As a first generation immigrant, life can pull you in different directions.
There is this logical desire to integrate. There is this comfort zone beckoning you to your community and culture. Then there is this life in the metropolis that gives you little time do do both. The effects are not the same on everybody. Those who live in a big city in India before have less of a shock. They are hardened to stresses and pressures of time. They adapt to strangers and their cultures with little resistance than say someone who comes to Canada from Baroda or Betim. But in a spare moment, that heartbeat on a weekend when you have time to pause and recoup, your float back to the land you were born whether Goa or India and you think of the people you have left behind. So you decide it’s time to make a trip to the old country for a dip into familiar surroundings, the life you once knew. The first few days are ecstatic. You meet old friends and go to the old places and revel in it, but after the first week you discover that change, not always for the better, has permeated everything as change is wont to do. Your visit jades and you long to return to what is now your home. The order, the cleanliness, the sanity; even if you must leave heritage and memories behind. The first generation immigrant will always remain the sum of two worlds. Loving the present but never forgetting the past. So when you are presented with an opportunity to get in touch with your past without having to take a plane back, you grab at it. It could be a social where you meet old friends or a feast with a mass like old times, hymns in Konkani, village food from caterer’s stalls, music and all, or the many cultural events organized by the G.O.A. or other smaller community organizations. We are fortunate that in Toronto we have a critical mass of Goan population and enough people who care to volunteer to give the rest of us the breaks in the routine for which we look. Volunteering is not easy. Vivian has detailed the heartache that goes with it and those who enjoys the fruits must be mindful of the pain. So I am grateful. Deo gratias. For living in Toronto which is Canada’s hub for Goan activity. For the plethora of events from which I can choose, for the people who do the grunt work to make it possible. Left with a choice to criticize (we all tell ourselves it’s only to make it better) or to let it go, I’ll let it go. Nothing is perfect and you get what you get. Be happy with it because one day it may not be there and then at what will you poke a finger ? Roland. Toronto.
