Show, Don't Tell
My husband and I grew up in the bustling city of Mumbai, India and moved to Chicago after our marriage in 1997. Our kids were born in the windy city and that is where we began our journey together as a family.
During our stint in Chicago, my father-in-law (Ramchandra Kesan), who was a widower, spent the majority of his time in India. He was younger then, and as a man who relished his independence, he chose to travel to and from the United States as he pleased. He would spend a couple months with us in Chicago, a few months with my husband’s brother in Dallas and then return to his home in Mumbai.
Sometime in 2007, when we realized that the arduous travel between the two nations was getting increasingly difficult for him, we thought it was best to move back to India to be close to him. When my husband encountered a new work opportunity in India, he gladly took up the offer.
Five years after relocating to India, we realized our kids were still struggling to fit in—we knew something needed to change.
To our kids, America has always been home. Their answer to the quintessential query, “Where are you from?” always elicits the response “Chicago.” For my husband and me, the answer to the question varies. Depending on who is asking the answer is either Mumbai or Chicago. We’ve created homes in both countries. We belong here and there
But to my father-in-law, after eight decades of being steeped in the culture and traditions of that vibrant metropolis, the answer is and will always be Mumbai.
We spent several months contemplating our decision, torn between the well-being of our kids and their connection with their grandfather and finally decided it would best for the kids if we moved back.
I still remember the day in Mumbai when my husband had gently shared the news with his father about our move to Charlotte.
“Appa, I have a job offer in Charlotte and I want to take it up. It’s the best thing for the kids now to go back. Will you join us? If you choose to stay back, we will worry about you having to live alone.”
To everyone’s utter amazement he agreed at once, wholeheartedly.
“I want what’s best for you and the family. If the kids are better off there, then I will be too. I will join you.”
He left behind all that was known to him, for us. As a mother whose life was deeply entwined with the longing for a better life for my children, I will forever be indebted to him. His agreement made it possible for us to not harbor the guilt of abandoning one generation in search of a better future for another.
Yet, I was anxiety-ridden when we landed in Charlotte. Were we causing my father-in-law pain by moving him in the years when he most yearned the comfort of his roots? He was never one to complain, but would it be difficult for him to adjust to a new way of life? I vowed to myself that I would do everything I could to keep him comfortable.
“His agreement made it possible for us to not harbor the guilt of abandoning one generation in search of a better future for another. ”
My father-in-law is a charismatic man and a stickler for discipline. He meticulously followed a schedule when we were in India. He woke up at 6:00 a.m., meditated for an hour, followed his meditation session with a brisk morning walk, exercise and yoga, then ate breakfast at 8:30 a.m. while reading the newspaper. He always took a bath at 10:30 a.m., dedicated time to prayer at 11:00 a.m., read some more, lunch at 12:30 p.m., took a nap… you get the point. We didn’t need a clock. We knew the time of the day just by watching his activity.
When we moved, he stuck to his routine. It was as if one had superimposed the framework of his schedule on a new background with just a slight change of scenery. He did not have his usual buddies from Mumbai here, but he made friends of all ages while on his regular morning and evening walks. Very soon, he was introducing our neighbors to us. The entire neighborhood knew and loved the man with a spirited gait and cheery disposition who walked in rain, sun or snow. Maybe, adhering to a routine gave him a sense of comfort, knowing that things hadn’t changed much.
They say that with age comes a staunch rigidity, yet in him, I saw the perfect combination of rigidity and mellowness. He soon developed a liking for certain American brands. His morning breakfast had to be the right ratio of Cheerios to Special K, the raisins had to be Sun Maid, and the only bread he wanted was the Arnold’s 12-grain variety. He was stern in many ways, yet if you narrated to him an anecdote about a child’s innocence, his eyes would well up.
My father-in-law did everything he could to help us make our life here easy. He did his laundry, folded and ironed his own clothes, kept the grocery list updated for me and made sure to rinse the plates and cups he used every day. When he discovered that our local grocery store ‘Harris Teeter’ gave a 5% discount to senior citizens on Thursdays, weekly trips to HT on the said day became an integral part of our routine.
Every Thursday after his afternoon siesta, he would dress himself in crisply ironed trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, fasten his belt, put on a stylish pair of sunglasses and we would set forth to the store, grocery list stashed in his pocket. An ardent lover of fruits, the array of so many selections delighted him. HT quickly became one of his favorite destinations in Charlotte. The glee I saw in him when he stepped foot into the store was akin to that of my son at the Lego store.
That is why on his 86th birthday—which happened to fall on a senior discount Thursday—I thought it was only fitting to have a celebration in the store with the staff there who knew him so well. When we came up to the billing counter after we had shopped, the staff at HT gathered around to sing for him. He was delighted. After the cashier rang up our produce, she asked him as she would normally to any customer, if he had any coupons. Standing there, flashing his charming smile and twirling his thick white moustache, he replied, “I AM the coupon.”
As writers we are often asked to show, not tell. My father-in-law comes from a generation where words were rarely used as an expression of love. To this day, I haven’t heard him say “I love you,” to anyone in the family, yet I have experienced his love in abundance in every little act of his. To me, he is the finest example of Show, Don’t Tell.
Thank you, Vidya, for sharing your story. If you wish to share your own story, please email emma@loveforourelders.org.
Vidya Murlidhar
is a children's book author and essayist who lives with her family in Charlotte, NC. Her book, "The Adventures of Grandpa and Ray" is an ode to the special bond that grandparents share with their grandchildren. You can read her work at vidyawrites.com.