N for NRI Housewife (Guest Post by Rubina Ramesh)

Today’s guest post is by another well-known Indie Author and admin of most sought-after book promotion club, The Book Club, Rubina Ramesh.

 Rubina Ramesh is an avid reader, writer, blogger, book reviewer, and marketer. She is the founder of The Book Club, an online book publicity group. Her first literary work was published in her school magazine. It gave her immense pride to see her own name at the bottom of the article. She was about 8 years old at that time. She then went to complete her MBA and after her marriage to her childhood friend, her travel saga started. From The Netherlands to the British Isles she lived her life like an adventure. After a short stint in Malaysia, she finally settled down in the desert state of USA, Arizona. Living with her DH and two human kids and one doggie kid, Rubina has finally started living the life she had always dreamed about – that of a writer.

One  can contact her at:

Her website: http://www.rubinaramesh.com/

Her Goodreads author profile :

 https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13831355.Rubina_Ramesh

Her facebook profile: https://www.facebook.com/rubina.ramesh3

          My first read was The Knitted Tales, which is a collection of short stories ranging from romance to horror to mystery. I loved Rubina’s writing style as her stories always leave an effect on the readers, be it pain or romance or horror.

          I always hold Rubina in awe, as she is such an efficient multi-tasker, managing so many things. I always picture her as a mother hen (don’t let your imaginations run wild). Like a mother hen, she protects her chicks under her wings but when needed she gives the necessary pecks on their heads too. She is the most patient person I know, who is always there to help anyone out but can be a tough taskmaster too when the need arises.

So before Rubina makes me stand on a bench I better let her do her talking. 

NRI Housewife

A dream. Someone else’s dream. Someone else’s ambition is all that it takes for a woman to pack up her career and life and shift to the foreign shores, across those vast oceans from India. I can’t even tell you what it felt like when I had the first aerial view of New York. I had lived in The Netherlands for thirteen years, so being outside of India was nothing new to me. But hey, sophistication be damned, this was the land of dreams.

I am a movie buff. For me, movies are a projection of life. Shhhh…don’t judge me.  I am what I am and you all love me for that. So now, coming to the fact that when I saw movies where everyone came to the USA to fulfill their dreams, I too got down from the plane with a suitcase, two kids and a heart full of dreams.

And that was my only mistake in understanding life. After the first flush of excitement had died down and we transformed from being tourists to immigrants, the first reality that hit me was – I couldn’t work in this country.

A country where women are equal to men, a country where women are more independent, a country where a woman’s stride is no less than a man’s. Into this country walked in little me with a heart full of dreams, only to realize I don’t belong to any of the above categories.

I, Rubina Ramesh, was on dependent visa.

It didn’t affect me at all. When I first realized that my status was equivalent to that of a slave, who had the right to work in her house, clean her house, cook for her family, tend to every need of her family, but she didn’t have the right to open a bank account, have funds of her own and in general, had no right to have a single penny.

But it didn’t affect me at all. For I was numb. It was surreal. I am a very proud woman who was always independent in The Netherlands and India, but suddenly here, I was a nameless, account-less being.

But it didn’t affect me at all. I stopped caring with the passage of time. I stopped needing things with the passage of time. I stopped yearning for things other women took for granted over the passage of time. I had developed a blanket of indifference and pride which I didn’t allow anyone to penetrate. Not even my husband.

He thought I was happy, holidaying. He would go to work every morning while I took care of the kids, home, and family. Life, to the outsider, would look picture perfect in the house. But somewhere deep within me was an anger bubbling. You must be wondering what’s wrong with me. I had everything. I was in the USA, I have a loving husband who sees to it that I never lack ‘roti, kapda and makaan’ and kids I will die for. So what the heck is the problem?

Choice.

I don’t mind being a homemaker provided it’s my choice. My choice. Not a choice dictated by the government. Not a choice forced upon me due to law. Where is the progress in this kind of law? I wanted to rant, I wanted to go back home.

But I didn’t. For it didn’t affect me at all. I was, after all, a woman, whose wishes were the last in the list in a family. My kids love it here. My husband has a perfect job here. So I became the NRI housewife, where my every wish was granted, provided my husband granted them.

But it didn’t affect me at all. How could it? I didn’t have the permission for that.

So, dear youngsters out there – when you dream of USA, dream about your needs too. Not only of your spouses. I found a way to come out of it. But there are many out there who are still suffering. Their wants are squashed, their dreams are squandered and they are lost in life – just like their desires.

How I came out of it is a tale for another day. ☺☺