The Liminality of Home

by Haley Bernard

Home in the Neighborhood

“I don't think I have a home anymore,” says forty-four-year-old Mini Sharma Ogle who lives in Portland, Oregon with her two young children, husband, and parents.

Born in Bombay, India (now called Mumbai, but it remains Bombay in Mini’s mind, for political reasons), Mini grew up an only child in a 420 square foot house. Yet to her, home was the whole neighborhood. She never felt like an only child because of the strong sense of community that surrounded her. She could visit one neighbor for breakfast and nap at a different neighbor’s house later that day. She says, “sometimes I didn’t like the food that my mother made so I would go to another house.” Of growing up in such an open and inclusive environment, Mini reflects, “[Bombay’s] my first, and always I think, home. Even though it doesn't make sense anymore,” because she has lived for almost two decades in the United States.

Leaving Home

Mini left behind her home in 2000, at the age of 26. “It was August 15 of 2000 that I moved from Bombay to Tallahasse, Florida,” she says, to pursue a Masters in Archaeology. I am impressed that she still remembers the exact date 19 years later, a testament to the importance of that event. After finishing her Masters at Florida State University, Mini moved away as quickly as she could. She disliked how conservative Florida was, even more conservative than India, which is thought of as a more traditional country. The deciding factor that led her to move to Oregon was that she heard it had more buildings and she likes the vibe of a big city. Two years ago, her parents followed her to Portland from India to be near Mini and her family. Mini contrasts her experience with her mother’s who feels right at home in Portland after only a couple of years because, to her, home is wherever her children and grandchildren are.

Despite the time that Mini has spent in the United States, she says the only time she feels like she belongs in America is while using her logical brain and reminding herself that she is an American citizen, who has an American husband, a house in America, and kids who are half-American. While Bombay feels like home to some extent, she no longer considers it home because, as she says, “Each time I go back to India, it seems a little different than I remember, so that is not my home.” She taught me the word “liminality”, meaning in a middle stage, which she thinks describes her circumstances because, “Immigrants like me, I don't think we belong in any place anymore.” She is between finding a home in the United States and leaving her home in Bombay causing her to feel adrift. By leaving home, it seems, she was never able to fully return.

Nostalgia

While she never feels at home anymore, her memories of home are notably clear in the detail that she gives me of familiar places in India, such as Marine Drive, her favorite place in Bombay. The Arabian Sea lines one side of the street and a chain of lights, called the Queen's Necklace is draped around it. On muggy summer afternoons, a young Mini could be found hanging out and cooling down on Marine Drive. It is a place that means so much to her that she says, “maybe this is my middle age - midlife crisis … [but] when I die do I really want my ashes here? No, I want my ashes in Marine Drive,” even though her kids and husband are in Portland. She was thrilled to find a street called Marine Drive in Portland, but that excitement was quickly squashed when she saw that it was an industrial road by the PDX airport, frequented by trucks. This Marine Drive did not feel like the one she knew so well.

The importance of familiarity, nostalgia, and comfort was repeated throughout our interview. Places, food, music, and decoration that remind her of India, remind her of home, but still do not make her feel at home. To Mini, home is more than a place or an object, “home for me is like a familiarity... where I can just be like really vulnerable and not have to worry about who I am and whether I am being judged.” She introduced to me a Hindi word, “apnabas,” roughly translated to mean that one feels so comfortable that they can take people for granted a little bit, but, she clarifies, “not in a mean way.”

One of the places that reminds her of home is an Indian store in Portland, called the Indian Supermarket, where her family shops. She describes to me how her husband is always in a rush, determined to follow a list and get on his way. Mini, however, savors the experience, taking in the familiar foods from her childhood. “For me, it is not at all about shopping or procuring objects that I need to live, it is about seeing objects that are familiar to me… [or] bumping into someone I know.”

Listening to bollywood music and the texture and colors of her mother’s saris also remind Mini of home. Mini says, “she’s got so many saris and I feel it and smell it and it reminds me of home.” Smell seemed to be a powerful reminder of home for Mini, whether it was the smell of her mother’s cooking or the packages that they receive from India. Her kids know how much these packages mean to her and when they open one they exclaim, “oh, Mommy this smells like India,” even though they have not spent much time there and she knows that they don’t actually remember the scent.

Atoning for the Loss of Her Culture

Being removed from home made Mini more aware of the importance of Indian culture and the aspects of her younger life that made her feel at home. She says that she and some of her Indian classmates who also moved to the US feel that they have become more cognizant of their own culture after moving, feeling an innate need to share, understand, and celebrate it. While she values American culture, she does not want to lose her accent or Indian culture. She is an Indian dancer and takes up every opportunity she can to perform and share her art here, but when she lived in India this was not the case. She feels that in some ways she is atoning for the loss of this culture by expressing it even more.

In order to keep the memory of her home alive, Mini tries to surround herself with objects that remind her of India. She wears lots of color and jewelry and adorned her house with Indian decorations and vibrant colors. She speaks Malayalam and Hindi with her kids, who have Indian names, and cooks Indian food, always making sure not to waste leftovers.

On Raising Multicultural Children

Despite trying to preserve her culture, Mini has also left behind some practices, especially in her parenting ideology. In India, she says, one is to do what their elders tell them and not question it, creating a culture of fear that she believes is unproductive. There is also a culture of competition in India because of the large population that has to share resources, but she prefers to teach her kids to collaborate and accept failures. As of now, her kids are fascinated by India, but she expects that as they get older, this enthrallment will fade. Mini emphasizes the benefits that her kids get from living in a multicultural and multigenerational household because it teaches them about diversity and intersectionality. However, she notes that there are challenges to combining cultures as well. One of the most concerning is that her children do not speak her language, even though they understand it. She says, “I feel like when you lose a language you lose a part of the culture,” because there are words you can't translate and if her kids can’t find a word for something, they can’t experience it.

Reflection

Mini’s definition of home differs greatly from my own so I am grateful for the chance to talk with her. As someone who has lived in the same place and maintained a relatively constant home, Mini’s experience allowed me a glimpse into how immigration can significantly impact one’s home. The difficulty of returning to home has been a theme throughout my study of home this year and Mini’s story adds to this narrative. It makes me wonder how many people feel the same way and is this feeling always negative? Mini seemed nostalgic, but she said she was not exactly sad about it. When I leave home in the near future, will I ever be able to return.