Boundaries of the Wind
A Memoir
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
The rickshaw came to a halt in front of a small rambler on Street 15 in sector 10 in Bhilai. I paid the rickshaw-wala with some loose change as he unloaded my trunk and holdall. Standing beside my luggage, I breathed deeply to take it all in. Home at last. The dry, earthy smell enveloped me. The garden was neatly manicured, and the fragrance of jasmine permeated the heavy air. Marigolds in hues of vibrant gold and saffron stood upright in rows, challenging the heat of the October sun. Living in dormitories for the past ten years and coming home for short intermittent breaks, I had felt as if I were a guest in my own home. Now that I had completed my studies, I looked forward to spending a few idle days with my family, enjoying Mother’s home cooking and thinking about my future.
In a few weeks, or maybe a few months, I would leave again to enter the next stage of my life, that of ghar-grahasthi, the stage that encompasses marriage, career, and family. Dreams and visions of my new life were endless—a perfect husband, a small home with café curtains in the kitchen, two little children, and a career in medicine. I was twenty-five, and the year was 1961.
As I walked toward the house, the door opened, and Mother met me on the narrow brick walkway. “My, my, don’t you look good. Come on in,” she said. “Aren’t you glad your studies are finally over? You are now a full-fledged doctor—and on top of that, a child specialist.” Her words were generous, but there was something missing. Her voice lacked the enthusiasm I was expecting. She also looked older than where my memory of her had locked.
“Yes, I love it,” I said, my own voice falling several octaves to fit in with hers. “It seems as though a large stone has been lifted off my shoulders.” I smiled meekly, gave her a hug, and looked at my older sister, Pramilla, who stood behind her, waiting for her turn to welcome me. I saw no spark in those otherwise bright eyes, either. As I gave her a hug, she whispered, “Life is never easy, is it?”
I did not understand what she meant. Having completed my studies, I was feeling exuberant and quite accomplished. I was looking forward to my life ahead.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
“It is a bad omen to turn your back at this juncture,” Urmilla Khanna’s grandmother tells her at the cusp of her wedding ceremony. “You must only look forward.”
With these words Khanna begins her journey as she breaks barriers and crosses boundaries to fulfill her lifelong dream of practicing medicine in America. Born in a land of arranged marriages and strict societal expectations, she agrees to marry a Punjabi research scientist who is studying in America, only to discover that no women in his family had worked outside their homes.
In America she has to face barriers and cross boundaries again. She has to switch from saris to skirts, give up her beautiful long hair, but she never gives up what is important to her—ghar-grahasthi—being a mother, wife and house holder and, of course, her love for pediatrics. It can all be done with determination, patience, and perseverance, she says. When all else fails, she banks on karma.
In her memoir, Boundaries of the Wind, you read about Khanna’s elaborate wedding arranged by her parents, the life of a housewife in Chandigarh, India, monkey-dance performances, and a lot more.
About the Author
Urmilla Khanna came to United Sates as a young bride in 1963. She became a board-certified pediatrician in 1974, had a successful career in pediatrics in Fairfax, Virginia, and retired in 2000. Khanna began writing as a hobby after her husband’s death in 2003. She lives in Northern Virginia.