I AM, WHAT THEY CALL, a “U.S. Return.” After more than a decade of living in the United States, I moved back to India for good.

When I announced I was moving back to India permanently, some of the responses I was given were:

• “Are you SURE?”

• “Let’s see how long you last”

• “I am happy to see you walk the talk”

• “OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG”

• and the insipid “OK cool”

But why did I move back? Wasn’t it a normal, successful, and happy life in the United States?

Yes, but on paper.

Moving home

I had a job: I worked for Google, consistently rated number 1 company to work for. I had status: active in the Indian Googler network, organizing events for thousands of Indian Googlers. I had a life: living in the city of San Francisco, paying drops of blood for rent, to live a more happening life away from the suburbs. I had comfort: I took a leather-seated, wifi-enabled, luxury bus to work. I had social circles: platefuls of friends, acquaintances, and girlfriends I could run to for dinner, party, or a good chat. I had health: I visited the celebrity Barry’s Bootcamp, I was fit and had access to the best San Francisco food experiences.

But I was unhappy.

Does marriage bring happiness in America? I don’t know. I’d ask, but no one will tell the truth.

How much can you hang out with friends? You still sleep alone. My life in Sunnyvale, the suburbs of America, revolved around lunch and dinners with friends in Indian restaurants, Chaat Paradise, Chaat Cafe, Chaat House. I got sick of it. I was too dependent on my friends for a happiness that was evasive. I wasn’t exactly happy when I was with people, but always sad and empty when I was alone. Soon, with age, friends started falling off the grid after they got married. Does marriage bring happiness in America? I don’t know. I’d ask, but no one will tell the truth.

“Hate something? Change something” became my philosophy. So I moved out of the suburbs. Moving to the dense city of San Francisco changed that feeling of sickness. There was a lot I could do on my own. Life was better. I could run on the beautiful Embarcadero road next to the Bay waters, watch the eyeful twinkling lights of the Bay Bridge, and eat real Mexican food. I no longer spent my life in a car, and could walk to the shopping center, or take a bustling train to any part of the city.

An exhausting life

But the life soon got exhausting. My high rent meant that I had to save money on other things. Saving money led to tiring decisions like walking to places instead of taking the taxi, cooking my own food instead of ordering in ($16 for a masala dosa!), slogging over house cleaning on my own after four hours of food photography and the mess that it necessarily created to achieve the creative outcome. If money could solve that problem, it couldn’t have solved my 3-hour commute. I would return home at 8:30 pm from a tiring bus ride from office, only to spend 45 minutes washing the stained vessels dumped in the sink.

The pleasant work of Writing, Photography, the will-power consuming work of Exercise, and the unwanted children of Cleaning, Cooking, Organizing, Folding, seemed to fill up every open space of time I had, and then exhausted, I filled up the rest of my time with the brainless task of resting with Netflix.

I couldn’t keep up.

Looking for relief

I hired a helper from Taskrabbit.com, a company through which you could hire house help. At $25 per hour, I got a girl who could help me fold my laundry, clean the kitchen and basically do everything I couldn’t do alone — miraculously, I was up and about and enthusiastic to work when she’d visit.

The relief was short-lived. I could not afford to hire help and I woke up every morning with an emptiness in my heart. I woke up wondering what my purpose in the U.S. was. I woke up missing India. Over three years in the city of San Francisco, I slowly and surely got obsessed. I wanted to help India, like how you’d want to help a malnourished child in Africa — but it’s all in the head. Thought, in this case, doesn’t count. I worked hard for the Indian Google Network, my only easy outlet. I thought of a program to make it easier for NRIs (non-resident Indians) to volunteer in India. I created a proposal called ‘Dharti’, tried for a tie-up with an IIT, and tried to get an impact fund sponsorship. Nothing went through.

It was not meant to be.

Making a decision

4th Dec. 2015. I was adjusting my sari. I was at my cousin’s wedding in Indore and my 8-year-old nephew looked at me and suddenly asked,

“Aye why you stay in America?”

“I… because… I…” the answer didn’t snap out, surprisingly. I tried again. “…Because my job is good.”

“Because my job is good?” An echo in my head added a question mark to my answer. It was my subconscious asking myself — “Really? Job is the reason to stay in America?” The answer didn’t feel real or reason enough to give an innocent 8-year-old.

At that moment, a seed was planted. By my nephew. What is the real reason I live in the U.S. and not India? I questioned myself.

Three months later, it was getting progressively and exponentially difficult to manage my apartment. I knew I wanted to pursue food photography and writing but it just wasn’t scaling.

“You must come back to India,” my brother-in-law told me on the phone.

“I’m afraid,” I said tightening the hold around my phone.

“Why are you afraid?” he asked.

“What if I don’t like it? Silicon Valley has the smartest people!”

“You think there are no good people in India?” he asked firmly.

I went silent.

I set the phone down. I was still afraid. How can I leave this land of opportunity? Can I leave this life? I have a car with a sunroof, I can drive alone at night, I have access to the best people, the place is neat and clean, I am earning in dollars, I can afford an international vacation, and the best men are here in Silicon Valley, aren’t they — all these founders, engineers, VC’s!

I parked the idea aside, unconvinced. And moved along another month.

A question about what matters

Life has its own way of convincing. After long stares into the beautiful bus view to office, a question soon bubbled up:

“What is the one thing you will regret when you’re 50, and settled in Fremont, California, with a minivan and a child with an American accent?”

The answer was always the same: “I will regret that I didn’t go back to India.”

On the night of a weekend in May, I was restless. The weekend chores were looming on me and I knew I could not keep up. But that night, I didn’t want to keep up. I walked to the mirror and looked at the image, the image of a hypocrite. Someone who praises India, misses India, but yet stays abroad. I didn’t want to be that hypocrite, rolling in regret every day of my life.

So I made that decision. On my last bus trip from the office, I played a song. Aye Mere Pyare Watan from Kabuliwala. You must watch it.

About the author

Nupur Dave is a lifestyle and career coach focused on helping Indians get clarity on living abroad vs India who has published a book “Back Home.” Reach out to to her at www.nupurdave.in.

This story originally appeared in India Currents.