Showing posts with label Being Indian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Being Indian. Show all posts

Thursday, July 28, 2011

And Here We Go...

In another month, I move to New York, to live and study there. NYU is the university and journalism is the attempt. More specifically, I am going for the 'Cultural Reporting and Criticism' program and I like to believe, this essay is the main reason I got in. :-)

When I was 5, I announced to the family that I was leaving home and promptly walked out; with empty pockets, wide eyes and an animated eagerness about the wonders I was going to see. Needless to say, the quixotic expedition did not last too long. But as I look back to that 10-minute trip, I see the first glimpses of the qualities that have come to define my personality today: a curiosity to explore and experiment, the self confidence to take on the world and the independence of nature to forge my own way. The years and experiences since, have cemented these qualities and more thankfully replaced the childish foolhardiness with a rational prudence.
What the years have also added to the mix is a heightened awareness and sensitivity towards differences, a penchant to seek out and appreciate the unique. Perhaps this fascination with differences has its roots in my upbringing. I am a product of North Indian and East Indian intimacy; an unlikely union of very disparate cultures. While growing up, variety was the norm and its absence was unsettling. I did not find it odd that we spoke not one but three different languages at home; that we followed different customs depending on which side of the family we were interacting with; that we regularly flipped between three to four different cuisines within a week; and that we moved ever so often to live in a new city, state or even country. Very early on, I was taught through example to respect differences, look at them positively and understand their immense value as a source of new learning.
The reason I talk about these inherent and conditioned traits of my personality is because they have been pivotal in alchemizing my potentially mundane life and travel experiences into opportunities for rich cultural learning. A life spent in Bombay, Singapore and Kuwait, with smatterings of other unfamiliar yet exciting countries in Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Europe, has served as breeding ground for the cultural journalist in me. In each of these countries, I played the role of an observer, looking at the differences in traditions, attitudes, ideas and societies. What has intrigued me more however, are the ways in which different cultures interact and evolve under each other’s influence.  And having spent so much of my life outside of India, I find my observation and critical appreciation of these cultures free from any tints of preconception, but not without a sound basis in cultural understanding.
Admittedly, my Indian roots influence my preferences and I most enjoy looking for the Indian story in every new country. Growing up in the urban mosaic of Bombay was an exercise in cultural understanding and adjustment amidst a plethora of pluralities- linguistic, religious, caste-based, and economic. But it helped me grasp that while cultures in a society may manifest in different ways, they usually have similar undercurrents and sensibilities. Between Singapore, Kuwait and India, I have seen multiple personalities of the ‘Indian’. At first glance, the Singapore-Indian dressed in vibrant batik, talking in Singlish and eating vastly different food might seem miles apart from the kurta-saree-donning, Hindi-speaking and butter-chicken eating Indian in India; or completely unlike the adjusting, hard-working, money-motivated migrant Indian in Kuwait accustomed to living a second-citizen life. But upon scrutiny, each of these personalities reveals its uncanny Indian-ness, right down to the obsession with moralities, family-life and saving money.
It is no surprise then that the cultural journalists who inspire me the most write on similar topics and regions. William Dalrymple is one such author whose writings on India display an enviable perceptiveness about the historical influences on modern day India and the reverse impact of this modernity on tradition and historical culture. His writings seek not to judge but rather to reconcile and make sense of the cultural collisions that make up this complex country. Another cultural journalist, whose writing is surprising and inspiring in its insightful observations, is Edward Luce, the author of ‘In spite of the Gods’. Through his account of India’s recent political, economic and social development and its future prospects, Edward Luce demonstrates a rare combination of intimacy and detachment with India. And while doing so, he presents a deeply astute picture of contemporary India, highlighting patterns and connections from within the complexity. As a cultural journalist, it is this kind of insightful and refreshing writing that I aspire to do.
The bulk of my writing so far has explored issues in the same arena. While journalism hasn’t been the focus of my professional efforts before now, writing and reporting have always been an important and satisfying part of my fringe life. Some of my most creatively satisfying times were spent working as the editor of my high-school magazine or writing articles and reviews for the ‘Gourmet’ magazine at college. And even after college, I have pursued this interest through blogging actively about events, travel and food, both Indian and international.
The story of how I got interested in Journalism, though, is a plain- vanilla tale about how I dabbled in this-and-that, before finally realizing that Journalism has always been the elusive answer to the big question, “What do I want to do?” No epiphanies, no ‘Eureka moments’, just a plain simple deliberated choice based on a passion to write. My interest in cultural journalism stems from a love for stories, a flair for writing and an unbridled curiosity about the world, its people and their motivations. I am enamored by the cultural journalist’s role as the documenter of human narrative, the storyteller of our modern times, an explorer within cultures. And I admire the deep understanding required to connect the dots and examine events in the context of cultural, societal and historical currents.
I believe that a person cannot be taught to be a great journalist. The greatness can only come from a true passion for the career and a love for cultural reportage. However, without the method, the madness is just that. And it is this method that I hope to learn through NYU’s Cultural Reporting and Criticism program in journalism. Through the program’s inimitable flavor of thoughtful, insightful criticism and under the tutelage of its exemplary faculty, I hope to learn the art, the finesse and the tools of the trade. I particularly value the program’s focus on amalgamating journalistic skills with an individual writer’s distinctive voice.
My will to pursue cultural journalism is fueled by my belief that I possess a number of raw skills to succeed in this role. My curiosity drives my persistence to get answers. My insight combined with my diligence in research, lets me identify the right questions to ask. And my affable personality and open mind help me make connections with people and develop trusting bonds easily. What ties all these skills together is my ability to engage the reader through the written word.
Perhaps my greatest strength as a cultural journalist lies in my ability to find comfort in the unfamiliar and my willingness to experiment. I notice and embrace the subtle and not-so-subtle differences in cultures, foods, attitudes and thoughts with ease and find myself the richer for it. I am a variegated person, influenced by the many cultures that I have been exposed to. I speak comfortably in 4 different languages besides Hindi but I think mostly in English. I appreciate the colors and beauty of a Hindu Temple as willingly as I take in the serenity of a church or the passionate call-to-prayer of a mosque. I am a lover of different tastes and cuisines and I display as much panache while maneuvering chopsticks as I do while eating with a fork and spoon. At various points in my life I have lived in India, Singapore, Thailand, London and Kuwait and in each of these places I have felt the city’s pulse and assimilated a wealth of cultural insights. Very often I strike up conversations with strangers in unlikely places, to quench my curiosity about lives different from mine and never have I been disappointed.  I revel in the beauty that can come only with multiplicity and I am a connoisseur of the different.
This in turn enriches my narrative as a writer, as a cultural journalist. Inspired by differences, led by curiosity and emboldened by the willingness to experiment, the writer in me finds inspiration at every corner. And the journalist in me sees the exciting possibility of a new narrative, the next story.

Currently reading: Jaya - Devdutt Patnaik
Currently Listening: Big Jet Plane - Angus & Julia Stone, The importance of being idle - Oasis

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Latesshht!

You know how it is- When so much seems to be happening around you, you think of a million things to write about and you make mental notes. And then you keep setting aside time to post about them, but you faff around instead because you’re too lazy or too willing to give into any distraction (Like Zee cinema showing another hilarious ancient gem). And then, when you finally say- enough is enough and cajole yourself to sit down with your cup of tea, with just the right music playing (coz well ambience counts for a lot), to write out those thoughts, the dreaded blogger’s block threatens to strike. How ironic!

But hah, am a fighter too! So fighting the blows of the ‘block’ and very valiantly kicking it in the balls, I bring to you the very taaza, the latesssht! (a.k.a snippets from my head that are inane, whacked out and absolutely of no consequence to anyone)
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The Indian 1 Billion Strategy
As a result of a conversation with a French colleague (who btw is convinced that all Chinese n Indians are spies) I am starting to see our race in a new light. And I daresay, I underestimated us all. Coz you see, while everyone thought that we were more tuned to being ruled than being rulers, I say it turned out quite to the contrary. We are conquerors of the world, just that our methods have been a little..er.. unconventional. What the world thought to be the result of a slightly higher-than-normal libido, the kama sutra and the lack of anything else to do, may just be a well thought out strategy. (I’ve even thought up a nice little catchy name for it- copulation for population.)

Look around you! No matter what part of the world you are in you will find yourself surrounded by a tiny little India- Indian people, Indian food, Indian movies and music, even Indian bosses. It’s time to face it- The whole world is going through an Indianization of sorts. So yes, we’ll ‘pass’ on the machine guns and the bomber jets. We’ve got other tricks up our sleeve you see!
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Jai Ho! For globalization
You’ve got to love globalization. Well I know I do. You know what else I love? Haldiram’s nut cracker (it’s the spicy coated peanuts savoury). And thanks to globalization it seems to be available everywhere. Battling my way through the lanes of Mustafa in Singapore (yes, battling), what do I find? Nut cracker. Walking through the busy and colorful Jonker walk in Malacca (Malaysia), what do I spy a hawker selling? Nut Cracker. And now, here in Kuwait as I push my trolley through the aisles of the local supermarket, what do I come upon? Take a wild guess! It truly is Nutcracker (Haldiram) domination all around and I have globalization to thank for it.

Infact my overactive imaginations sees a situation like this-
Slightly over enthusiastic explorer: (bursting upon a never-found tribal clan in the jungles of the amazon) I bring you food, clean water, fire : I bring you civilization
Tribal guy: (covered in white ash, painted in fancy colors, digging into a bright packet of Nut crackers) No thank you, we’ve got our packet of Nutcrakers. Yes we are quite happy! Nice knowing you. good bye!

So yeah well I exaggerate. And yes I am a crazy fan of the said savory. But it’s possible. Noe?
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Inshallah
I love the word! And I haven’t found anything quite like it in English or Hindi. So succinct, so convenient. And it works with everything. It’s perfect to acquit yourself of all responsibility. And it's perfect for a serial procrastinator like me. Will I finish this by tomorrow? Inshallah! Will I be coming home on time? Inshallah! Will I be hauling my ass out of bed and trudging my way to work tomorrow? Inshallah. It’s brilliant.

Coz tomorrow when I don’t finish the work, and I don’t come home on time and I don’t get my ass to work, I simply have him to blame. Coz he didn’t will it so! See what I mean?
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That's it for now dahlings! But I'll be back to post something soon. Inshallah!

Currently Listening: I will possess your heart- Death cab for cutie, Say it- Blue October
Currently Reading: Eat, Love, Pray- Elizabeth Gilbert

Saturday, May 23, 2009

80's Bollywood Hilarity!

Little did I know when I woke up today that my morning would be so entertaining. Flipping through the TV channels here in Kuwait, I came across an arabic version of Zee cinema that had all the writing and commentary in arabic but had bollywood movies playing. Turns out, the channel was showing the 1985 Amitabh starrer "Mard". And while in it's time, it may have made sense (though I find it difficult to imagine how), for me it was funnier than the funniest movie bollywood has ever come out with. The movie is full of macabre co-incidences, lost families and highly comical villians.

In true typical fashion of 80s bollywood movies, the film involves a poor but gallant and honest horse-cart rider living in a village settlement right outside a palatial colonial house (which is meant to be british looking but strangely has roman colums and domes). The house, as it turns out, is occupied by scruplous indians (the villains of the movie) who have sold themselves to the service of the british and are cruel and exploitative. They say dialogues like "Indians are the cockroaches in the dirty sewers", dress in wierdly gladiator type clothes and walk around with hunters, that they liberally use on the poor indian labourers. No surprises then that the horse cart driver who's name is raju, is the he-man of the movie and for some stange reason calls himself "Mard" (as if to remind himself constantly of which side he bats for). He regularly has face-offs with the villains in the platial house and also manages to win the heart of the villain's daughter. As the movie progresses we find, that the villains have also imprisoned the former-king of the land (Dara Singh) and force him day and night to push the grinidng wheel of a wheat mill, without food and water. Through a twist in the movie, raju finds out that his parents are not really his parents and he was picked up from an orphanage.
Then, in probably the wierdest leap of logic in the movie (and that is saying a lot given how illogical the movie anyways is), raju puts together a letter (asking his real birth-mother to meet him at the durga temple) with some other meaningful artifacts in a metal pot covered with cloth and sets it afloat on the ganges river with a plea to "Ganaga Ma" to take it to his mother, whoever and wherever she may be. Surprise Surprise, the metal pot not only reaches his real-mother (who is in the villians' prison camp and till this point has been dumb) but she also manages to escape out in time to go meet him in the durga temple, be happily re-united with her son and get the gift of speech. Praise be to the goddess! Soon knowing that his father (yes he turns out to be the king's son) has been imprisoned by the villians and that he is actually royalty, he goes to the villian camp astride on his faithful steed and proceeds to annihilate the villians and free the innocent indians. The movie ends happily with raju going to marry the villian's daughter seated atop dara singh's broad shoulders (don't ask).
By the time the credits in the movie started rolling, my sides were aching from all the laughing I had been doing! Inspired of course by the wierd clothes in the movie (togas, wierd cut-off clothes adorned with chains and spikes), the hackneyed cliched dialogues ("Mein tera khoon pee jaoonga"), the illogically devout belief in gods and godesses (with Raju singing a full-on devotional song, temple bells clanging and women waving oil lamps) and the archaic torture methods (through out the movie one of the villains kept drawing out labourer-indian blood and storing it in bottles for british soldiers, go figure!).
But the movie got me thinking about the mind-set of the people who watched and enjoyed the movie in 1985. And more importantly how much things have changed since then. The religious fervor, the kind of beliefs in the society, the scorn of everything foreign and british, the expectations from women, and the singularly good character of the hero without any shades of grey. It has been a long journey from 'Mard' to 'Dil Chahta hai'! And I give thanks for every bit of that change.
But now the channel informs me I am up for even more hilarity. They are showing "Roti, Kapda Aur Makan" next. What fun!!
Currently Listening: Like a stone- Audioslave, Beggin- Madcon
Currently Reading: Q&A- Vikas Swaroop
PS- On another note, a prince and future-king named 'Raju'? Not that I am generalizing (and with apologies to all rajus around the world), but the seems more be-fitting of a Tea boy than a king. No?

Sunday, March 08, 2009

'Happy' Women's Day?

There's nothing happy about the ‘International women's day’. Not this one and not any other. But definitely, not this one.

First there is the question around the dubious need for a specific day to celebrate 'women'. Excuse me, but last I checked, wasn't that something the world should be doing anyways, every day, every moment- Without making any pomp and show about it and definitely without feeling like it deserves a pat on the back. By having a specific day for something that should be the norm, the world is only spotlighting its ineptitude in giving to women all that they deserve. And yet the world celebrates this day. It's almost ironical.

And then of course there is the point, that whatever the original noble intentions, the day no longer means what it was meant to mean. As the very wise wikipedia informs me, International Women's Day was declared in 1910 by the German socialist leader Clara Zetkin as a day of solidarity to mark the fight of women for equal rights and was officially recognized by the United Nations in 1975. But now, year after year, it's been contorted into something politicians can use to get face time and brands can use to tout their products. And not just in India. A club in singapore was advertising it's TGIW (Thank god I'm a Woman) night on Women's day, complete with free Mary Janes and GalPal discounts! The whole world is going down that route. I ask, what's the point? It's almost patronizing of the world to make such a huge superficial hue and cry about the day, only to promptly go back to the normal (unfair) order of things right after.

And what exactly do we have to celebrate this year? The same bag of problems hang around our neck: Rape, Female child mortality, child marriage, sexual harassment, violence against women, gender bias. And just in case we thought we didn’t have enough to deal with in this century, we have the Sri Ram Sene. (Incase anyone needs reminding about who they are and what they did at Mangalore earlier this year, read this). Women in India are still not free, neither in the rural nor the urban settings. Just that the shackles are different. But at its very root the fight is much for the same thing; and that is free-will. Be it the free-will to choose their life partner, to not have to cover their faces, to go wherever they want or even the ability to sit in a pub and drink without the fear of being beaten up. It’s not wrong for society to frown on certain things. While many years ago the point of discord might have been whether to let women out of the house and into the workforce, today the issue is about whether to let them into clubs and pubs and the likes. But at the heart of the matter lies the fact that frowned or not, it’s all a matter of the woman’s free will. And it is really no one’s business to tell a woman what she can or can’t do. Sadly we live in a society that burdens its women with the duty of upholding the morality of our culture while the men gallivant around chasing skirts and being men; A society that continues to ignore women as independent people with their own wants and wishes and a right to live their life as they please.

And all this is not just on a macro level; it trickles down to a personal level too, though the issues may be different or seemingly less significant. I am an independent woman, who speaks her mind, does what she wants, wears whatever catches her fancy and drinks whatever quenches her thirst. But the single reason I am able to do all that is 'cause I live outside India. And I still get badgered and pressured on how a certain age should equate to a certain marital status and how I can’t do so many things simply cause I am a girl and it’s not acceptable or safe. And idiots like the Sri Ram Sene only give this more mileage.

And so I ask, really, what’s so happy about the ‘International Women’s day’?

Monday, March 02, 2009

25 Random Facts About Yours Truly!

Yup I am joining the bandwagon. And doing the 25 list thingie! And that too, by my own volition. (I can see some of you shaking your head with a look that says 'I always knew this girl was mad') . Why subject myself to this, you ask? Well simply coz this is sort of like a Meme and being a meme-virgin (Batting eyelids, blushing face) I am a little excited about it. Maybe it's also coz I am a slighly-narcissistic blogger and I do love talking about myself. More than anything, it's because I have a feeling that I am going to surprise myself. So bear with me and read on please. Pretty please?
  1. I am the quintessential jack of all trades. I can play 7 instruments- Guitar, Harmonica, Tabla, Harmonium, Tanpura, Drums and Bongo. But none with any spectacular degree of proficiency. I can speak 6 languages- Hindi, English, Bengali, Punjabi, Gujarati & Italian. But only two of those with a high degree of proficiency. I have dabbled in Kathak, Salsa and Jive, but am an expert in none of those. You get the Picture, don't you?
  2. Something that I get from my mom is a penchant for making lists and plans. Things to do lists, timetables and longterm timelines: I specialise in Weight-loss plans and personal finances management plans. What I dont specialise in, sadly, is following any of the stuff that I plan. Half a talent is such a waste!
  3. I love the sight of painted pretty nails. Days when I get my nails done, I can't stop waving them around like a prima donna. I am told it can get pretty irritating for everyone else.
  4. I have had milk straight out of a cow, with the whole awkward-position-head-bent-and-squirt-aimed-at-my-mouth. The milk tasted good, the experience was wierd and the fact is something I am secretly proud of. Well, not so so secretly anymore, but still proud.
  5. I am a feminist of sorts. Not your bra-burning-morcha-holding types. But the type who can tell when things are unfair and will do something about it. I refuse to settle for a half-life simply because I am of the female species. And I get frustrated with people who expect me to.
  6. I love it when the wind blows through my hair and flicks strands of my hair on my face. It's the single thing that can make me feel pretty, no matter any amount of zits, blackheads or any other other gunk that might be vacationing on my face.
  7. I get very amazed and sometimes frustrated with people who refuse to live their life king size and in the moment. It's one life people. Just one. All the more reason to live it up!!
  8. There's nothing more comforting than an over-used and over-washed t-shirt. I have saved plenty from annihilation at the hands of my mom and will continue to do so till my very last breath. Much to her frustration.
  9. I dream of living a life where the money is enough and the lifestyle lets me be spontaneous and impulsive. I am told that's a freelancer's life. Methinks a rich heiress' life works much better.
  10. I am a praise-junkie. I thrive on the simple concept of work and reward. Consequently, I expect to be praised even for doing my job satisfactorily. It's a bad habit, I know.
  11. While growing up, there is nothing I wanted more than a Dog. And now that am all grown up, there's nothing I value and want more than my freedom and independence. Between the two, my parents had a much easier time dealing with my wish for a dog!
  12. When I was 5, I announced to the family that I was leaving home (following a fight) and promptly walked out. It lasted all of 10 mins, before dad caught up with me and carried me back. I waited 12 years before I tried that stunt again. And this time the family came to drop me all the way!
  13. I think the single most important thing about life is all the people you meet and especially the ones that you love. And it me amazes how rich my life has been in that regard so far.
  14. Nothing petrifies me more than labor pain!
  15. I was a vegetarian for 12 years of my life. I decided on it when I was 8 (after a very revealing trip to the butcher's) and stuck to it all the way till I came to Singapore. Now, I eat 'Everything'.
  16. There are some songs that always make me smile, no matter what my mood. 'Kiss me' by six pence none the richer is one of them. 'Free falling' by Tom petty is another.
  17. There are days when I worry that my time will run out before I can do all that I want to do. That I might be wasting my time on mundane things like holding a job, buying a house etc. There are other days when my worries don't run so deep. On those days I mostly obssess about my weight, my hair, my face. Oh and world peace. Definitely world peace!
  18. I love weddings. I love dancing on the streets at weddings. I love the dolling up that happens at weddings. The songs, the colors, the ceremonies, the people, the food. I simply love being a part of weddings, as long as (and here's the catch) it's not mine.
  19. The single experience that I most want to have with all of my heart is to live by myself in a place of my own in Bombay. I also know that it is the one thing I will never have.
  20. During moments of plain evil mixed with pure genius, I have thought of naming my future children- Katori Devi and Hukumchand, if they don't behave themselves (Read as: If they cry too much and wake me up in the middle of the night). Thankfully these moments almost always pass.
  21. I am a complete romantic and mush-pot at heart. I drool at the idea of surprises, offbeat-bent-knee-proposals, thoughtful gifts out of the blue, beachside weddings. And yet I think flowers and chocolates are over-rated. And cliched too!
  22. I love food and I have very eclectic and specific cravings. Usually these revolve around (And am sure you haven't heard of some of these)- Funflips, Bonny mix, Nutties, Fatafat, Haldiram's Nutcrackers, Panipuri, Tibbs Frankie, Raju Chinese, Pav Bhaji, China-Valley-Sweet-Corn-Chicken-Soup, Bombay Sandwich. The list goes on. And on.
  23. I can lose myself entirely in a book or a movie. And when I say entirely, I mean that it would take a hurricane (or even a bowl-ful of water thrown at me, as has worked in the past) to get me to come back to the now. Nothing milder would work. It's like my brain switches tracks and puts on blinkers.
  24. I was in love with Michael Jackson when I was 11. I had a poster of him on my wall, that I would wish good night to, before going to bed. I consider this the single most embarassing thing I have ever done! Thankfully, now that place has been usurped by the very-yum-and-edible Kunal kapoor. And even more thankfully, without the ritualistic 'good-nights'!
  25. Bombay, Delhi, Bangkok are my favourite cities in the world. I think New york has the potential to be added to that list, even though I haven't been there yet. I really really hope to some day soon.

I could fill another 20 more points on this list easily. But then it is supposed to be only 25 points, no?

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Where do the children play?

Every thing's as usual. I'm sitting in office freezing and cursing the AC vent, as usual. The Killers are crooning through my headphones as I tap away at my keyboard, very much as usual. When the day is done, I will feel the usual gladness as I shut down my laptop. I will feel my ears popping as I go down 41 floors in the elevator, as usual. I will walk past swanky shoe and dress shops all advertising christmas sales, on my way to the MRT, quite as usual. I will stare blankly at my reflection on the platform doors at the station waiting for the train and then I will fight my way into the train and nod to the music on my headphones as I head on home- All very very usual. My life is going on as usual and nothing seems different. 

Yet something is. Different. I can feel it.

I can feel it every time I call home- In the insecurity in my mom's voice, in everything she tells me and even more in everything that she doesn't. I feel it every time google desktop pops up a news article on Bombay, that it thinks I may be interested in, and it always tells repeatedly of the carnage that happened. I feel it in the way voices become solemn and thoughtful anytime friendly conversation veers towards the B-word. There is something different and in a wrong way. Different about Bombay, different about me.

There is so much I should want to say, so much I should want to shout out, but I can't. Some part of me has stopped feeling, stopped caring. I look at the whole thing with a shrug. I have given up- on Bombay, on India, on any othr part of this world. I am giving up on ever feeling secure anywhere again. I am doing what Bombay-ites have been so praised for doing. I am walking on. And I'm not proud of it.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

The Others

Reading about Raj Thackeray's (& MNS's) issue with north Indians in Bombay, I was saddened and shocked. I was also reminded of a movie I had seen quite some time back called 'The Others'. In the movie, Nicole Kidman, who lives with her two kids, starts to feel the presence of 'others' in her house and gets very irked about it. She frets, she shouts, she expresses her anger, only to realise at the end of the movie that it is she who is the 'other', the spirit that has been living there beyond its time, the spirit that doesn’t have sole right over the house and hence has no right to ask anyone to leave. It’s quite obvious why I was reminded of the story and the parallels I am drawing.

Bombay is a great city. Perhaps even the greatest. And what makes it so, is exactly what makes New York the navel of the world. Bombay is a melting pot, a paradox, a ‘Khichdi’. And it’s always been proud about that.

Or atleast the Bombay I grew up in.

The Bombay I grew up in was about differences, about having a certain attitude. In that Bombay it did not matter who you were, where you came from or what you did, as long as you had a dream and you could keep with the pace. That Bombay was about accepting; about holding out a hand from an overcrowded train to help a running stranger get in, without asking who he was or where he was from. That Bombay was about adjusting; about squeezing into a train seat to fit 7 where 4 were meant to sit. That Bombay took in everyone who came to its stations and airports from near and far, and became the richer for it.

The Bombay I grew up in was where a kid would attend a college run by a Sindhi Trust, eat Indian Chinese food made by a Raju (who was most probably a migrant from UP or Bihar), rush to classes run by an Aggarwal, ride in a taxi driven by a yadav, Cheer at a cricket match played by Tendulkar or Dravid, lap up movies acted in by a Khan and aspire to work in companies owned by an Ambani. That Bombay was Joshi, Patel, Subramaniam, Shah, Bansal, Aggarwal, Yadav, Fernandes, Singh and many others. It was Straight, Gay, bi-sexual, deviant and devout. It was stinking rich, upstart wealthy, nobly middle-class, and roadside-poor. It was desi, urban, and American-confused. The Bombay I grew up in was the Bombay that had a place for everyone.

And that Bombay belongs to no one. Not to me, not to you, not to the Marathis, not to the Gujaratis and definitely not to hooligan Politicians. It belongs to anyone and everyone who has ever lived in it, dreamed in it and carried a piece of it in their hearts. And we all belong to that Bombay. We all make it what it is. We all love it for what it represents. And we all want to keep it the way it is.

So Mr. Thackeray, like it or not, I am a Bombay-ite. And I don’t need to speak any one language, wear any particular clothing, celebrate any specific festivals or have a specific surname to call myself that. I just need to love the city and uphold everything that is great about it.

Perhaps you should ask yourself, how Bombay-ite are you? You might just find, it’s you who are the ‘other’ that doesn’t understand what Bombay is about; the ‘other’ that should stop creating a nuisance!

Currently Reading: Big book of crafts
Currently Listening: Forever- Papa Roach, Disturbia (Acoustic)- Boyce Avenue

PS- Yes- Bombay, not Mumbai!
PS2- See 'The Others' if you haven't already. though I've probably ruined the movie for you, giving away the twist and all. But still.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

I am an Indian

Where are you from? I get asked this question a lot, mostly by taxi drivers. And usually I never reply straight away. I play this game where I turn the question on them. Where do you think I am from? I've gotten the most intriguing answers. Mostly it's Malaysian or Indonesian (Has everything to do with me being in Singapore and having chinki-ish eyes). Occasionally, I get called Thai or Nepali. One taxi driver was convinced I was European if not eastern European. I'd like to smoke whatever he was on.

But I digress. So as I was saying, in this funny little game I play, I rarely get called Indian. Most get very surprised when I reveal my nationality (Some in a Russell Peter's type 'Noooo' and other in demented Singlish- Cannot be lah!) And somehow that always gets me thinking about my indian-ness. Not questioning it, just thinking about it.

Growing up in Urban India, I was never confronted with questions about Indian-ness, mine or anyone else's. Everyone around was Indian. It was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Differences emerged in other ways. The mallu who has relatives in 'Gelf' v/s the Gujjubhai who wants Dhokla for 'Snakes' , The Subramaniam who eats curd rice with his hands (and sometime the forearm too) v/s the Khanna who swears by his chole puri. What makes anyone different is the language they speak, the way they eat, what they eat, which state they come from and sometimes (sadly so) even where they pray. And as Indians, we usually revel in our differences, we very often poke fun at them, we sometimes fight over them, but we never let go of them.

And that is why, in India you can never be just an Indian. It is never enough. What use is that? It can't help anyone label you. You have to be a Gujarati or a Punjabi or a South-Indian (yeah that category gets lumped together) or a delhite or some equal denomination. You just have to be from somewhere. Somewhere Different.

But where does that leave me? I am a product of north and south-east indian intimacy. A Mumbaite in attitude and a Delhi-ite at heart. A lover of mooli parathas, paani puri and all things rassam. I speak comfortably in 3 different Indian languages besides Hindi but I think mostly in English. I appreciate the colors and beauty of a Hindu Temple as willingly as I take in the serenity of a church. I am equally likely to be found slurping curd rice from my hand as I am to be found enjoying spoonfuls of Rajma-Chawal. And now, add to all that- eating with chopsticks and speaking in Singlish. So what does that make me?

I say, it makes me an Indian. 100%. Nothing more, nothing less.

Currently Reading- Shalimar the Clown- Salman Rushdie
Currently Listening- Tum Pukar lo- Khamoshi, Little Boxes- Devendra Banhart, Karma Police- Radiohead