Birthplace

The Exact Place in Which I Was Born

Rose Petal Nursing Home Borivali West, Mumbai, Maharashtra, India

One of the most special moments of our entire India trip in early 2020 (before the pandemic shut the world down) was visiting my original hometown and birthplace in the Mumbai Area: Borivali. April had an idea that I hadn’t thought of — what if we saw the exact place where I was born?

When April and I rode the train up from South Mumbai, I assumed we would see our family’s flat, maybe walk around a bit, and spend time with my awesome cousin Ankur and his family. Little did I know, Ankurbhai (bhai=brother, or cousin brother in this case) would surprise us with something beyond our expectations. I originally asked him if he could take us to see the front facade, just for a sentimental photo op, before moving on with our day. As it turns out, Ankurbhai, with the help of a dear friend, Jeetu, arranged for a full quick private tour of the place where it all began for me: Rose Petal Nursing Home.

I can barely begin to describe how I felt walking through those halls. It was very quiet — almost enough to hear a pin drop — as the staff continued their careful work. It was breathtaking, uncomfortable, and terrifying imagining my mother all those years ago in labor, giving it her all after months of carrying me. To top it all off, they had also traveled from Burundi in East Africa (where my family was living at the time) to Borivali mid-pregnancy just to make sure I was born in the motherland like my sisters, among other possible reasons. I’m sorry, WHAT?

My family on vacation in Mombasa, Kenya. From left to right: my sisters Siddhi and Purvi, and my mother, pregnant with me. Dad behind the camera, of course.

You really didn’t have to fly us to India to be born, Mummy! It would have been super cool if I was born in Africa, but this is cool too, I guess.☺️

Delivery Room, Rose Petal Nursing Home, Borivali West, Mumbai, Maharastra, India

What an incredibly surreal experience.

And then there was the moment — the moment that the nurse led us to the very room in which I was born. No patients were being seen there that day. I figured she would maybe let us peek in. Then she invited me to squeeze through the tiny door and enter the room. Everything stood still. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t prepared. My heart skipped or stopped for a moment — I’m not sure which. What an incredibly surreal experience. It was a swift force of reality, awe, and appreciation knowing that right there, in that very room, I entered the world. While there was undoubtedly a strong and capable doctor at that time with the best available equipment, my mom and the people supporting her were possibly not operating on the world’s best, high-end birthing equipment with which so many now consider commonplace, and yet, they still got it done, and done well. They also took care of my mom and I as she recovered after I was born. There were much fewer features and amenities in this space and throughout the hospital compared to what one with my privileged life experience might expect. It was simple: no frills, efficient, safe, but to the point, it seemed, not to mention the likelihood that this room is now more updated compared to the day I was born.

Yup, that’s me. Just a little piglet, brand new to the world, surrounded by my mother and sisters, with my dad undoubtedly again behind the camera.

Immigrant mothers are unbelievably powerful and awe-inspiring.

All mothers are amazing. However, I want to take a moment to recognize immigrant mothers. Many of them left the comfort of their home and loved ones with children in tow to search for and follow opportunities for the betterment of all our lives. My mother supported my father’s career by moving multiple times throughout our life - from Mumbai to Burundi and back to Borivali and then to the United States of America. Oh, and technically from Mumbai to Jonesboro, Arkansas to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and finally to Lexington, Kentucky where they currently live. Each time she was tasked with helping keep us all together, kids and father, re-establish relationships in each new community, and obtain new jobs, all while continuing the monumental “should be a six -figure job” responsibilities of taking care of our homes and needs. I can’t even begin to describe the amount of stress, challenge, culture shock, discomfort, and strain that can have on a family, despite the eventual positive outcome of being reintegrated into new communities, making new lifelong friends, and achieving each of our life and career goals that were only possible through my parents (still striving, in my case) — all while maintaining loving relationships with our dearest loved ones in India and abroad. To be frank, if you haven’t done it, you likely have no idea what it takes, even after reading. Immigrant mothers are unbelievably powerful and awe-inspiring. Mine is no different. She’s incredible, and I love her more than words could describe. We all do!

What luxury many now have to possess advancing technology in the medical and maternity space. We don’t even really, truly know what our mothers went through, even as we look back, not to mention all the variety in birthing environments across the world to this day (including across India). Even with the most descriptive stories straight from their memories, we’ll never really internalize what our mothers have been through for us. I couldn’t believe it when I was standing in that room as April, Ankurbhai, Jeetu, and the nurse looked on at me, smiling and sharing the moment. I smiled, but I was also dumbfounded, and I felt so incredibly grateful, as well as unworthy of the toiling strife and sacrifice my mom and dad made for all of us before we were even born. Their sacrifice was even more so than I thought before that day. Suddenly, it all became very real - much more real than every moment before I witnessed this room. Truthfully, I also felt a bit sad thinking about the pain that my mother must have gone through during the entire pregnancy process. Alas, this must be the incredible commitment of being parents and being a mother, I assume. The miracle of childbirth is only one reason why mothers must be admired and revered to all ends. 

My mom is a true superhero.

Pictured, from left to right, in our family’s Borivali flat: my father, Lalit Shroff; my mother, Meeta Shroff; Kalyani, my in-law, holding their daughter Tiara; my cousin Ankur, holding their son, Ekaay; my wife, April Shroff; and then some goofy looking dude on the right.

My mom is a true superhero. I will never be able to really understand what she’s done for me and our family, even after visiting the exact room in which I was born. If you have the means to see the room in which you were born, I would highly recommend it.

I love you, Mom! I can’t wait to reunite soon!

India 2020; the search for new musical instruments. Another story for another day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers: past, present, and future.

You deserve the world and more.

-Vinay