India ; my birthplace ; my second home ; my other half.

It’s hard, never truly belonging in one place, always feeling like I’m not quite American but not quite Indian either. I almost forgot the not-quite-Indian-ness until last summer, when I went back to India after a hiatus of three years. There, I was uncomfortably reminded of the divide between me, growing up in an American suburb, and the hundreds of children in Bombay and Calcutta. People stared at me with that she’s a foreigner glance, even though I looked and spoke the part of a perfect Indian.

What I forgot even more, though, is how underprivileged and less fortunate India really is, especially after living in the bubble that is America. We constantly complain and trivialize, but Americans are so privileged and infinitely more well-off than 99.9% of the Indian population; I don’t think we – myself included – realize that what we take for granted is a dream for most everyone else in the world.

The majority of people I know couldn’t fathom living in the conditions I’ve witnessed in India, just because they’ve never been exposed to anything other than their comfortable, materialistic lives; the filth, the lack of basic necessities, the desperation, and – of course – the traffic, are common occurrences in this third world country – Americans wouldn’t last a day.

This is not to discount India, for some of my relatives are the most humble and welcoming people I know. Despite being hardworking and extremely wealthy as a result of it, they reject extravagance and instead live the simplest of lives, enjoying the company of friends and family as opposed to a flatscreen TV. I aspire to live like them and hope that one day we will all realize the impermanence and meaninglessness of materialism. This is one thing that America can learn from India – yes, there is something; America is not perfect, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves that it is.

As for my first home, I will always visit, no matter how terrible the conditions. To those Indian-Americans who reject their past, choosing to look upon their heritage with disdain, remember: acceptance. Acceptance and open-mindedness. How could you not fall in love with the crowded streets and bustling energy of your original home? You belong to two cultures; embrace that, for not everyone gets such a unique experience.

My visit to India was a wake-up call. While it may have reminded me that I am not fully Indian, it was more importantly a reminder to stay humble and grateful. Appreciating what I have is always welcomed, always light-years better than complaining.

These photographs of India are not my best, but I hope they shed a new light on your perspective of both our third world countries and your place in this vast earth. There is much more to the world than social media fame and a new pair of boots; open your eyes once in a while. You’ll be surprised, I hope, by what you’ll find.