Home At Last

More than 700,000 immigrants become U.S. citizens each year. For one woman from India, citizenship was a journey of the heart—and soul

- Cynthia Gandhi Dobbs

I stood in my bedroom closet, searching for the perfect outfit. The big day was coming, and I wanted to look my best. Did I own anything red, white and blue? All of my most colorful outfits were Indian. I didn’t want to look too Indian. Then again, I didn’t want to turn my back on my heritage either.

I was born and raised in Tamil Nadu, India. In 2002, when I was 18, my father, a diplomat, was assigned to the United Nations in New York City. I moved to New York, married an American and settled in Oklahoma, where my husband, Destry, had been raised.

After 16 years in America, I was about to make my relationship with my adopted home official. In just 48 hours I would become an American citizen.

I’d been preparing for this moment for a long time. I applied for my green card soon after marrying Destry. More than a year ago, I began the naturalization process, sitting through interviews with immigration officials, undergoing background checks and filling out forms. I felt certain this was what I wanted to do.

So now that the ceremony was just two days away, why was I so nervous? Why couldn’t I even decide what to wear?

In many ways, I was already American. As co-leader with Destry of an oncampus ministry at Oklahoma State University, I was learning the American culture of college students. Destry and I lived in a two-story house on one and three-quarter acres, surrounded by pecan trees and a cotton field. Our son, Obadiah, almost a teenager, rode an ATV for fun. Among his favorite foods were hamburgers and macaroni and cheese.

Destry and I had made a good life here. And yet, as I tried to pick out an outfit for the citizenship ceremony, my eyes kept lingering on my Indian, not American, clothes. I held up a red and white churidar flecked with blue, a traditional outfit combining a knee-length dress with tapered leggings.