In Folds Of Smile

Life has a quirky sense of humor, doesn’t it? Just when I thought I had enough on my plate with a stubborn toothache where my wisdom tooth decided to make its grand exit—bringing along a parade of chaos. In May, I was balancing more than just dental drama, barely holding it all together. 

You know those moments when you think, “This can’t possibly get worse,” and then life says, “Hold on”? Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. The toothache turned into a full-blown saga, one that included multiple sick leaves and crucial meetings where my usual managerial brilliance was sorely missed. My mental health? Let’s just say it went on a spontaneous vacation. 

Moving back home with my family, especially with my brother, wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but life has a funny way of reshuffling priorities. Apparently, my presence threw his life into chaos, as if I’d rearranged his world with a single suitcase. My brother is not one for big changes, and I could tell the adjustment wasn’t easy for him. But underneath the grumbles and occasional silent treatment, I knew he cared. He’s not a bad guy, just not exactly Mr. Enthusiastic when it comes to life changes. We were both navigating this shift in our own ways, and it wasn’t always smooth. But family, even in its quirks, offers a kind of support that’s hard to find anywhere else.

It feels like I’ve stumbled into an episode of “Survivor: Family Edition.” My brother doesn’t quite get it. How do I explain that this transition is harder than folding a fitted sheet? I’m swimming in emotions and self-doubt, and it’s tough. And where is God in all this? I once had strong, unshakeable faith that everything happens for a reason, but now it feels like I’m navigating the universe’s most challenging obstacle course.

Crossing the road has become a metaphor for my life: Dad navigates it with ease, while I find myself hesitating on the other side, feeling overwhelmed by everything. Even the street dogs seem to sense my unease, barking as if to echo my internal chaos. Comments about my weight play in the background like a constant, unwelcome soundtrack, adding to my emotional strain. 

I tried revisiting my old dance class, hoping for a bit of muscle memory magic. Spoiler: There was no magic. I felt like a child who’d stumbled into an advanced calculus class. Even basic tasks like using Google Pay, adding a new bank account, creating a credit line, and similar tasks now seem as complicated as quantum physics. Despite years of living independently, I’m still grappling with finding my voice, confidence, and footing. My friends are ready to support me, but I don’t even know where to start. How do I unpack this mountain of feelings without causing an avalanche? 

In the USA, I’d wander through parks, watching couples and dog walkers, wishing my parents were with me. Now that I’m back with them, I find myself wondering, “Why couldn’t they move for me?” And as for love… it remains as elusive as ever. Am I too picky? Too difficult? Or is finding love like trying to catch a butterfly that always seems just out of reach? 

 And then there’s Laado Rani (Dear Queen), my beloved red car. I fought hard for her, and now I’m faced with the impossible choice: break the lease or buy her outright. But guess what? I haven’t saved enough. So, for the next six months, she’ll sit at my friend’s house while I pay the EMI, like some sort of automotive purgatory. Decisions, decisions—why do I have to make them all? Is this just my journey, or does everyone go through this when they move back from the USA to India? I searched high and low for a relatable post on Reddit or a blog, but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations! You must be either a sucker for challenges or just incredibly curious. But here’s the thing—I know this phase won’t last forever. It can’t rain all the time, right? 

Before I moved, I tried to connect with Nupur Dave, who often writes about the unsettling feeling of not knowing where she belongs. She authored the book Back Home after moving from the USA to India following 13 years abroad and runs a website to assist people with this transition. I reached out to her few times but didn’t receive a response. From her videos and articles, she seems to constantly grapple with finding a sense of belonging and questioning her decisions, which resonates with my own fears. My biggest worry is getting stuck in a rut and endlessly second-guessing whether I made the right choice. For now, I know one thing: I belong with my parents. They’ve always been my home base and safe space, but these days, it feels like they’re treading carefully around me, unsure of how to comfort me. I find myself tearing up over the smallest things—like when Netflix asks if I’m still watching. No, Netflix, I’m not watching; I’m too busy spiraling!

And speaking of spirals, I must tell you about my latest Bollywood-worthy escapade. My flight from the USA to India was supposed to be at 11 PM, but my friends, bless their hearts, thought it was at 7 PM. So, we arrived at the airport at 5 PM, just in time to realize that due to peak traffic hours, there was no point in going back home. Fast forward to the arrival: my family, who had come an hour early to receive me, ended up waiting at the wrong terminal. By the time they figured it out and made their way to the right spot, I was no longer a bundle of tearful anticipation—I was a bundle of hunger. 

Since landing , I’ve been in an unintentional hibernation—eating and sleeping as if it’s an Olympic sport. Now that the jet lag is wearing off and reality is making a dramatic entrance, I find myself floundering, wishing there was a “How to Transition from the USA to India Without Losing Your Mind” manual. If anyone’s got one, please send it my way. 

The neighbors have wasted no time commenting on my weight and marital status. It’s astonishing how a few voices in the entire neighborhood can echo so loudly in my mind. I know I shouldn’t let their opinions affect me, but it’s tough not to feel like a failure when all they see is what I’m not. Sometimes, I want to shout, “I didn’t fail—I just took the scenic route!”

Then there’s the anger. I was so proud of my work, my job. It was my thing—the one thing I had that was entirely mine. I always knew I wanted to be a manager since graduating college, and I was a damn good Project Manager. Now that’s gone, and I’m left with questions: What do I have left? My personal life is still a work in progress, and a major part of my savings went toward surviving 60 days without payment. Between lease terminations, consultancies, and headhunters… Well, let’s not go there, and my house is wherever my suitcase is. But hey, I’ve got happy stories! I’ve traveled a lot, including solo trips that have led me to some of the best vegetarian spots on the planet. I once road-tripped with my mom from Minnesota to New Jersey over three days—an adventure filled with coffee stops and car karaoke. I even did a theater play with an NGO called “I Am Enough.” Do these count? How do I measure success? By the number of friends I’ve made or the miles I’ve traveled? Because if it’s the latter, I’ve got quite a few under my belt!

One of the main reasons I came back was because I lost my aunt in May. She was in her early forties and more like an older sister to me. Last year, I had planned to visit her in Bombay, but work got in the way. I was stuck working from home during U.S. hours, and the struggle was real. The odd sleep schedule threw my life into chaos—balancing work, sleep, and a social life felt like an endless juggling act. Now, I carry the regret of missing that last chance to see her. 

On May 2nd, the day my aunt passed away, I had an important meeting at work. I anxiously waited for news from my mom, but thanks to the hospital’s stellar network coverage, I couldn’t get through. So, I waited—impatiently. I went through my presentation, halfheartedly laughing and making small talk afterward, though my mind was miles away. I excused myself from lunch and took the rest of the day off, driven by a gnawing feeling that something was wrong. When I finally reached my brother, he broke the news I had dreaded all day: my aunt had passed that morning, and my family had been told not to inform me until after my meeting. I broke down, desperately wishing for someone to hold me. I called my only friends in New Jersey, but they were out of town. And so, there I was, alone on my couch, with no one to lean on.

That’s when the big questions started rolling in—questions that shook the foundation of everything I thought I knew. After that, reality hit hard. I applied for leave and woke up to a dozen missed calls from my family. That night, sleep evaded me, so I did the only thing I could—I journaled, meditated, and cried. When my friends finally returned, I went over to their place and had a full-on emotional breakdown in their living room. They didn’t know how to help—who would, really? At that moment, with my entire family together in India, I was the only one miles away, feeling more isolated than ever. 

The following week, the aftermath of my halfhearted presentation caught up with me. To top it off, my wisdom tooth decided it was the perfect time to cause a ruckus. I had to find a dentist, go under anesthesia, and then drive myself home, all while trying to ignore the gnawing loneliness. Asking for help felt impossible, because I did not know a lot of people in New Jersey and my friends in Minnesota were too far away to come to the rescue. Life was doing its best impression of a soap opera. I had made a few acquaintances at the Gurudwara, hoping someone would swoop in and save the day. Spoiler alert: they couldn’t. So, I did what any responsible adult would do: I tried to ignore my problems. But then, as if on cue, post aftermath of the upper wisdom tooth, my lower left wisdom tooth decided to stage a rebellion. The pain was off the charts. I spent half of May popping painkillers like candy and taking enough sick leaves to make a sloth look like a workaholic. My meetings—where I was supposed to shine as a manager—went from “Let’s conquer the world!” to “Please, just let me lie down.” 

But then, out of nowhere, my closest friend from Minnesota had a genius idea: “Hey, why not go on a trip to Shenandoah National Park for Memorial Day?” And let me tell you, it was glorious. Hiking, sunrises, sunsets, and endless hours of me behind the wheel, pretending to be a badass road tripper. For a moment, I felt like I had my life together, full of freedom and independence. It was exactly the kind of adventure I needed to shake things up and regain some perspective. 

Returning from my trip, I was prepared for a one-on-one with my manager, expecting a raise or maybe even a promotion. Instead, I was hit with a 30-day countdown to the unemployment line. Apparently, one off meeting and a few sick days had overshadowed my otherwise stellar year of work. I had always prided myself on hard work, checking all the boxes, and following the rules. So, I was confident my efforts would speak for themselves. But when my manager said, “We’re going in a different direction,” it felt like a punch to the gut. Different direction? What did that even mean?

The phrase “different direction” haunted me, sounding so impersonal as if my hard work was inconsequential to the bigger picture. As the shock began to fade, reality set in—and it set in fast. What do you do when the path you were on suddenly vanishes?

I threw myself into action, diving headfirst into job searching. I became a job-search ninja: revamping my LinkedIn profile, sending out resumes, and even enlisting headhunters. June turned into a whirlwind of training my replacements while simultaneously hunting for my next opportunity. There was no time to pause, let alone grieve.

Oh, and in the middle of all this chaos, I was chatting with a potential match from a matrimonial site.Things were going well until he hit me with, “You don’t have your life together right now. Maybe we can talk when you’re more settled.”I mean, excuse me, sir? What does “settled” even mean? I was practically a human hurricane, and he wanted me to be a zen garden.The audacity! I lost sleep over it, but in hindsight, thank goodness he showed his true colors early on—dodged that bullet. 

July 4th arrived with a spark—well, more of a crash. I went to a party to network (aka maybe make friends), and on the way back, BAM—car accident. In Jersey City. In the rain. At 11:30 p.m. A car hit me from behind and sped off like they were auditioning for Fast & Furious. Luckily, I had enough presence of mind to snap a picture of their license plate. I called the party hosts (the only people I knew), and they drove me home while I reflected on my life choices. My last car accident in 2021 had led me to therapy; this one was clearly the universe telling me, “Girl, reevaluate your life—again.” 

That accident wasn’t just a literal crash; it was the final straw. Everything that had been bubbling under the surface—grief, exhaustion, loneliness—came pouring out like a tidal wave.The aftermath of the accident was as chaotic as you’d expect. Insurance claims, police reports, endless calls to my family who were already on high alert after my series of unfortunate events. I mean, how do you tell your parents, “Hey, I’m fine! Just got into a little accident… nothing major,” when you can hear the panic in their voices from across the globe?

July was supposed to be my turning point, my time to regroup and start afresh. Instead, it became a masterclass in survival. Between job rejections, the emotional roller-coaster of losing my aunt, and this string of misfortunes, I felt like the universe was testing me. But in the midst of it all, I realized something crucial: I had more resilience than I gave myself credit for. 

I had tried everything: job applications through consultancies (which got me a job offer, but the salary was so low it was basically a “Sorry, your visa is invalid” letter), and seven rounds of interviews at Amazon. The interviewers were kind, but why didn’t I get the job? Apparently, there’s a policy that they can’t tell you why, so I’m left guessing like it’s a reality TV show elimination. 

The next day, I called up my immigration lawyer in Minnesota. He laid out my options: either go back to school on an F1 visa, enrolling in some random course just to stay, or pack up and return to India, hoping to figure out a way back to the U.S. later. 

After a weekend of full-on, eat-everything-in-the-fridge deliberation, I made my choice. I was going back to India. Sure, it meant leaving behind my U.S. life—the one I’d built piece by piece like a fragile Jenga tower—but it was the right decision. My mental health was hanging by a thread, my finances needed a breather, and my family was waiting for me back home. 

As I packed my bags and prepared to embrace the unknown, a curious mix of excitement and cheerful anxiety washed over me. This wasn’t the tragic end of my story—it was merely the season finale. A new chapter awaited, and though the plot twists remained a mystery, I was ready for whatever surprises life might bring. Who knows? There could be a dramatic love interest or a chance to become the next big viral blogger, sharing all my fabulous mishaps and triumphs!

So, as I zipped up my suitcase, even though everything seemed to be spiraling, I was still here, still fighting. Maybe that’s the point—life doesn’t necessarily get easier, but we grow stronger. Sure, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be at this age. My job is uncertain, love feels elusive, and my car is parked in a friend’s garage like a forgotten treasure. But I’m discovering that it’s okay not to have everything figured out.

With hope clinging like a stubborn thread, I’ll keep navigating those metaphorical roads, facing down the barking dogs of doubt, and seeking my footing. Amidst the messiness, one thing is clear: I’m still standing, and that counts for something. Even when I try to be serious or pretend to have it all together, it’s the laughter that makes it all worthwhile. So, if this is my life’s big, fabulous, and slightly chaotic finale, then bring on the next season—I’m ready for the show, and who knows, I might just go viral along the way!