"Coming to America"

Hi Everyone,

I came to America on Jan. 9th, 1977, exactly 33 years ago. Only 20 years old, bride of about two weeks, pretending to be confident, but scared like hell, I landed at JFK airport in NY. I saw snow everywhere as we walked out of arrival hall, and the chill I felt in my bones at that moment, has still not left me. I was engaged to Anwar for nine months, but since there was no courtship (proud to say none so ever), I hardly knew the man, which benefited me a lot to establish a relationship because there were no expectations on either side. It did not take me long to realize that this place, my home for ever, was a COLD place in every sense of the word. It strips people of everything, but their dignity.I had a"born again" experience quite early on.

At that time world was not as small as it is now. There was hardly any communication with families back home. A freaking aerogram would take about a month to get to "the third world", my WORLD. I would not like the food here, although the neighbors were quite nice to me, I would not feel comfortable with them. Anwar had just started his solo practice few months back, so he was struggling to establish his name. He was going to different hospitals, staying there long hours, while I sat home literally talking to myself, often asking," what the hell happened to me?", basically friends, I thought my parents sent me to KALA PANI. The scene at the airport kept haunting me,as I left for NY. My Ammi cried as if I had died, and my Abbi looked at my face as it would be last time in his life.

For the first six months I cried my self to sleep every night. Although Anwar (my husband) was very nice to me, he started to get sick of my sad face, because I think he took it as a direct hit on his ego. Then I started shaping up. I was smart enough to know that whatever a husband (any husband) invests in you, monetarily or emotionally, he wants it back, with somewhat of a profit.

In October, I had my daughter Aalia, and things started turning around for me. Then my in-laws started coming in batches, and I swear to God, kept on multiplying (sometimes overnight). Since Anwar could not go back to his roots, he brought his roots here and in the process, uprooted me as well, an innocent by stander at that time.

Today when I look back, I see only two things helping me throughout this journey, filled with so much joy, a lot of disappointments, more happiness than I deserved, and more pain than I could handle. First was the "virtue of patience", which my mother stashed in my luggage right next to my precious gold and diamond jewelry, as I was leaving home for good. I put that "heirloom" on around my neck, and haven't taken it off since. The other thing was the experience of "going to Kinnaird" (might sound stupid to people who haven't gone there), I came out from that institution (somewhat mental institution), thinking I could conquer the world, and in so many ways I did. I conquered my husband's heart, through the kindness I showed his family. I owned his shortcomings, owned his family and I built a home with a "revolving door" for his family and friends.

Much love, Shehla