Take some Rice Krispies and green chilies, cut in small pieces. Add dry tofu and salt and pepper to taste. Mix together in bowl. Add soy sauce. Serve with a sweet beverage for maximum taste.

This is the recipe for making bhelpuri—an Indian fast-food most synonymous with Mumbai’s beaches—in America. Not having the correct ingredients for the dish, which should be fried noodles, boiled potatoes, coriander and tamarind chutneys, Bollywood actress, Tabu, mixes Kellogg’s Rice Krispies with any spices she can find in her studying-in-the-U.S and newly-married husband’s kitchen. Tabu has accompanied her husband all the way from India to set up home in Chicago, as depicted in the recent movie, The Namesake.

This example might sound antiquated to most who came to America in the last decade or so, during which an influx of immigration has led to entrepreneurial setups and family-owned businesses catering to a largely exclusive immigrant population; many of us can effortlessly recall efforts to recreate lifestyles we or our parents were used to growing up. Whether it is as simple as savoring bhelpuri, or trying to retain entire swaths of a life in a land outside a country we once called home, all of us have faced a mind-wringing irritation at the inability to do so at some time in our American life.

A typical experience for a newly minted resident from India, for example, would go something like this: Having grown up in an environment where the convent schools of her homeland were considered the best, and the daily witness of the stark contrast of rags and riches touched her every doorstep, her views on America were fantasized. Once arriving on American soil, she settled in fairly quickly where a routine was concerned; what took her a considerable amount of time to get used to were the dressing fashions and the onslaught of convenience and consumerism, such as the ready availability of cheap fast food. Since the novelty of this new Disneyland-like life has quickly worn off, the rigors of the day-to-day catch up fairly quickly, and she is driven full throttle into the world as most Americans know it, scheduled by the minute, dominated by McDonalds and its likes for our dietary needs and Wal-Mart and the many drugstores for the rest.

The relative ease with which we adapt to certain facets of American life truly belies the complexity and complications that come with the head-on collision of a new culture and identity. There are few better challengers of our understanding and the acceptance of the heretofore than a complete shift in environment. And so, if we were to peer beneath the surface of our recent Indian immigrant, we may find that since saving comes naturally to all of us, so the concept of a Wal-Mart was appealing. Also welcome were concepts like Dollar Stores, coupon deals and lunch specials. While her two-piece Indian dresses and saris gave way to trousers and shirts, her accent remained heavy and her cell phone conversations sustained her native language. She continues to read check as cheque and say schedule without the k sound.

Such has become the life that she now leads: The corporate, English-speaking politically correct one at work and the traditional, Hindi-speaking ritualistic lifestyle at home, complete with tapestries tagged ‘Made in India’ and a pressure cooker as the main cooking utensil. While she encourages her kids to have an interest in American sports, every cricket match is seen or at least DVR-ed. Her national anthem, or at least the one she knows by heart, is the Indian song of freedom, and her holidays continue to be Diwali—the festival of lights, Holi—the festival of color and Dussehra—the victory of good over evil. Ironically, she finds it easy to celebrate them since they all coincide with American holidays. Was this meant to be?

Yet, she ponders often how she has been able to afford amenities and a lifestyle which would have taken a lot more education and years to achieve in India. Things considered luxuries there are necessities here. Then why does she feel she is missing all these puzzle pieces to her life’s complete picture? While generation Y has termed it “American-born, confused Desi,” known more popularly as ABCD, what do the generation X-ers think? Is it ever possible to become assimilated completely into America, including all its eccentricities and novelties? Do we still consider it hypocritical to live here and cherish what we have left behind? Maybe most importantly, given a choice of having a similar if not the same lifestyle in India, would we return?

Aman Singh is an editor in New York City. She aspires to be a children’s books editor and writes about India and her Indian-ness with candor. Her free moments are spent wondering when the seven continents became one huge global mass of humans. She can be reached at as1808@nyu.edu