Category : Books-Non-Fiction

Sub Category : Biography

Prologue:      This book was written for lessons learned and many more to come I hope. It's a dedication to all the foreigners who are Misunderstood to this day.  The ones from back in the day, like me and my family that set the way for those to come as you shall see.  You think your difference is great, wait until you see what we endured to make it a bit easier for you.     Finally, this first book in a series of two more to come, was written knowing the struggle of my own family and myself. To my Mom, brother, sister, and my dad, who would be so proud, you are truly missed. I love you all and as we grew as children, and family together, I only hope we will grow into old age together.

Chapter One: Coming to America 
The day I came to this country, I was four years old, and I didn't know but my whole life was about to change in a drastic way, for better or worse was yet to be determined.  It was 1977, the year Elvis died and Star Wars, the legendary movie by George Lucas was born.  Things were definitely changing, the Hippie Era was diminishing and Rock was taking precedence.  I had no idea about who Elvis was or what Rock n Roll was either. You may wonder why in the world would I not know? You see, I was from a small village called Badala in India, a third world county, when there was no internet, no cell phone, or technology of any kind.  In fact, the only technology I may have seen was at my Dad's military base, since he was in the airforce.          The most important aspect of this time was that the American Dream was still alive and we poor village folk from India, were damn sure going to chase it. There was a saying in India, that money grew on trees in America and we came right when things here thriving.       So there I was not having a clue of was going on being so little. As shocking as it was, for me it was hard to remember anything at all. I only recall small bits and pieces.  I remember that I had never seen so many different races in my life. I especially had never seen so many white people in my life! In India, I had only encountered different brown skin tones not even black people except, of course, the indians who were darker skinned.        When we arrived home, we watched t.v. and began to think that the white people who played in the shows all looked alike. We would often question, "Didn't that person just play on the last show?" and it would be a completely different person! It's funny because we could not tell white people apart when we first moved here!     So, to get to coming to America, I must give you some history on how we ended up even getting here. That is a story that starts in India, and it goes a ways back. We got here due to my Uncle, who got a visa to come to this country when he took up his craft and decided to pursue art.  You see, my Dad and my Uncle had very cold, harsh upbringings. My Grandfather was a wealthy man thanks to my great-grandfather, who was a colonel in the military.  Our trade was farming in India, which helped my great-grandfather to acquire his riches. At the time, the British were in India.  Instead of taking this as a disadvantage, my great granddad used this to his advantage. We are Sikhs, whose main region in India is Punjab. So we are Punjabi Sikhs.  Yeah, we are the ones with the turbans and swords that people still don't get. Moving on, the Hindus and Muslims strongly disliked Sikhs and some still do in India with ongoing religious wars between all three religions to this day.  These religious wars made my great grandfather seek the help of the British.  Since Sikhs needed help with thier numbers far outweighed by Hindus and and Muslims at the time. The British were naturally seeking food and being that we were farmers, my great-grandfather cut deals with the British and in exchange for providing food for thier military, we would get protection from the wars against Sikhs and get paid at the same time. He was obviously a smart businessman.            Back to my Grandad, his son. According to all I've spoken to from India to here, he was a worthless man who spent up much of the riches that his father made on alcohol and whatever else suited him. I have heard no one speak highly of this man.  He told my uncle, who had high aspirations to become the great arist he is today, that if he pursued arts that he had to get out of his home. Art was not valued during these times in India and obviously he had no clue my Uncle was just that good that he would go on to actually become a master of his craft.     And so at a very young age, my Uncle became homeless, hoping one day he would follow his dreams to become great at his craft. To make ends meet, he sold paintings that I could only imagine were as great as they are now. Going forward, my father was met an unfortunate childhood without a dad. You see, my grandfather eventually simply abandoned my father, who was left to be raised by his siblings on whatever scraps were left to be fed since my grandmother was long dead at the time. So this is the beginning of my father and Uncle's story, which did not allow them  to know how to love anyone, much less each other. They were never shown how to love, therefore they never knew how to show love.     It wasn't really due to my Uncle, that we even made i t to America, it was due to my Aunt. This goes back to when my Uncle decided to get married. This is where the story gets confusing so you have to pay attention. My Mom was raised in a far different environment than my Dad. Although they were poorer, they were a nurturing, caring family. She had five sisters and one brother and they loved each other dearly. Now, in India it is not uncommon to be raised by your aunts for  months or years at a time. In this family, it was the same type of love that your very own Mother would give you. My mom was sent off to be raised by her Aunt, my Uncles future wife. My aunt and my mom were very, very close you see. Now, years later as I said, my Aunt, a Tiwana, married a Gill, my uncle's and father's last name.     And many many years later, my Uncle had to find my father a wife because he and my aunt paid for his wedding. My aunt wanted the best for my Mom and they decided Mom and Dad were a great match. If you follow, you would understand that no blood /relations were intertangled. We Sikhs are very opposed to that. It was that two Tiwanas married two Gills. This greatly confused us kids for years to come. It was confusing that my Uncle's wife was both my aunt and like a grandmother to me, It also makes my cousins like aunts to me which can get confusing for our family so I am trying to explain it as clearly as possible.     Due to my Mom and Aunt's close relationship, we were able to make it to America.  My Uncle and my Dad were not very close so my Dad knew the only way we would ever get here was through urging my Mom to keep writing letters to my Aunt to please invite us through a Visa to come to America. My Aunt desparately wanted her neice, whom she had raised, to come and so Uncle finally applied for us to come. So there you have it- that was how we got to America.  Little did we know that although we got here, the relationship between my Dad and my Uncle would never, ever heal for years to come. The divide was already there but it would get ripped apart even far worse than we could imagine over the years to come.

Flash forward to as far back as I can remember.  These times in America were far different than they are today. America was not quite the great mixed America it is today.  We first moved to Plymouth, NC.  It was a country town with a lot of local farmers and Dad rented a house until we could gather more savings to buy a home. We were dirt poor still but much richer than how we lived in India now. America was so new and the small differences in this particular town were appreciated as far as I could see. It was a good first little town because everyone knew each other and still treated one another with dignity and respect. We were happy in this small town and I had not even noticed that I was "different" than the other kids. Perhaps it was because I was still so young and through innocent eyes, I still couldn't see it. Our differences in brown skin and different cultural differences such as clothing and religion were seen as unique but not hated upon in any way. Of course, I was not in school yet, just ready to go. I stayed home that year and did not start until we moved away from this area.  

There, I began learning English from the locals. I would follow this sweet old lady around who was the wife of a farmer, where she grew vegetables and potatoes and she would teach me some English and send me home with a few veggies here and there.  She was a sweet old lady who enjoyed having the company and for some reason, took a liking to me easily. I do remember that most adults saw me as a well mannered child who was a delight to be around back then. Down the street, I had some good Christian neighbors that I will never forget who treated us with do much kndness it almost hurts to remember how pure my joy was from all of it. I would go to thier house and they had teenage kids older than me and my siblings but would take us to the local pet shop to look at the fish and pets and sometimes would take us to the sound to play in the water. We all enjoyed each other's company so much! America seemed like it was a good place to be during this time. So innocent and joyful.  Little did I know, things would soon change.

Chapter 2 New Move, School Begins