Today is my grandfather’s birthday and I wanted to share a little about his history with you all.
This a picture of my mom, her parents, and her siblings in the early 70s in Guyana. It was taken at a photo studio before they left for America; her brothers and sisters had no clue what my grandfather, Vishnudat Baichu, had to endure to be able to take them to their future home and the land of opportunity — America.
My grandfather’s journey to the United States was anything but ordinary. He came from a traditional Indian family, but his mother knew that he wasn't happy and wasn't cut out to be a farmer so she gave him the money to go to the U.S. He sought after a better life with more opportunities — potentially achieving the “American dream” was worth all of the pain and strife.
His journey was not easy, but it’s the common tale of so many immigrants. Despite being deported twice — my mom recollects hearing stories of him jumping through the apartment windows to escape the immigration authorities — he persisted and eventually brought his children and his siblings to America.
One of the very first places that they lived in was a small, one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan (Hell’s Kitchen), which all seven of them shared. For the rent to be free, my grandfather worked as the building super and maintenance person, but since he had a full-time job as a security guard, my grandmother and my mom’s older siblings helped to maintain the building, too.
Looking back at this picture, it always reminds me of the struggles and sacrifices my family endured to allow me, my sisters, and my cousins to achieve the “American Dream.” When we look at immigration, especially American immigration, many of us seem to forget that someone, somewhere down the line in our lineage, struggled to get here and just by chance, and by luck, we were fortunate to be born into these families.
#immigrantlife #proudtobeimmigrants #guyana #guyanesehistory #indiandiaspora #vishnudatfamily @chaituranga @shelbieebachaii
