Page 107 - USA BOOK FINAL PDF---08-09-2020web-1_Neat-final

roads were paved with gold. However, growing up here, I observed a different scenario.
Starting work, my parents were isolated and alienated from anything familiar to India.
As years passed, my family entered a low to middle income family bracket. We were
fortunate to have food to eat, clean clothes to wear and a roof to protect our heads.
American Poverty and Valuable Lessons

However, as a child, I recall questioning my parents over why we had to live differently
from my peers and the way they grew up. Wearing hand-me-downs was a constant in my
youth. Frequent visits to the Salvation Army were not remiss of me bending my head, in
constant fear and shame, that classmates would catch me with a bag full of clothes for

50 cents. Forget Sunday brunch at IHOP. We never went out to eat. And I thought that
was the norm? As an adult, looking back on my childhood, I realize that we could not
afford to dine out. Let’s just say, back then, snacking on McDonald’s French fries twice a
year was a big treat.

Although these were some of many challenges facing our family and other South
Asian families hailing from similar backgrounds, I cherish our times together as a
family. Listening to hours of storytelling over homemade meals is where I learned the core
values of my Indian cultural roots, including the importance of knowing my mother tongue
Kannada, hard work, and helping others less fortunate. Along with lessons learned,
I fondly remember long drives taken to visit family members and relish those quirky
moments like sneaking rice cookers into small hotel rooms as a way to stay on budget.
These fruitful experiences taught me the value of money and hard work.

Speaking of learned values, I learned many from my father, who, as a child, I admired
to the highest degree. For me, he was my God who I worshipped. Which was why, at
the age of 10, my world crashed. My father was only 43 years old when he underwent
a quadruple coronary artery bypass graft surgery. For the next 30 years, he
was able to lead an active and fulfilling life right until he died on May 8, 2019.

Learning about my biological mother’s passing and witnessing my father’s medical

ailments, inspired me to become a doctor. I wanted to help others in the same way that
my father was helped. Quality medical care along with therapeutic intervention had
prolonged his life. I knew my calling.
Though I hail from a family of farmers who didn’t receive any schooling, except for my

grandfather (Ex-MLA P.M.C.Chikkaboraiah) and father, the importance of education was
heavily ingrained in me. My heritage, my humble background, and my traditional father
pushed me to hold exceedingly high expectations about what constitutes as success. On
many occasions, expectations from my father were almost impossible to meet. For most
of my childhood, we lived in the rural Midwest. I grew up in a small town, surrounded
by cornfields, with very few people of color, let alone Indians. I turned to sports to fit
in with my peers as I seemed to excel in it. I immersed myself in long-distance running,
tennis and later dance.

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