in another universe
To wonder, to mourn and to love your life in another universe.
Through the screen of my mom’s iPhone, my grandma’s face appears. In usual facetiming-someone-from-across-the-world fashion, the video lags a bit before I can see her face clearly. Then the usual conversation begins. While I stutter to formulate sentences in Assamese, the language my family speaks, my ita-ma (grandma) smiles and nods. Then it's her turn to stutter, but for her the struggle is English. We continue this exchange of attempting to speak in each other's language but ultimately resorting to the “go to phrases” that we know the other person can understand. The call ends, the screen goes black, and I’m left with the faintest pang in my chest.
My lack of being able to communicate with my ita-ma often sends me down a thought spiral of what my life would’ve been like if my parents never immigrated to the U.S. and if I grew up in Assam, the state in Northeast India where they are from. Last year, when I visited Assam for the first time in five years, the thought spiral grew into a thought-web. When we bought bananas from the man yelling “fruits” in front of my ita-ma’s house, when we passed by a group of teenage girls walking to school in uniforms, when I went to sleep to the sound of cars honking and dogs barking – I couldn’t help but begin to wonder. What if I grew up eating bananas from the man in front of my ita-ma’s house? What if I was a part of the group of teenage girls walking to school in uniforms? What if I went to sleep to the sound of cars honking and dogs barking? How different would I be?
Out of the many distinct memories I have from the trip, my reunification with my cousins sticks out.
After five years we met at the lobby of a small hotel in Guwahati. When they entered, I stared at them for a moment. In so many ways they looked the exact same; same eyes, same noses, same short hair. But adolescence marked them. They liked boy bands and played competitive sports. No longer five and eight, they now spoke of exams they had to study for. When they made sarcastic, witty comments, a part of me found it sweet and amusing. The other part of me mourned the fact that these parts of their personality were not familiar to me.
In another universe I grew up alongside my cousins. In that universe we light bonfires during Bihu and sparklers during Diwali. In that universe everyone can say my name right on the first try. I can make jokes and argue in my mother tongue without stuttering. I imagine I would drink lal-sah and eat biscuits before breakfast. Breakfast would be pool-ah luci and eggs. My walk to school would be a replica of my mom’s walk to school. On-foot and uphill, winding and lengthy.
I wonder what my sense of humor would be. Would my hair have been cut short? Would I still have been a dancer? I wonder if, in that universe, I would have been in love by now. The list of hypotheticals is endless.
Sometimes I think of meeting the girl I would have been in that other universe. I imagine sitting across from and analyzing every bit of her – her hair, the length of her nails, the way her eyebrows scrunch. I imagine the conversation would start out awkward. I think she would comment on how tight my curls are and I would comment on how hers are brushed out. I’d ask her about her favorite snacks and she’d ask about my favorite T.V. shows. I’d ask about boys and she’d ask about boys and I imagine we would agree that they’re not all that. I’d like to think by the end of our conversation we’d be laughing and our laughs would be the same.
Sometimes I wonder if I would have been happier there. At the same time, the attachment I have to my life in this universe forces me to think otherwise. I think of every friend, teacher and stranger I’ve had the fortune of crossing paths with in this universe. I think of 1224 St.Regis Drive, the house I grew up in, and the frozen yogurt place five minutes away from it. My neighbors who would give me and my sister presents every Christmas, my eighth-grade French class, my childhood best friend, I think of all of them. Could I ever give up every place and person I considered to be “home” in this universe?
Perhaps the answer is that no universe is better or worse than the other. I will get paper cuts and bleed when I scrape my knee in both universes. I will cry when I’m angry and I will overthink embarrassing, insignificant moments in both universes. I will love people and places and things and I will lose them too, but I will always love them for what they gave me. In both universes, my soul will remain unweathered by external variables. Even when the backdrop changes and the characters switch, the core part of me will remain constant. In another universe, everything is different but my soul remains the same.
