Indian parents hit by empty-nest syndrome

[Guest guest]

Indian parents hit by empty-nest syndrome

 

By Amelia Gentleman International Herald Tribune

 

MONDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2006

 

*PUNE, India* Whenever Kusum Pattil feels a pang of longing for her two

sons, both working in the United States, she goes to the kitchen, cooks up

some of their favorite south Indian food and puts it in front of her

computer Web- camera to show them what they are missing.

 

It is an eccentric way of confronting loneliness, but it works for her, and

it is a tip she likes to pass on to friends at the local support group for

elderly parents left behind by children who have emigrated to pursue careers

in the West. "I felt very sad when the younger one decided to move. We are

only two left here now," Pattil said, nodding at her husband, a retired

engineer. "Cooking food for my sons cheers me up, even if they're not here

to eat it."

 

In the 1990s, hundreds of thousands of young, highly educated Indians left

their homes to find work in the United States, many of them ending up as

software engineers and computer technicians, helping fuel the global

revolution in information technology. Large numbers received U.S. green

cards, and what started as a temporary job became the shift of a lifetime.

 

In Pune, a peaceful, green metropolis in southern India, there are thousands

of retired couples experiencing the peculiar sensation of being

parent-orphans, abandoned by their offspring who left India in search of

better lives abroad.

 

Traditionally, Indian parents have grown old in the home of their eldest

son, surrounded by family members. Across India, an aging generation is for

the first time facing this period alone, adjusting to a more isolated way of

spending their retirement.

 

To combat the years of solitude stretching ahead, some of them have formed

solidarity units - Non-Resident Indian Parents' Organizations - which meet

for weekly dinners, monthly cultural activities, lectures on insurance and

will-making, and the occasional weekend excursion.

 

The mission is to replace, in part, the support structure that would have

been provided by the extended family network. As members age and grow more

vulnerable, the groups offer critical support for people who are

hospitalized or need urgent help at home. There are home-cooked foods for

the sick and company for the lonely; advice on travel, visas and how to

write an e-mail; dance classes, cards and singing lessons.

 

"Many of us felt there was a void in our lives. We needed a fraternity which

would provide emotional comfort and care," Nandkumar Swadi, 65, treasurer of

the Pune parents' organization, said as he waited to welcome guests for the

club's annual gala dinner.

 

He joined when both sons were in the United States - one studying for a

doctorate in computer science at Princeton University, the other working as

a mechanical-design engineer.

 

The organization's 950 members, aged from 60 to 95, are divided into small

groups, with the younger charged with taking care of the older. "That way,"

Swadi said, "there are always people able to rush and look after the needy,

get them admitted to hospital, sit with them and take care of them until

their children arrive."

 

Designed to lift the morale of members, the dinner's highlight event was a

rousing speech from Kiran Karnik, the head of India's information

technology, or IT, industry trade body. Karnik congratulated the audience -

mostly parents of computer engineers and software experts - for the

achievements of their progeny, who had done so much to improve global

attitudes toward Indians.

 

A decade ago, he observed, Indians were often treated rudely and

dismissively when they traveled abroad. Now, they were greeted with respect

and admiration almost everywhere.

 

"There has been a sea-change in attitudes to Indians globally, brought about

by the talent of our IT professionals," he said. "I want to thank you for

what you have done for India through your sons and daughters in the IT

industry all over the world."

 

There was enthusiastic applause and for a while a sense of collective pride

swept through the audience. But over dinner later, some parents confessed to

feeling conflicted in their feelings about the departure of their offspring.

 

"In illness we remember our children," said Padmakar Purandare, 68, a

retired engineer, whose son is a software engineer in Dallas. "We expected

that they would look after us in our old age, but it is not possible. My son

is a green-card holder now."

 

His own mother had lived with him until she died at the age of 84. "We gave

her every assistance, medical help, emotional support, she saw her

grandchildren growing up," he said. "Things are different now. My son feels

that he should do more for me, but I don't. I'm happy he is there. The

standard of living is much better."

 

The difficulties faced by families split up by career moves to the West are

confined to a small strata of educated, middle-class Indians. But the

phenomenon of the isolated elderly parent is becoming common across all

levels of modern Indian society, as extended family structures are eroded by

job mobility and the rush from the countryside to the city.

 

"India is becoming a tougher place to be old in, even for couples whose

families remain in India," said Mathew Cherian, chief executive of HelpAge,

an advocacy group for the elderly. "With increased labor mobility, even if

they live in India, the children often live far away in another city." He

added: "Since the liberalization of India's economy in the 1990s, people's

priorities have changed. When you want more money, parents become secondary

to the main pursuit of making more money."

 

There has been a parallel decline in respect for the elderly, said Gitanjali

Prasad, author of the social history, "The Great Indian Family."

 

"The older generation used to have tyrannical power. Everything went

according to their diktat. They could say 'Change your job,' 'Get the

surgery done,'" she observed. "Now it's not that they feel unloved. They

just feel they are becoming irrelevant, and they find that extremely

painful."

 

The parents of India's diaspora of software engineers do not see themselves

as victims, nor do they blame their children for wanting to leave. Many have

been invited to join their sons and daughters, but express frank distaste

for the United States.

 

"I'd never go. It's like a five-star jail," Subhash Kelkar said of his son's

home in Texas. "There's no public transport, you can't do anything without

your children to help you and they're at work all week. For the parents it's

terrible. That's when you really feel lonely."

 

Regret is tempered by satisfaction in the knowledge that their children are

doing well. But for many the regret hangs with them, a heavy presence.

 

Pattil said she was comforted by the knowledge that the tide of emigration

is turning, with many of the émigrés beginning to return, attracted by the

new opportunities promised by a flourishing economy back home. "I've kept

his bedroom ready for him, just as it was," she said. "His model car

collection is still on the piano, waiting for him when he comes home."

 

**

 

------------------------------

(Text PAMHO:12488382) -----

 

------- End of Forwarded Message ------