The Indian Mate Volume 2: A journey from namaste to howrya

By Divesh Sareen

The Indian Mate: Volume 2 uncovers a unique Australian experience through the eyes of an NRI (Non-Resident Indian) who later became an Australian citizen.

With crushing expectations, $1000 and a bag full of dreams (his own and his family's), Dives

• Language: English
• Publisher: AFTERTHEWHY PTY LTD
• Release date: Jan 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781922764430

Divesh Sareen

Divesh is an entrepreneur who loves solving problems. He was born in India and migrated to Australia at the young age of 21. His family background was one of extreme hardship and financial difficulties.During his childhood years, he realised someone from his family had to make sacrifices to uplift their socioeconomic situation. Being the elder child, he thought he was best placed to do so. So, he decided to leave behind everything and almost everyone he had known in India and come with almost nothing to this amazing country - Australia - to realise his dream for himself and his family. He has since worked his way up to lead tech teams and deliver innovative solutions to diverse industries across the globe.Divesh hopes to motivate the underdogs and dark horses of the world by sharing his story and the challenges he encountered while undertaking his journey across continents. In order to achieve this, he realised that The Indian Mate would need to embrace much more than just the individual successes of Divesh and others like him.This took him back to the Partition of India in 1947, the stories of which were an ingrained part of his childhood: the stories of human endurance and triumph amongst the heart-wrenching tragedies and troubles arising from the biggest migration in human history. Having witnessed both nations - India and Pakistan - still recovering from it, he decided to expand his horizon and wrote the first volume of The Indian Mate chronicling the time of Independence and the Partition of India and how families like his navigated this period along with his own experience of growing up in a middle-class family in modern India.In the second volume, he speaks about the journey that most students like him go through in Australia and the dilemmas they face as an immigrant while dealing with the feeling that they don't really belong anywhere. He also shares some interesting snippets from his new life, such as what it's like to convince your Indian parents to drop the idea of an arranged marriage and to let him marry an Australian girl they have never met.Divesh was driven with the sole purpose of ensuring a better life for himself and his family. That dream laid the foundation for him to work tirelessly to make himself and the world around him a better place. It also gave him his current goal: to help the next underdog to get a head start in his or her life by sharing his own experiences and learnings.Divesh is a strategic thinker and innovator who advises start-ups from the ground up and helps organisations grow and become more efficient in using technology. He is an unstoppable product and technology solutions architect who works as a consultant for a living. His empathetic ability is his biggest strength and enables him to think like his customers and build long-term relationships.Divesh lives his life by creating and implementing solutions. His latest and upcoming ventures are After the WHY, Seeking Guru, Avatar Media and Find a Legend. In his free time, Divesh enjoys teaching his son Hari; convincing his daughter Aishwarya that it's okay to also share some cuddles with daddy; being a good son, brother, and husband most of the time; exploring and working on new ideas and learning new skills that challenge him.Divesh lives every day by the quote, 'The hardest battles are given to the bravest soldiers'. His favourite poem is 'Jind Meriye Mitti Diye Dheriye', the essence of which is that we will not remain here forever, and even the next breath is not guaranteed. Therefore, our emphasis should be on living a life with a purpose that's bigger than us.

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Prologue

Jana Gana Mana

It was near on five years since my fateful trip across the Indian Ocean. I’d taken the day off work, and spent the morning listening to ‘Jana Gana Mana’ (the Indian national anthem). I felt emotional and conflicted.

Today was my citizenship ceremony. The day I’d become Australian.

Of course this was what I’d been working towards for a long time. It wasn’t that I was having second thoughts, exactly. But the ceremony was the moment I’d renounce my Indian citizenship – and that left me with a lump in my throat.

Being Australian meant providing a better life for my family, having a passport that made it easier to travel anywhere in the world, and being a part of its people – having voting rights, and so on. I just wished it didn’t also mean I had to relinquish my rights as an Indian citizen. India was my country of birth. I’d grown up there in the hustle and bustle, trying to change the world for my family and thriving among her people. I knew the land, the cities and the rivers; my spirituality was entrenched in her temples; and I had always believed my family lineage would stay there – until I’d had a pipe dream to come to Australia.

That part of my life was officially over now. Even though becom- ing an Australian citizen meant the end of visa insecurity and risk of deportation, and gave me further ability to bring my family to Australia, I still felt a sense of mourning and separation from my country and people. I sat with those strong feelings that morning – never questioning my choices, but honouring my feelings and taking the time to understand them. It was important to me that I did this properly. It didn’t seem right to rush.

Eventually I made my peace with it as best I could. It was time to meet Catherine’s parents for a coffee close to the hall in which the ceremony would be held. Funnily enough, I’d learnt Catherine’s dad was a stickler for being early, just like me – there’d been a running family joke about how he’d taken the kids to a doctor’s appointment three hours early one day, because he’d been worried about making it on time. We’d always joked about having that in common, and today was no different – we met several hours prior to the ceremony. It was a really nice morning together, and I was incredibly appreciative of Catherine’s parents’ support when my own family were absent. They’d continued to show up for me from the second they’d met me, and that had never been something I’d taken lightly.

When we eventually headed over to the hall for the ceremony, I was reminded of my university graduation – minus the hat. Some people were dressed in their traditional outfits to represent their own country, and others were dressed in something they felt represented Australia. I was wearing one of my favourite button-up shirts in honour of the seriousness of the event.

As I stood there waiting for my name to be called, reflecting upon how much my life had changed since I’d left India, I felt excited about the future and a little overwhelmed. This was the life I’d chosen. Even though I’d always run at life 100 miles an hour and somehow managed to make things happen when other people told me it was impossible, it was still surreal to be watching my new reality unfold. 

I had to snap out of my daydream as my name was called and I was taking the stage. I was handed my Australian citizenship certificate and a native Australian plant. I recited the words of the citizenship pledge with meaning: ‘From this time forward, I pledge my loyalty to Australia and its people, whose democratic beliefs I share, whose rights and liberties I respect and whose laws I will uphold and obey.’ I knew I meant it with every part of my soul. For some people who came to Australia this was just a part of the process, but I had spent time reflecting upon the pledge and I felt that I truly understood what it meant.

This was who I was now. I was Australian. I hadn’t just come to take advantage of the country, I had come here to make it my home – and my family’s, both future and current. That meant something to me, and I had fully considered the ramifications of it. Some people may have come to Australia whilst still supporting their country of origin in their loyalties; I still very much had a soft spot for India in my heart, but I also knew where my allegiance lay now. If India were to face off Australia in the cricket, I was meant to be rooting for Australia fully; if World War III eventuated, even though it would likely be nuclear, I knew I could be drafted and called out to go to war, even if I was fighting against India herself.

I wondered how many of the new citizens at the ceremony had truly considered what they were signing up for. My word was everything to me, and I had no intention of being a hypocrite. I had sworn a very specific oath and I meant to stick to it. This wasn’t just a passport to help me stay here and do whatever I wanted. My children were going to be born here and they and my future wife were Australian. As much as I loved India, I was very clear on what I’d just declared and what it would mean to me.

Suddenly broken out my reverie, I realised the ceremony had finished and I was staring out into the excited faces of my new Australian family who were cheering and clapping wildly. All of a sudden, it was done.

I was Australian now. There was no turning back, and nowhere else to go.

I had left India and she had left me …

Except for the remnants of the quiet whispers she’d left behind in my soul.

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Chapter 1

Game day

As I’m sure you understand by now, having read the first volume of this story, I don’t do things by halves. There is always chaos in my path, and my first plane journey to Australia was no exception. 

I’d just left my tearful family and friends in my wake outside the terminal at Delhi airport. I headed into the airport with my luggage trolley, sweating under my layers of clothing – as you’ll remember, I was wearing three jackets, to save them from having to be squeezed into my already bulging baggage. The jacket my uncle had gifted me was the top layer.

When I arrived at the ticket counter, the woman looked at me sternly. She typed in the details from my e-ticket and then promptly handed it back to me, telling me it wasn’t valid. There was no ticket registered under that name.

I stared stupidly at her. It made no sense. It was like she was speaking another language and I was listening underwater. Instead of taking my ticket and walking away, I just stood there at the counter, not comprehending. I was waiting for something to make sense so I could work out what I was supposed to do next.

This was not how I’d been expecting it to go down at all. In fact, it was an absolute disaster!

My brain was racing a hundred miles per minute. Was I supposed to go back to my family and tell them the travel agent had messed up? Would we have to do the farewell routine all over again later? What would it mean for my visa if I couldn’t get to Australia in time? And what about all the presents and money I’d already been given … did I have to return it? Did this mean I didn’t have a connecting flight too? How could all this be taken away from me so quickly? What had I done so wrong?

Then my brain turned to problem-solving mode. I’d just ask if I could stand in the toilet for the whole flight if they didn’t have a spare seat for me. No, that wouldn’t work: people would need to use it. What if I offered to stand in the aisle the whole way?

As all these questions and possible solutions flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds, the woman gave an exasperated huff and snatched the ticket back from me – clearly having realised I wasn’t going anywhere. I knew I hadn’t photoshopped the ticket and I trusted Vishw’s travel agent, so I just couldn’t understand where the breakdown had occurred.

Perhaps it was just because it was an e-ticket, which was relatively new technology back then; or perhaps it was just sloppy typing on her part. Either way I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me and I was going to be sick. It seemed like the longest moment of my life, standing there helplessly staring at this woman who really didn’t seem to care one way or another what happened to me – except for the fact that I was blocking her queue.

Thankfully as I watched her type the details in again it appeared to work and she smiled at me apologetically. Perhaps she’d missed a letter in her rush, she told me, and now it had all gone through and was showing up fine. She told me to hurry though as I still had to check in my luggage and make it through security, and time was moving fast.

I stood there a moment longer, still staring at her, hardly daring to believe I had the go-ahead. When it finally registered I gave a loud whoop, leaping forward like I was going to high five or fist bump her. She wasn’t having it, though, and stepped back warily as I regained my composure. I hurriedly placed my luggage on the conveyor belt, not wanting my luck to run out.

I’d never caught an international flight before and this had been an intense start to the process. I was beginning to wonder how many more hurdles there might be before I actually made it onto a plane.

Of course, as per the way my luck was trending, I was seven kilograms over the luggage weight limit. To be honest, I was actually surprised it was only seven kilograms and not 20, given everything that had been jammed into my bags – but regardless, seven kilograms over was seven kilograms over, and I knew that wasn’t great. As I stood there, again waiting for the woman to tell me what needed to happen next, she took pity on me. I was still sweating profusely, particularly after my interaction at the ticket counter.

She noted my one-way ticket and asked if I was going to study in Australia and whether this was my first time travelling. I told her it was and that my family had helped me pack since it was my first time living overseas – so perhaps they might have put too many things into my luggage. She laughed and nodded, advising me that it was a far more common occurrence than I might realise, and it just meant I must have a good family if they were so intent on looking after me. My eyes misted a little; I knew she was right.

As she took my bags and waved me through, I hurried past her, definitely not waiting to be told twice. My adrenaline had kicked in by that stage and I was feeling far more exuberant without so many crying friends and relatives around.

After all, I felt like I’d been waiting for this my whole life – and here it was, finally happening. I felt proud and full of excitement at the thought of fulfilling all my responsibilities and forging this new life for us all. It was like I’d been secretly training for the Olympics – a hard childhood, working in my uncle’s factory, hustling for years at uni, working odd jobs and all the training I had completed at the call centres and with Dell – and now here I was. This was game day. 

With shoulders back and head held high, I boarded the plane like I was the pilot and headed for my seat. I didn’t really know what to expect – it certainly wasn’t the crazy number of noisy people jammed on the plane with me – but I quickly got the hang of the situation and grabbed my free headphones, earplugs, eye mask and socks.

I was feeling comparatively rich. I’d never had so many people waiting on me hand and foot – and while they were offering me things, well, I was just going to keep saying yes. It seemed like the polite thing to do after all and who was I to refuse something being so kindly offered? More food? Yes, thank you. Would sir like another drink? Don’t mind if I do. And so on it went until I fell into a very satisfied food coma.

I was woken rudely from my nap by the thud of the plane landing in Singapore. As I looked out at the buildings in awe, I wondered what they were all for and who lived in them. The airport architecture was also really interesting to me. I would have loved to have explored the airport, but I was a little scared of missing my connecting flight so I decided not to wander too far.

As I got off the plane, I looked for a Punjabi man I’d met in the queue prior to boarding. He was a citizen of Australia now and he’d offered to help me navigate all the gates and terminals, which were new to me, and to ensure I got on my connecting flight. I was a bit nervous about that and didn’t want to end up on a plane to the wrong country, so I’d gladly accepted his assistance.

As I spotted him waiting for me, I headed over, relaxing a little now that I’d found my guide. He explained we needed to go to a different terminal for our connecting flight, and that we had about three hours to kill. As we headed to the other terminal I looked at all the shops and people in fascination. Things were getting real, and I started to feel really excited – a nervous anticipation in my belly. I was in a different country, and this was really happening.

Upon arrival at the terminal the man sat down, relaxed and took out his book – but I was way too excited to sit still. I thanked him and told him I’d be back before we boarded, and raced off to inspect the rest of the airport and its many sights, sounds and smells. I could have watched the people for hours. It was so fascinating to think about where they were headed, where they had come from and what reason they had for travelling.

As I pondered all this and took it all in, I realised I wanted to be sharing it with my family and friends back home. And then I remembered something. Along with the jacket, my uncle had given me 10 Singapore dollars to call my family on arrival at the airport. Figuring out the currency – especially when using a payphone – turned out to be a little harder than I expected but still, I managed to work it out and call home. My mum, dad and Mukul were over the moon to hear I’d arrived safely. Mukul peppered me with questions until my mum shooed them all off the phone because she was worried if I talked too long I’d miss my connecting flight.

After promising to call once I’d arrived safely in Melbourne and hanging up the phone, I wandered around to see what food was available and whether I had enough change to get something. Unfortunately I didn’t have enough left so instead I headed back to my newfound friend to make sure I was at the gate in plenty of time for my connection.

Before I knew it I was on the next plane and this time I didn’t even hesitate – I went straight to sleep and remained that way almost the entire journey. After six or seven hours I woke with an hour to go before our arrival. It was really beautiful timing. The descent into Melbourne was pretty spectacular, even back then, and I was in awe of all the lights and humongous buildings that weren’t even in existence at that time in India.

I looked around for the Punjabi man again and saw that he was sitting further back with a spare seat beside him. I decided now was the perfect time to ask him a few questions that had been on my mind. I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity like that. I asked him as many important questions as I could think of – what should I expect? Would my old Nokia phone work there? How long would it take to find a job? Were people friendly? And probably many, many more. I knew in the back of my mind I was still in ‘go’ mode and I didn’t want to waste an opportunity to figure it all out. It would take me a lot longer on my own and I needed a job as soon as possible. In my mind the more I knew, the easier the transition would be.

Thankfully he was a patient man and as I listened to his answers and took mental notes, I remember thinking how kind he was. I hoped everyone in Australia would be as accommodating as he was, and I would try to do the same if I ever met anyone upon first arrival in a country.

Finally we landed and as I readied myself to get off the plane, I started worrying about the customs forms and whether I was going to make it through the airport without being unwittingly stopped by border security. After seeing how strict Australian airports were, I’d started sweating about all the things the aunties had snuck into my luggage when they were packing for me. Would I get tackled by a sniffer dog on my way to the exit? Would I even make it off the tarmac?

I had copied what the Punjabi man wrote on his form, though of course I had switched out his details for my own – but even so, the questions ran through my mind a thousand miles a minute and I wondered if this would be the final hurdle.

I determinedly took a deep breath and decided not to let my anxiety get the better of me. Laughing to myself at the image of not even making it officially into the country because of Indian aunty contraband, I reassured myself that everything would be fine. I was in Australia now, standing in the middle aisle of a plane with everyone else, luggage in hand and slowly shuffling towards the exit for my first few steps onto Australian soil.

I really, truly wasn’t a kid anymore. I was on my own now and I was ready to make a difference.

As we made our way slowly out of the plane and into the night air, I still remember that first breath of Australian air. The airport was still bathed in sunlight which came as such a shock to me, back in India by this time in February it would have been completely dark. There were people headed across the tarmac in front of me as I made my way down the stairs, breathing in this country for the very first time and still trying to believe that I was actually here – not just to visit but to live.

The air had a sweetness and quietness to it that India didn’t have, for all its heat and hustle and bustle, and there was a slower feel to the atmosphere as well – a less frantic, more relaxed vibe. There was no doubt I was in a different country. It certainly didn’t feel like home yet.

As I followed the other passengers across the tarmac I suddenly realised that while I’d been daydreaming my luggage could have hit the conveyor belt and someone might be stealing it. I quickly dodged around the people in front and ran to the luggage collection area, following the signs and the people who were ahead of me. I arrived at the carousel, panicked that my new clothes and sweets might be missing.

Of course I would eventually learn that security isn’t nearly as much of an issue in Australia as it is in India and all my bags were accounted for and fine, as were the belongings inside of them, but at that time I was still very green and on edge about everything. In fact, my bags hadn’t even arrived yet. Not long after, though, they made their way around the bend and I found them easily thanks to my dad’s label idea. I heaved them off the conveyor belt, onto a trolley, and waved goodbye to my new friend who’d been so helpful with all my questions regarding Australian life.

I headed for the bright, glaring lights of the customs queue and unfortunately that’s where my luck really ran out. Things got a little upsetting. A very serious and unimpressed woman began going through my bags and became decidedly unhappy with the sweets I had purchased before we arrived at the airport. As I’d copied the customs form of the Punjabi guy I’d made friends with, I’d declared that I wasn’t carrying any food and had ticked negative to carrying any milk products. Kaju katli were definitely made with milk; she took one look at my most prized possession, declared it contraband and binned it before I could even utter a protest.

I think the absolute lack of appreciation for this delicacy and the fact that no one was even going to get to enjoy it was what I found the most hurtful. It felt like a sacrilege of my childhood. Of course had I understood the rules I never would have brought them through just to have them thrown away – and here I had been thinking the aunties were going to be the ones to get me into trouble!

Still, I learnt my lesson during that process. It was terrifying when I didn’t know the consequences and wasn’t sure if they could issue me with a hefty fine, charge me for an offence or refuse me entry to the country. Thankfully it was none of the above, but as a result of that one interaction I’m now a stickler for rules and I always check everything twice – so it definitely had a profound impact.

Regardless of the impact it had, however, it hadn’t stopped the build-up of excitement within me. I had an inner voice telling me I was on the precipice of living an extraordinary life and I knew this was what I had been preparing for all those years. I still had my friend’s race in the back of my mind, and the prophet’s words about using the fire inside me to overcome all obstacles. As I walked away from her and towards the exit, I thought to myself – here we go, it’s about to get real!

As I headed towards the barriers I started searching the small crowd for my cousin. Thankfully he was standing at the front and waving enthusiastically, and he still looked exactly as I remembered. While I’d never doubted he’d be there waiting, it was such a relief to see a familiar face after all that travel.

He wrapped me in a big enthusiastic hug and told me my other cousin was waiting in the car at McDonald’s, and that we had to hurry. As he hustled me and my bags out of the airport he explained about the expensive and annoying airport parking, and parking in general in Melbourne. Apparently parking somewhere nearby, rather than in the official airport parking, was one of the workarounds. So Australia did at least have some similarities with India, it seemed.

As we arrived at the car there were more hugs and much excitement all round. My cousins told me about all the plans they’d made for the next few days. As we drove towards what I presumed was the city, I stared out the car window in awe as I listened to them. They lived further out of town, it seemed, almost like they were in the country. They’d decided to make the most of this trip to the airport to pick me up, so we’d be staying with a friend of theirs closer to the city overnight. That way I’d be able to easily enrol at the university in the morning.

After filling me in on what was happening and asking about my flight, one of my cousins gave me his phone so that I could call home and tell them I’d arrived safely. As we put everyone on speakerphone, the car became a very crowded and noisy place to be. Everyone was so excited to hear from me and to talk to each other and hear about Australia that it was hard to get them off the phone. Truth be told it was an emotionally draining call. When we had to go because of the expense, I sat there a little quieter afterwards, wondering when I’d see them all again. I can’t imagine the phone call was any easier for my family, either, but I was here for all of us so this was the way it needed to be.

As I watched the buildings flash by and I chatted amicably with my cousins and we caught each other up on our lives, my inner voice was still telling me this was the city that was going to change my life. I had this quiet calm in me; I knew I was in the right place.

Finally we arrived at their friend’s home. As I looked at the apartment building I remember thinking to myself that it looked like it was straight out of the movie American Pie where they went to have house parties. It was a vastly different look to the traditional brick homes of India, and quite modern and architecturally distinct. I wasn’t sure if I liked the look because it certainly didn’t have the warmth of a home, but I wasn’t here for that, either – I was here to make my way in the world, and maybe this was exactly that kind of place. It would just take a little getting used to.

We left the majority of my bags in the car and only took in a couple of essentials. As we headed up the elevator and down the hall towards the apartment, we saw that the door had been propped open and we could hear voices coming from inside. It seemed their friend had invited a few others around – there were a bunch of other Indian guys there with him, ready to hang out Bollywood-style.

After the rounds of introductions, we all settled in and they started asking me about my travels up until that point. I relayed the story of my sweets and lamented my misfortune and sadness over the incident, and they laughed as I recounted my decision not to offer a bribe to keep them. They confirmed it was definitely not a good idea to offer bribes in this country and, if I had, I would have found myself in a worse situation.

So began round after round of brotherly advice to the point where my head swam as I struggled to remember it all. I sat back, soaking it all in and thanking the gods for my luck. How fortunate I was to have landed among such caring and knowledgeable people who had my best interests at heart. If I could remember just a fraction of what they were offering, who knew how far I could go in this country. I had always understood how important it was to have people on my side and this was no exception.

Eventually they ran out of advice and decided it was time to take me on my first real Melbournian adventure – to the infamous Chapel Street. As we walked, chatting about the nightlife here and how it differed from India, I started to wonder just what I was going to experience on this world-renowned street. It seemed incredibly famous. I was feeling good after sleeping for most of the journey, so I was ready to get out and explore all Melbourne had to offer.

The street itself was very well lit. There seemed to be quite a large number of people out and about, dining and shopping. It was definitely different from daily life in Ludhiana and although it had some similarities to Delhi, they were minor. For the most part, my first impression was that it seemed to be a place where people drove their flash cars up and down, playing loud music and presenting themselves for inspection. People were dressed well and they seemed like they wanted to be seen on this busy street, lounging around fashionably