I saw her, my daughter, tall and frail with a smile that sparkled like a thousand diamonds standing at the international airport, US-bound with dreams that rose and broke like waves against the dark irises of her eyes. She was lucky to be admitted to one of the best universities for a doctorate. In fact, she had earned her place at the university with a single-minded pursuit of the academic goal when most others were aiming for professional courses and technical degrees, which come with the promise of corporate jobs and impressive tags.

She knew she was bargaining for a long and arduous course where not only would she research for a degree but teach a diverse class of foreign students also, and at the end of it all turn into an academic in her own right. For a girl from a modest background this was no small deal: the mind-boggling campus with its towers, set among manicured rolling lawns, its extensive state-of-the-art libraries, its students representing every country on the map, the faculty formidable in their knowledge — and yet kind friends, philosophers and guides to students in the throes of a culture shock.

Busy years ran by, crowded with assignments, presentations, seminars, summer courses, interspersed with an interesting (sometimes even hectic) social life — friendships forged with people across the globe, vacations taken with backpacks on shoestring budgets. Life also meant coming home to lonely apartments, quick-fix dinners, poring over the laptop for the next day’s assignments and catching up on the odd call to folks at home.

... contd.