gained as much as we lost. But we don't mind it. Because we didn’t live only for ourselves, we lived for others too. We are satisfied that we did our duties. In life, to gain one thing, you must lose another. That is the rule of life, and no one can surpass it." How strange life is! We are born somewhere, grow somewhere, and build our lives somewhere else. And yet, how cruel and unbearable life can be! We accomplish something, but suddenly it pulls us somewhere else. Even when we are not ready to go, it spreads urgent and inevitable circumstances in front of us, asking, "What will you do next?" and without waiting for our answer, forces us to go there. It is for this reason that I left where I was and came so far to build a life, seeking something that was not there. Whenever I ask myself, "Was this really inevitable?" all these things seem insignificant in front of my work and the large salary behind it. Even if I want to leave, this illusion does not let me go! At this moment, the words of the poet Shikaripura Harihareswara come to mind: "A place you haven’t seen, A land you haven’t heard, Came here just to find peace; Without burning the bridge, Try to preserve as much as you can. Returning to the village, Only for the rainy season." This time, I have written about the hardships, dreams, disappointments, mental struggles, turmoil, disputes, and above all, what they miss in life. But beyond all this, there is one more intense and haunting thing they miss, which keeps haunting them now and then. I will write about it sometime later. Photos: Photo 1: Akakus Mountains amidst the Sahara Desert Photo 2: The author with his Sudanese and Libyan colleagues in the Sahara cold