I am a citizen of India... my roots; my family; my future is there...

I am a resident of Kuwait... my work; my present; my livelihood is here...

Where is it, however, that I really belong to?

Which is the land that is really mine?

Is my present- spanning over thirty years, more important? Or, the first twenty and perhaps the last twenty years of my life that belong to India?

It has been only six years in Kuwait for me, and yet the questions have not stopped plaguing me. Life is not easy for an immigrant-resident. The question never stops haunting as to where does one actually belong to? For some of us, it was sheer necessity and for some, the dreams of making it big that propelled us to Kuwait. The fact, however, is that our youth is spent here in Kuwait. We earn here, and remit money back home. This dual existence, however, takes a toll of each one, in its own way.

We work here, but yearn for the aroma of our own earth there. We miss the spring and the monsoon showers... the flora and fauna... the delicacies of each region... and of course, the celebrations of weddings and festivals. We plan and wait for our annual trip home, eagerly. We take goodies and gifts for everyone on every trip home. And it is within a fortnight there, that some of us begin to feel restless. We begin to miss the peace here... the solitude... the lack of water-power-petrol issues... the privacy... the non-intrusive life and the ease in commutation.

And then, there are those days when the biggest dilemma haunts us day and night and that is, dinar or dignity??? Immigrants, in every part of the world, cannot always enjoy the dignity and status as the citizens enjoy. And those days when the feeling of being second-grade in a country gets more pronounced, the frustration is immense. Over the past few months, a fear psychosis seems to have gripped us all—the residents of Kuwait. Whether the implementation of established rules and regulations is correct or otherwise, we cannot comment on, but what hurts is the question: where do we go? And what do we do? Which land is, after all, really our own? Can we not have both—dignity and comfortable livelihood, at the same place?

Existence, for an expatriate, is not just dual but full of dilemmas. Either as highly-educated professionals or as uneducated but hard-working manual labour, we go and settle ourselves in a country but when the natives feel ready to take over, we are castigated aside. We are no longer wanted and a wave of anti-immigrant sentiments leaves us in distress. The dilemma does not end there. If we decide to pack our bags and go back home, all is well for some days. But then, our loved ones also look at us with a quizzical expression: till when will you be here?

If we are compelled by circumstances to leave the country of our residence, as are mass deportations happening all around now, in our mid 30s or 40s, the dilemma is more severe. We must then go to India and search for some takers of our experience we acquired here in the Gulf. We are out of place in India after a decade outside its job market. And even those of us who spend a life-time as an immigrant, realise on reaching the age of 60-65 that we are neither needed here at that age, and when we go back to India, nor are our loved ones used to having us around... We belong neither here and nor there, in the twilight years of life.

Life, after all, is and will always be a package-deal. Struggles will always grace our lives, here or there. We must accept, and guess, move on with some wise efforts.