Dear Kuwait,

I was three weeks into my human experience when I was whisked away by my mother to you. You were a small Islamic state in the Middle-East that had no major attribute beyond having the highest valued currency on the planet. This distinction paired with your central geographic location made you a hub that attracted a large foreign workforce inclusive of my father. My earliest take on you, that I stand by even today, is that the weather is always too extreme to put on a smile: EVER. You proved to be my home for the next 16 years of my life; A truth that you still vehemently deny. As I put pen to paper in a bid to describe my side of the story, I realized that all that time flew by (more of a sandstorm than a...) without me realizing the consequences of you shaping me into the person I am today.

I am not very expressive in person. For as long as I can remember, writing has been the only platform that truly liberates me from the rigid "I am an introvert" prison of my own volition. The state of the world and the comfort in the distance of exile have finally given my voice the strength to address what you put me through for most of my life; Enforcing stimuli that curtailed aspects of life that I now know are central to being human. To make matters worse, you reinforce a systemic conditioning loop that projects these blighting stimuli as an acceptable norm. I believe that we as humans are a consequence of conditioning. Circumstance dictates what we remember, what we assign consequences to, and how we react... It has only taken me 23 years to muster the courage to write about this; And in doing so I bid to share the pain I feel every time I remember being denied the most fundamental aspect of being human, i.e. being treated like one.

"A life of comfort that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

Every time I wake up, I hear the sound of morning Fajr prayer even though I’m 7899 miles removed from you. 16 long years of conditioning where mosques on every couple of blocks blare out morning prayers leaves a lasting impression. As a light sleeper, I used to curse at the enforcement of your religious beliefs on the entire population; A consequence of the pompous celebration of Islamic practices that you adopted. When I had proposed the idea that I being a Hindu should be able to do the same, I was immediately shunned by my mother for a frivolous attempt at endangering a good situation for the family. The acknowledgment of the grip of fear that you possessed over my family shook me. Were you flawed? Or were we? Why did someone else's faith come at the cost of my sleep? Was differing on the face of God enough to warrant oppression? Where was my choice in all this? And most importantly, how was no one else as sleepy as me?

Every time I try to collect my thoughts, I am reminded of a time when I clashed with my own religious identity and the religious beliefs that you tried to claim me with. You pushed Islamic culture and tradition to the forefront whilst we had to cower in fear with our traditions and practices. Parents asked us to not partake in any religious conversation in fear of you lashing out and yet, stressed the importance of religion and spirituality. Confoundingly, my early schooling was at a convent that forced evangelical beliefs onto us in the name of teaching moral science; I was given another God to add to the plethora already in line for my questioning. These circumstances seeded my initial questions of your true totalitarian nature. Why weaponize differences between beliefs as a means to enforce disparities in society? Why not celebrate differences as a means of bringing people together?

"On a normal day, I'd have gone through a verse from the Quran, a shloka from Hindu texts, and the Lord's prayer before breakfast; Talk about food for thought!"

Every time I look at a MENU, I question the reasons for the complex algorithm you imparted to make my choices. Let's establish that pious Hindu roots don't offer much freedom from the roots in a vegetarian diet anyway; But when I did go on to break my first set of holy covenants, I felt the added pressure of your prying gaze... "Was it Halal or was it Haram?". The exuberance of youth, in tandem with a thirst for new experiences (among other things) has seen me take pleasure in the guilt that accompanies indulgences that challenge the norm. But... I wonder if the origins of these innate rebellious outbursts are but a product of your intense conditioning? Would I enjoy these indulgences differently if I don't feel the scars of your everlasting gaze?

Every time I look at my UBER rating (4.83 over 500+ rides and a weird flex if there ever was one), I am reminded of time I spent learning Arabic; A bridging trait that has helped me establish lasting connections with those common to a Mediterranean walk of life (or ride of life --- Sorry, I had to honor the surge it has had on my rating). The irony in my love for learning languages is that I absolutely despised the process growing up: due to your systems that called for their enforcement. My unique heritage meant that I was forced to learn Arabic in an environment that didn't focus on aspects that make it exquisite. Your demarcations in society meant that we never had the opportunity to use our knowledge to bridge perspectives. What a truly confounding coupling of enforcement and fear of possible connection! Consequently, I ask... Why gift us the knowledge only to shackle our ability to wield it?

If the cost for fries on the house every time you order at a restaurant is learning the language of origin... that is a deal I'll take every time. I'm up to six and counting!

Every time I travel, the euphoria in having your differences celebrated felt so alien that I didn't think of it as a fundamental right of being human. I am reminded of the eyes of your "locals" that scorned at me as if I was a subpar version of the same species; only here to do the work that they were too good to do. I realized that despite a plethora of similarities I was the farthest away from being Kuwaiti because of a heritage I had no power in choosing. I was molded from the same soil, ate the same food, and braved the same weather, yet, why did it feel like the bigotry was unquestionable? Did it not matter that I could sing your national anthem with the same pride as any other? Why did it feel like you were complicit in the act of our belittlement?

Every time I fly back home (to India), I am reminded of all the differences that show I didn’t belong: Be it cars on the other side of the road, the fact that I couldn’t read the local language or just interact with relatives as did my other cousins. Above all, I was constantly reminded that we didn’t belong by the eyes of locals that gaped at us. I had cumulatively spent less than a twentieth of my life in this foreign land and yet you told me... "that is your home". This dichotomy provoked the earliest thoughts on my innate tendencies to grapple with a sense of belonging... Why could I not call you "home" when there were almost a billion people that agreed with that thought? How are opinions weighted then? And why was "home" a place so alien?

"I was a citizen of the largest democracy in the world but belonged to one of the last absolute monarchies of the world: The irony was not lost on me."

Every time I pet a dog, I look back at a time when I was forced to give away Abhi; An integral part of our family. Dogs were regarded as ‘impure’ and courts ruled by Islamic law deemed him unsanitary to our community; This fueled a deep-set rage in me against your brutish will of the protecting those that agreed society. I questioned the existence of compassion and it’s qualifications as being one of the fundamental aspects of being human. Could the privileged not understand the pain that they were putting us through? I came to the toxic conclusion that they might be deriving some sort of sick gratification through the suffering of those ‘lesser’ to them. This ordeal left me with a strong desire to bring parity to any society I was going to be a part of and celebrating the necessity in creating empathy to understand those shunned in different aspects. That helped me come to peace with the decision that my future was going to be devoid of you.

I have always possessed the need and desire to positively affect those around me; 16 years of curtailing this aspect of myself now sees me jump at opportunities of self-expression or learning associated with choice. I have come to believe in the power of choice as a vital requirement for any human experience. The state of the world sees that it tests the mettle of our ability to come together for collective growth. With my writing I hope to do my share of inspiring to help nudge humanity in the right direction. I do not write this in spite but in exasperation of how much more a place I love could be. This call to action isn't just limited to Kuwait, it was where I had my tryst with blighting systems. It is vital for humanity to isolate and eradicate such systems to create a new normal. We have paid the cost of far too many lives to be okay with going back to the old norm.

I am who I am because of my time on this planet and not just one place. I will take every chance to proudly claim one’s own human experience as being a constantly changing collection of all places; Just as it was for me with Kuwait and beyond. As I overcome my rage at my time in Kuwait, I have realized that all humans are flawed, and consequently that in itself is the perfection of humanity; We are here but to complete each other and not to compete. Success by oneself is fleeting but success as a species is making history. 40 countries, six languages, and a music collection to last a lifetime later, all I seek is more and the innate desire to share my perspective with the world in the hope to learn more. Each and every conversation, interaction, and thought has led to this moment of being who I am... so as much as I'd like to change my time in Kuwait, I wouldn't take away any of it.

I dream of a future for Kuwait where no one else has the need to write something like this; I dream of a land that empowers people by giving them a chance to see the world for what it could be and not just for what it is.