Since 2019, Sydneysiders Pravesh and Vinita Mistry have spent only a few weeks each year at home in Australia. The rest of their time is devoted to caring for Pravesh’s 87-year-old widowed mother in Bharuch, Gujarat, who is now severely affected by dementia. Diaspora long-distance care
They had explored various options to bring her to Australia, but that possibility closed after her dementia diagnosis seven years ago.
“2020 was particularly difficult, as Mum was left alone with a carer during COVID lockdown,” Vinita told Indian Link. “We found out later, quite traumatically, that the carer was abusing Mum.”
With great difficulty, Pravesh was able to get to India as soon as borders opened – only to face a fresh set of problems, as the carer objected to living with a man in the house. It was months later when Vinita could fly in, that that situation eased – but not for their mother, whose dementia took a drastic downward spiral.
“She was forgetting things, getting confused, losing her ability to dress herself, often not recognising people, and even becoming aggressive. At the time our son was in uni, and thankfully mature and independent, and understood the family situation,” Vinita recounted. “For us, work suffered due to COVID and also being away, but as migration agents, we were able to continue to operate remotely. Our son Kishan saw himself through uni, and it was a tug-of-war situation for us, as to what to give priority to. Soon after Kishan joined the work force, he found a partner and they married. Today they have a two-year-old – who we get to know whenever we visit.”
Meanwhile, their mother’s condition has further deteriorated. “It’s devastating for us to see this once-strong woman who was totally independent and a lovely person, now in this state of disarray. Today she’s very frail, cannot communicate at all, but is able to indicate in her own way that she would like us to be close to her rather than the carers.”
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The Mistrys’ story is not uncommon in Australia’s Indian community.
Sanjeev Sachdeva of Melbourne was preparing to return to India this January for his usual six-month caregiving stint, as his sister prepared to head back to the US after hers – when news came through that their 94-year-old father had passed. The six-month routine had been on for the last five years, except during COVID, when it stretched to a whole year for Sanjeev. Diaspora long-distance care
For Sydney’s Upala Sunthankar, it was ten years of travelling back and forth from Kolkata in the care of her mum, also suffering from dementia. She gave up her job in marketing and was at one time spending 6-8 months in India.
Brisbane’s Madhuri Menon has her Hyderabad-based parents constantly on her mind when she’s not there, while she’s looking out for her family here, including one child who has their own care needs.
They are all are classic examples of the “sandwich generation” – squeezed from all sides as they juggle care for parents, children, and grandchildren, while maintaining their own professional lives.
In the original definition of that term, of course, you are the meat in the sandwich if you have a parent over 65 and are financially supporting a minor or adult child.
Yet the Mistrys, Sanjeev, Upala and Madhuri would beg to differ – considering themselves the larger “club sandwich” – given they are roughly in their early 60s themselves, can list off a handful of concerning physical ailments of their own, have begun to flirt with the idea of retirement, and are possibly dealing with boomerang (returning) children that warrants lifestyle adjustments. Diaspora long-distance care
Perhaps they are the “panini generation” – pressed harder than your regular sandwich.
Hearts across continents, responsibilities split by oceans
For Indian-Australians with ageing parents in India, caregiving becomes especially complex due to a unique combination of distance, minimal external care services, and deep emotional ties. Diaspora long-distance care
Distance means they can’t offer day-to-day support or respond quickly in emergencies. Travel is expensive, time-consuming, and often constrained by work or visa restrictions.
Aged care facilities may not be up to scratch in India, with trustworthy temporary providers hard to find.
Emotional ties run deep, and the constant pull between obligations on either side exerts its own pressure. To live with the emotional strain of being physically absent while still feeling deeply responsible, leads to that difficult decision: take extended leave from family and work responsibilities here, and move to India temporarily.
Together, these factors create a unique emotional and logistical burden that’s difficult to navigate.
Pravesh Mistry observed, “We are not doing any obligations. This is our culture. Our parents are the greatest gift given to us by God: we should take the most that we can from them, and give the most we can.”
Upala felt similarly, “I’m a ‘duty-bound’ person so I felt I needed to be there for my parents, especially Mum. That was very important for me as an only child.”
Vinita Mistry has a more practical approach. “We take care of our loved ones. In case of dementia there’s total dependency on you, and you just have to put your life aside to do what needs to be taken care of.”
For Sanjeev, cultural expectations never came into the picture. “It’s a moral responsibility more than anything else – even if I was not of Indian origin. Several Australian friends are faced with similar challenges. One’s based in Melbourne and he spends two weeks of the month in Queensland with his parents. Another friend has a father with dementia in a care facility and he spends his weekends there. We all shoulder the responsibility of aged parents. The parent-child bond compels you to reach out rather than any cultural bias.”
Key findings from the Sandwich Generation Report 2025 by Australian Seniors reveal that multigenerational caregiving involves intense time, emotional, and financial demands – with profound impacts on health, social life, careers, and retirement plans. The burden falls disproportionately on women, yet only a minority receive financial or workplace support.
From meds to meals: Everyday realities of caring
Medical care and household duties are uppermost in care. Sanjeev described, “The critical component was making sure there was a full-time attendant for Dad. It’s hard to come by the right person who will adjust to a frail individual who is also very temperamental. In addition, other support staff are required, people like a driver, to be able to mobilise at short notice any hospital visits as you cannot really rely on ambulance services to be efficient. Then, other things like food prep, house cleaning…”
This can be difficult for those that left India thirty-odd years ago, while daily life has changed there. Diaspora long-distance care
“I left India at 26, never having undertaken any real household responsibilities,” Upala divulged. “So I had to learn the entire system – how to manage the house help, the grocery, the banks, the medicals. This was a big challenge for me, but I’m an expert now!”
There’s also emotional labour. Upala was witness to the whole gamut of cognitive decline with her mother.
“Mum was not aggressive; her condition started with physical decline but went on to cognitive, and then ended deeply physical again, as motor activity gradually stopped. When she passed it was literally due to choking.”
Brief visits back to Australia saw Upala at workshops at Dementia Australia. “I learnt about management because there’s no cure. Then I taught Mum’s carers. She was a singer, so she sang right to the end. At one stage she couldn’t remember the words anymore, though she knew the tunes. We encouraged her to sing with whatever words she could throw in… then she would get up and dance. It was nice. We learnt not to argue – for example if she said “Good Morning” at night, we wouldn’t correct her, but go along. We learnt many things like that which made life somewhat easier.”
For others though, there’s been no rulebook. They’ve navigated this journey alone – trial by fire, fuelled by love. “Am I doing the right thing?” Madhuri wondered aloud. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I am doing what I think is right at this point.”
Financial factors lingered in the back of the mind too. Diaspora long-distance care
Although Sanjeev’s father had sufficient provision for his retirement and medical requirements, he himself was actively taking care of the financial management, and his own expenses maintaining two households
For Upala, finance was a significant consideration. “My parents only had a certain amount of funds (stashed away) which was not enough for the amount of care that was needed – hospitals, care staff, medical equipment at home. I had given up work myself and was dependent on my husband then. Of course he was fully supportive. I feel blessed that I had the support from my family to be able to do this for Mum. When people tell me my parents were lucky to have me, I reply that I’m the lucky person, to have been able to care for them.”
Madhuri feels the same. “I’ve organised a home care service for my parents called Anvayaa. It is not cheap but it is absolutely wonderful, and Mum and Dad have taken well to it, so it is a God-send for me. Sometimes I do wonder what it would have been like if I hadn’t given up full-time work, but I banish the thought immediately – how would I have been able to drop everything and rush off to my parents’ side whenever they needed me, if I was still working? Lucky for me, I can make my parents more important than my career.”
Tethered by love, hindered by miles
Meanwhile, there were care needs back home in Australia that were not being met.
The Mistrys missed out on supporting their son through uni, and significant events in his life, such as the finding of a partner. “Yet we were glad because he had begun to feel lonely, as an only child himself. We were so pleased when he brought his fiance to India meet Grandma, and we think she understood this was a special person in his life. Our daughter-in-law was equally loving, so we feel blessed.” Diaspora long-distance care
Upala was candid about missed opportunities too. “There was a lot of absence in the lives of my two kids and husband – although they understood and supported my decision. Definitely there was guilt on my part: I would feel it when I left Mum, and again when I left my family. I missed my dogs as well – and could not be there when one of the pets was diagnosed with cancer and left us.”
For entrepreneur Sanjeev, it was work that had the most impact. “My business took a hit due to my absence. But that was the price that I was prepared to pay, as opposed to any other alternative.”
The toll of care: Emotional and physical exhaustion
The cost of caring across continents had this group of sandwichers stretched thin.
Sanjeev Sachdev described the exhaustion as “absolutely, absolutely emotional.”
“I was away from my family all the time. Imagine being cooped up with an elderly person who doesn’t talk much, doesn’t have his faculties functioning, largely bedridden, and no companionship in terms of another person to talk to even. Particularly during the COVID years, it was very, very horrific. You were confined to one room doing work, sleeping, and making sure you were provisioning sufficient supplies to keep the house running.”
He added, “The emotional toll was very heavy for my wife Nidhi and the kids as well, for us to be separated like that for six months at a time.”
Upala confessed, “It was all so tough that I’ve had to take medication. I identified some actions quite uncharacteristic of me, and knew I had to seek help. Trauma shakes you up… Even today, a year after Mum, my nervous system continues to be fragile.”
Madhuri agreed, “Yes, there’s plenty of exhaustion for me too. But I guess one has to make peace with all that. As you grow older, this is something you learn – you can’t say that life is a breeze at every stage. There are challenges – physical or emotional – that you just have to meet head on.”
Vinita would not give details, but admitted to having “a lot of health issues.” She would only say, in her quietly spiritual way, “I take it all in my stride, and have faith that whatever happens will be for my own evolution. No point in dwelling on something in the future which is not yet there to see.” Diaspora long-distance care
Her husband Pravesh choked up as he said, “My mum is so fortunate that she has Vinita. If something happens to me tomorrow, I know that Mum will be taken care of very well by her.”
Breathing between responsibilities
How do these carers perform self-care, in snatched moments of peace?
“It was very, very hard,” Sanjeev reflected. “The only way to cope was, I knew my options. Do I have any alternate option? If I don’t then I may as well deal with it with a constructive and positive approach and console myself that even if I am stuck over here, lonely and emotionally distraught, Dad is worse off than me. He’s completely helpless. How can I not be here?”
The Mistrys had their deep faith to fall back on. “Sometimes all I can manage is a quick walk – no two days are the same, so a ‘routine’ is difficult to establish. We are part of a spiritual organisation called Shiv Yog. We feel that we could only go through this phase with our Guru Shiva Anandji’s blessings and teachings. These are very, very trying periods for us. What gives us that strength is our spirituality. It keeps us grounded and focused on what we need to do. Our strong emotional support for each other also plays a role. We are good human beings for each other.” D
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Upala took up yoga and meditation – they have become part of her daily routine today. They’ve helped her reframe the entire experience in her mind. “This experience has made me grow in so many ways. I think if I hadn’t gone through it, I wouldn’t have developed certain parts of myself. So yes, in some ways, it’s actually been a good thing.”
Madhuri has not had to deal with severe medical conditions with her parents, but nevertheless has a strong self-care routine. “I do things I enjoy, like craft (I’m a designer by training), and gardening – they give me peace of mind. I maintain healthy social relationships. I gain a lot of joy and satisfaction also from volunteering – I work with many organisations large and small, so for me the emotional fulfilment comes from there.”
Diaspora, duty, and the future of care
Navigating elder care responsibilities as an expat in India is a journey that requires resilience, compassion, and strategic planning. It is an act of immense love, but it also comes at a cost. The weight is not just logistical or financial, but deeply emotional. In recognising the role of such carers, we must also recognise their humanity. That begins with compassion: self-compassion for carers who often put themselves last, and societal compassion in the form of greater awareness, workplace flexibility, and culturally appropriate support systems.
Diasporan communities will need to step up to better support multigenerational and intercontinental caregivers – through tangible, culturally sensitive solutions that address their unique challenges. This includes everything from creating support networks and advocacy groups, to encouraging flexible work arrangements and promoting awareness around elder care across borders. Diaspora long-distance care
