I could have been a German child.

A friend told me a small anecdote of her life. She was visiting Stockholm Sweden and while shopping she saw a lovely family. The husband was a tall Swede, the quintessential Nordic dude, with his petite dark haired wife beside him and a roly poly baby in the pram before them. The wife was of Indian heritage. She smiled at my friend and then walked over. “Are you from India?” My friend said “Yes.”. The girl was beautiful and looked a little wistful. “I was adopted from an orphanage in India. I am very Swedish, but when I saw you, I just wanted to talk to you because you look like me. I will learn more about India, perhaps even visit. I hope you enjoy your stay here.” And she moved back, rejoined her family and moved on. That incident moved my friend. Where does our destiny take us? An orphaned child in a poor country could travel many paths. This one became Swedish.

The movie “Lion”, released in 2016 tells a similar tale of a boy adopted by an Australian family who goes back to India to find his roots and his natural born family.

My children were born in the United States of America and although we try to expose them to Indian culture, at heart I think they identify as being American. Or second generation immigrants. They enjoy travelling to India, they hear the music and see the movies. When they go there, they try to understand our love for the places and people there, but they are always happy to come home. Home is where the heart  is and where your memories are stationed and for them,  that place is Cincinnati Ohio.

I was born in the USA too, but I spent my formative years in India. I can switch languages and behavior in a chameleon like way, easily slipping into the different venues with ease.

Back in the misty memories of childhood, I remember playing with my sisters and the kindly neighbor lady beckoned me inside her kitchen. She sat me on a wooden chair and offered me chocolate pudding and schnitzel. I felt special. The second of five kids, I was singled out for special treatment. I felt happy. She was German and her husband taught Persian at the university. They were about to return to Germany. She smiled at me and said, “You want to come and live with me in Germany? “. I smiled and said “Yes!” She gave me a warm hug and a glass of milk. That night I heard my parents talking. My mother was angry. “I did not have children to give them away. We will provide for them as best as we can. How dare she?”  My father soothed her and life went on.

Years later, my mother told me that the Crede’s were childless and wanted to have  a child. “Why me?” I asked. I was born with a harelip which was surgically corrected with two operations, one at seven months and one when I was eight. When the Crede’s knew us, I was five and still slightly disfigured. To be honest, I was never really aware of my harelip as no one pointed it out to me. As an adult, two people did, and they were both surgeons in different places and times who asked me when I had my corrective surgery and who did it.  The Crede’s wanted to have a child and also do some Christian charity. I could have been a German child. I believe I still would have been me.