A month or so ago, my sister and I accompanied our mother on a short trip to four European countries — Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Germany. It was a long time coming. My mother had a Master’s degree in geography, and her fascination for maps was a constant feature of our childhood. There is a large, detailed atlas in our house, and within a steel Godrej almirah, where the most precious things are kept, is her old set of tools to draw maps.

But in our country, although a woman may top her class, the tyranny of customs rarely allows her to pursue her dreams. As a reaction possibly, my mother always pushed for my sister’s education and her career as a priority. I tease her saying she sent my sister to more prestigious schools and colleges than mine — a false accusation.

My parents spent far beyond their means to educate my sister and me. We were not a part of this decision-making, and I am not sure either of us would have agreed to it. I know that I carry a great part of the guilt of odd privilege, going home from elite institutions to parents who toiled at a farm and whose own path home was nothing more than thigh-deep mud during the rains.

In a way, then, it was relief to give my mother this gift of travel to countries she had not seen, but whose names she knew, whose landscapes were familiar to her from old maps and older lessons. We could finally afford to give something back, a boon that is not always possible for Indian children whose parents make supreme sacrifices in the hope that their children will enjoy the privileges they did not. Of course it was only part payment — my father, run over by a truck on his way back from the farm in 2009, was not with us.

It was a hectic trip, by plane, by rail, and even by boat as we travelled around four countries. Nor was it easy on my mother, with her age, diabetes, hypertension and a knee replacement surgery not long ago. Nevertheless she found things to marvel at, everything from the Norwegian fjords, to the sunset in Bergen at nearly 11 pm, to the Gay Pride parade in Copenhagen, where she said, “ Main asli gay log ko bhi dekhna chahti hoon (I want to see authentic gay people).”

I could have said there were gay people in India too, but that would have been beside the point. It was about the ease with which she could see other cultures, the freedom of Europe. As she struggled to keep pace with the crowds, she would point to other older people walking along and say they gave her strength — if they could do it, so could she. And yet, one remark of hers that stayed with me was that the cars one saw as luxury goods in India appeared all-too-common on the streets of Europe.

The comment played on my mind, especially as we crossed from Denmark to Germany. The train — approximately six coaches — docked into a ferry, and was carried across the sea to the German border. As we went up to the deck, we were met with a vision of huge wind farms that supplied electricity to the country. The announcer on the ferry mentioned that the fuel used cuts down carbon emissions. It looked like the future we could aspire to.

And yet, we are Indians, and whatever the future we make will not be a mere copy of Europe. We are still a poor country, or at least a country where the vast majority are poor. Forget luxury cars, most Indians cannot afford a car.

What I bring back from such trips is not the memory of the expensive things, but of the freedom — a freedom that is hard to imagine while the majority of my countrymen and women remain trapped in deprivation. The true wealth of Europe, it seems to me, is that its citizens can be whatever they aspire to be. And the true wealth of India resides in the way our parents and predecessors have struggled to give us that freedom, so we can share it, in our turn.

BLINKOMAIR

Omair Ahmad

 

Omair Ahmad is the South Asia Editor for The Third Pole, reporting on water issues in the Himalayas

Twitter: @OmairTAhmad

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