Ever wondered how an Indian immigrant woman felt in 1970s Minnesota, US, when support systems were negligible, there were no Indian restaurants, and making phone calls or sourcing groceries was hard? Read this old letter to get a feel of life before organizations like the India Association of Minnesota (IAM) appeared on the scene.

My dearest Didi,
Sadar Pranam! Received your sweet letter yesterday, I am happy to know that Dadi, Ma, Pitaji, Ranju, and Reena are doing well. I can’t believe that our Ranju’s marriage has been arranged and her wedding is next month.
It’s so hard for me to say this, Didi, but I will be missing Ranju’s wedding. You know that my second trimester is on, and it’s not safe to travel. Please tell Ma and Pitaji not to worry about me. I am managing well, trying my best to adjust to my first brutal winter in Minnesota.
I always pour my heart out in my letters to you, but to Ma and Pitaji, I write only cheerful things. I don’t want them to worry about how much I miss India. I wish we had a “Maayka” like support system here, where I could find the support and unconditional love I miss so much. Every small thing from India, crumpled newspaper, snack wrappers, achar bottles… reminds me of home…
It must be hard for you to imagine, but I stay quiet for most days. Your jijaji travels often, and there’s no one to talk to in this apartment. I miss the endless chatter of Dadi, the morning chants of Ma-Pitaji, the clink-clatter of Hariji in the kitchen, the conversations of our friends near the Ganga riverfront, and the uproar we siblings used to create back home.
I cherish reading the Hindi newspapers that you put in my saree folds, and search for India-related pictures in magazines. I earnestly hope for cheaper trunk calls someday so I can speak to you all for more than 3 minutes.
Didi, one thing I love doing here is visiting the UMN campus and meeting other Indian families. I have made friends with other ladies whose husbands are studying at the University of Minnesota. Our families watch Indian movies like “Bawarchi” on weekends, and we often exchange recipes. One friend from Tamil Nadu has taught me how to make idlis.
You know, according to the Indian American Directory 1972, there are just around 600 Indians here. We are all from different parts of India, but we always try to stay connected.
With my pregnancy advancing, I crave Aloo Dum like the one Ma used to make, but Indian groceries and some spices are not always available. Our local Chinese grocery sometimes has overpriced Indian spices, so I order from a New York Jewish store that stocks Indian spices.
You know, there are no Indian or vegetarian restaurants here, so we hardly eat out, but your jijaji always helps me. Housework is becoming more difficult as my pregnancy progresses, and I long for helpers like in India.
Didi, the native people here are very kind and supportive. Last week, a kind neighbor taught me how to use the dishwasher properly, and it made me so happy. Despite my limited knowledge of English, she explained so well that I was able to follow her. There are just a handful of Hindi-speaking ladies around, so I am trying my best to learn and express myself confidently in English.
I often worry about how I will manage everything – taking care of a newborn and household chores – without any day-to-day guidance. I’ve seen other immigrant ladies struggle. Back in India, you and Ma would guide me on everything, from wearing my saree to packing my suitcase. How will I cope without you all?
When my child is born, how will he learn about our culture and traditions? Will I be able to teach them our language? Will they celebrate Dussehra, Diwali, and other festivals like their cousins? Will they find acceptance and confidence in a place where there are so few like them?
But you know, one recent happening has filled me with hope, and my worries have lessened. Some of our amazing people have formed an association called the India Club. I am so happy about it, and earnestly hope and pray to find my “Maayka” at this club. May this club grow into a bigger organization and enable Indians like me to meet each other, get supported, and explore their dreams.
A culturally rich and thriving Indian community in Minnesota is what I dream of, and I’m sure the future will be brighter for my children and the coming generations.
There’s little space left in this inland letter for me to scribble on. Please convey my pranam to the elders and love to our younger sisters. Give my blessings to Ranju. Do write back without delay, as your letters are my lifeline.
Yours, Guddi
Note – This is a fictionalized version of an Indian woman’s thoughts in 1973, when IAM (India Association of Minnesota) was yet to be formed. Since 1973, organizations such as India Club (later renamed as IAM 1993), Geeta Ashram, Minnesota (1974), Gujarati Samaj of Minnesota (1976), Hindu Society of Minnesota (HSMN) (1978), School of India for Languages and Culture (SILC, 1979), and many more have been supporting Indians across Minnesota and helping them feel at home in their new home.
References – “Letter to the Community” by Neena Gada and “From Seven Rivers to Ten Thousand Lakes” by Preeti Mathur.









































