From the land of 1.2 billion residents, I started my long awaited journey to the land of opportunities. Scorching heat and sweating humidity of the Indian monsoon complimented my decision to board an international flight in early June. The trip to the airport was always going to be a little hard due to the traffic. Millions of thoughts ran into each other on the slippery, tearful roads of my emotional heart. After all, I was about to bid a farewell to a significant part of my life that molded and defined the person I was about to become on this new land. It took a tiring 16-hour flight, really shitty, pardon my language, Indian food on board, and a heck of a struggling nap with some of the most talkative Indian women discovered by humanity till date, to reach Chicago,IL! If it had not been for my mother’s homemade food, which she sneaked through to the plane, I would have had to live, nay suffer the flight with some peanuts and coke, like some of the other Indian travelers, who not surprisingly denied the so called Indian meal served by one of the most premier Indian airlines. But that one stretch and one slap of the windy city on my cheek got me all cheered up. My parents and I were well received by my brother and sister-in-law and a bunch of relatives. And hence, the saga of this immigrant began.