Dollars to Doughnuts - Yeh Desi Dil Maange More.

It is hard to tell exactly why, but living in the US makes us Indians crave and chase an elusive state of “happiness.” It’s like an American conundrum that seems to saddle and befuddle the Indian mindset. When I say Indian mindset, I mean the celebrated tradition that has for generations made us slog, spend little, and save a lot for a “rainy day.” There’s not a convenient store corner you can turn without noticing a new desi entrant frantically converting the price of say, a pack of lentils, or a boxed set of mangoes, into Indian rupees, and shrugging at the steepness. And even with the fortune of having the American essentials that make up a good life, thanks to the credit system - car, house, and on occasion, boat - one finds a state of unrest and a secret yearning for a better life, among Indian Americans.

So, has the whim of big bucks become the core of this “pursuit of happiness” for us? Well, we’re no longer satisfied with one house and a car; we want more houses, cars (and where applicable, RVs, SUVs, and yachts). This also means clearing credit card dues, which means daily grind, and it leaves us with no time for anything but work. But it doesn’t seem to stop there - this also makes us fore think, and plan our retirement, and for those of us who prefer to cross the oceans and settle down in our hometowns, it means investing in property in India. And with the real estate prices escalating in a fiscally budding India, it makes us toil harder and, consequentially, completely detach ourselves from our already limited social circles.

Can the mediocre lot among us leave our day jobs and turn to movie making, or singing to attain overnight success and glory, like Nagesh Kukunoor, or Shankar Mahadevan? Perhaps not; yet one hears every so often, of a star emerge somewhere in the midst of a bunch of bourgeois NRIs. As a stay-at-home mom (although I wonder how accurate that hackneyed tag is, given that I’m on the move mostly, running menial errands like returning books to the library, and stocking up on groceries, or baby diapers), I am often inspired by such accounts. And as an intransigent seeker of story fodder for my expatriate-centric features, I have even had the pleasure of meeting with and speaking to a few. For instance, the sister-duo of “MeeraMasi” fame in the West, who produce and sell CDs and books with limericks and stories in Indian languages for NRI children. (‘I could have very well thought of that, why didn’t I…?’ I lash out at myself in thought). But I will have to make do with waiting for an opportunity to collaborate with them sometime.

And then there is the bunch of NRI moms in the East, who conceptualized the quarterly magazine “Kahani” for children of South Asian descent in America. Given that these children are seldom given an opportunity to learn about and assimilate the significance of their heritage, “Kahani” definitely takes care of that and more. (Of course I could have come up with something like that! After all, I have a deep interest in children’s literature and have a stories collection waiting to be published…but I digress). I found solace by writing about them instead.

Somewhere in the corner of my vacillating mind, there are a few dreams waiting to be realized. And not one of them is any less a potential jackpot than another. There’s a restaurant, a patisserie, a bookshop, several ideas for simple household widgets and tools, an arts and crafts store, or a gallery that will showcase some of my own designs and creations…all waiting to be worked out, funded, set-up, and turned into million-dollar-realities. And in my overwhelmingly restless, stress-ridden life, I still find time to dream and aspire. I hold on to a scintilla of hope that gets flimsy at times, yet it makes my desires soar and my hopes float higher.

But the reality perhaps is that I will follow the well-tread path, rather than give up writing to take a jab at these so-called dream projects. While simply saying so won’t exactly excuse me from a getting a ticket to a guilt trip, I hope, while I’m at it, I don’t turn into a hustling, avaricious NRI for whom the essence of having a good life is measured in cash and chattels. The pursuit of happiness is overrated, and I believe that if one chooses to see it that way, happiness is hidden in the littlest of things, like in the attainment of inner peace, as opposed to getting lost in the noise of the materialistic world.

That said, if a certain Gauri Nanda can patent a “clocky” that runs and hides each time you don’t wake up to its alarm, then the power of my own “whatsis” shouldn’t be underestimated. And to find out, you’ll just have to check this space often.