Every dinner table conversation in my house eventually finds its way to Chicago, where my cousin Rahul has
been living for six years now. It does not matter if we start out talking about the weather or
a work deadline of mine, within twenty minutes my mother will mention that he just bought a car, or
my father will ask if I have thought about applying abroad too, as though the two of us are
running some race neither of us signed up for. Last week it happened over a broken kitchen tap, and
within minutes we had somehow drifted from the plumber I needed to call to his recent promotion in Chicago.
I like my job here. I work at a firm near Banjara Hills, I have kept the same group
of friends since college, and my grandmother lives fifteen minutes from my flat, which matters more to me than either
of my parents seem to register whenever this comparison comes up again. I also run a small weekend cricket
group with four friends from school, something that would not survive if I packed up and left the way Rahul
did. When I tried once to explain that I am not interested in matching his path, the conversation did
not really move anywhere new, it just circled back to the same worry dressed in slightly different words than before.
What gets me is not the comparison itself so much as how automatic it has become, a reflex rather than
a real thought anyone is having in the moment. I do not know if this fades once my own life
visibly settles into whatever shape they consider stable, or if Rahul is simply going to be the measuring stick for
the rest of my career no matter what I build here. Some days I wonder if the real worry underneath
it is not about him at all, but about what happens to my parents if I ever decided to leave too.
Either way, I have mostly stopped trying to argue the point over dinner, and instead just wait for the
topic to move on to something else, which it eventually does, until the next time it circles back around.