It was a packed India trip. First we attended 4 wedding in a week, and then I was travelling on work, and when I came back to Chennai, there was barely enough time to visit relatives, be visited by relatives, a quick trip to the beach, the second hand bookstore, and packing. However, the trip was defined by wedding outfit planning before I left.
Showing posts with label desi american. Show all posts
Showing posts with label desi american. Show all posts
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Desi Cool!
Brat #1 has to do a presentation at school about a holiday tradition. We go every year door to door singing and collecting money for the local food bank. Brat #1 loves singing, and I thought she would jump at the opportunity to talk about it, and may be sing to her class.
Gone are the days when auntiji forced Kishore Kumar upon her embarrassed kids and their unsuspecting friends carpooling in her van. They now want auntiji to play "Jai Ho". And they would rather draw turkey kolams for Thanksgiving.
Being Desi is cool now!
Image courtesy: Kamala's corner
She considered the idea for a while, and then decided, she wanted to talk about kolams and rangolis instead.
Gone are the days when auntiji forced Kishore Kumar upon her embarrassed kids and their unsuspecting friends carpooling in her van. They now want auntiji to play "Jai Ho". And they would rather draw turkey kolams for Thanksgiving.
Being Desi is cool now!
Image courtesy: Kamala's corner
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Monday, June 25, 2007
Amairika or Amreeka
We are back. The boxes can only be found in the garage. The brats are back in school and we are back to work. The brats are even back to putting their plates in the sink, making their beds, and doing other chores that they had delegated to the help in India (in spite of strict instructions otherwise).
There is no balcony, and no one serves us hot coffee or tea. The infrequent date nights are all too short. There are certainly no "relaxed weekends at the bookstore".
We miss being able to talk about Hrithik or Aish. We miss being able to mix Hindi and English and Tamil in a single sentence. We miss not having to give cultural context to a joke. We miss India.
On the other hand, we feel more empowered here to make choices. We feel more confident about helping our children learn to be responsible citizens of the world. We feel relieved not to have to walk a fine line between convenience and corruption (of civic sense, of law, of moral values, of other forms). At an abstract level, we like our life as Americans enough to choose it over the balcony and the decoction coffee (though we remember those every weekend and let out a sigh of resignation)
Will we always be in this trisangu like all other immigrant Indian families we made fun of when we came here first?
Will we, like them, try to create a mini-India for our children that is rooted in the past and has no relation to what India has become today?
Will we, like them, live in a time warp?
There is no balcony, and no one serves us hot coffee or tea. The infrequent date nights are all too short. There are certainly no "relaxed weekends at the bookstore".
We miss being able to talk about Hrithik or Aish. We miss being able to mix Hindi and English and Tamil in a single sentence. We miss not having to give cultural context to a joke. We miss India.
On the other hand, we feel more empowered here to make choices. We feel more confident about helping our children learn to be responsible citizens of the world. We feel relieved not to have to walk a fine line between convenience and corruption (of civic sense, of law, of moral values, of other forms). At an abstract level, we like our life as Americans enough to choose it over the balcony and the decoction coffee (though we remember those every weekend and let out a sigh of resignation)
Will we always be in this trisangu like all other immigrant Indian families we made fun of when we came here first?
Will we, like them, try to create a mini-India for our children that is rooted in the past and has no relation to what India has become today?
Will we, like them, live in a time warp?
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
No Onions Nor Garlic: Book Review
Complex, long, sentences; simple plot; over-the-top; and absolutely hilarious.
Srividya Natarajan is obviously a papaan. Rombha nalla ponnu. Verry nice girl. How else would she know the pure glorious heart residing in the body of papaans?
The only negative is: I am not sure if all will get the full significance of her revelations. As I mention in my previous blog "Conforming to Society", some lessons must necessarily be appreciated as a follow on to other lessons. Srividya Natarajan can probably only be appreciated after full initiation to papaan-dom.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
In memory of Sam
Event 1: remote-hamlet-where-parents-live gets STD (long distance calling facility)
Event 2: parents finally see how a phone would be useful and get one
Event 3: This means no more "trunk calls" and endless waiting. I am all excited and write to them asking if their phone is the "black or elephant grey one". Clearly, there were only two options.
Event 4: Other such parents also get STD connections in their hamlets, and buy phones
Event 5: They all try to call their daughters at the same time, which is clear from Event 6
Event 6: Mom writes to Alice: "I am exhausted trying to redial over and over for 2 hours. At the end, when we finally got through, you weren't there. This is not working."
Event 7: Dad writes to Alice: "Lines are clear only before 6am. We will henceforth call you at 5:20am on Sunday mornings. Be by the phone. We will try up to 6 am, and give up if we do not get through."
Often, the world produces people who do something that changes our lives irrevocably. They are freedom fighters, inventors, philosophers, terrorists, policy makers, and such.
Sam Pitroda certainly changed mine: it was 5:20am every Sunday for 4 whole years!
Event 2: parents finally see how a phone would be useful and get one
Event 3: This means no more "trunk calls" and endless waiting. I am all excited and write to them asking if their phone is the "black or elephant grey one". Clearly, there were only two options.
Event 4: Other such parents also get STD connections in their hamlets, and buy phones
Event 5: They all try to call their daughters at the same time, which is clear from Event 6
Event 6: Mom writes to Alice: "I am exhausted trying to redial over and over for 2 hours. At the end, when we finally got through, you weren't there. This is not working."
Event 7: Dad writes to Alice: "Lines are clear only before 6am. We will henceforth call you at 5:20am on Sunday mornings. Be by the phone. We will try up to 6 am, and give up if we do not get through."
Often, the world produces people who do something that changes our lives irrevocably. They are freedom fighters, inventors, philosophers, terrorists, policy makers, and such.
Sam Pitroda certainly changed mine: it was 5:20am every Sunday for 4 whole years!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match
If you know of a "good", tall, Marathi speaking, (preferably Konkanastha Brahman) girl, living in USA, willing to relocate to middle-of-nowhere-town, USA, please suggest for my "good" friend's son.
If you know a "good" boy, from a "good" family, 3-5 years older than Sulekha, please let me know. Don't let Sulekha know we are looking. Once we find a good match for her, she will be more open to an arranged marraige.
Patidev and I are now obviously considered old and wise enough to be in these conversations.
The only problem here is the definition of "good". What is a "good" boy, a "good" girl, or a "good" family? Ofcourse, the smarter parents only ask recommendations from people who are on the same wavelength as themselves, so the word "good" is hopefully understood the same way.
So far, the only matchmaking we have done is our own. Should we just "leave on a high" like George Costanza?
If you know a "good" boy, from a "good" family, 3-5 years older than Sulekha, please let me know. Don't let Sulekha know we are looking. Once we find a good match for her, she will be more open to an arranged marraige.
Patidev and I are now obviously considered old and wise enough to be in these conversations.
The only problem here is the definition of "good". What is a "good" boy, a "good" girl, or a "good" family? Ofcourse, the smarter parents only ask recommendations from people who are on the same wavelength as themselves, so the word "good" is hopefully understood the same way.
So far, the only matchmaking we have done is our own. Should we just "leave on a high" like George Costanza?
Monday, February 19, 2007
The Ministry of Bandh
The bandh (translation: closure or strike) was popularized in India, by Mahatma Gandhi and his followers, as a means to protest against the British occupation.
There is a fundamental difference between Gandhiji's concept of a bandh and what exists today:
1. That bandh was voluntary, not forced
2. That bandh was non-violent, not the stone throwing, knife wielding variety
3. That bandh caused economic damage to the opponent, not oneself
However, given that the bandh will not easily go away, I would like to suggest the appointment of a Minister of Bandh, to manage bandhs as and when they happen. In addition to the usual ministerial work, such as evading taxes, this Minister would be responsible for:
There is a fundamental difference between Gandhiji's concept of a bandh and what exists today:
1. That bandh was voluntary, not forced
2. That bandh was non-violent, not the stone throwing, knife wielding variety
3. That bandh caused economic damage to the opponent, not oneself
However, given that the bandh will not easily go away, I would like to suggest the appointment of a Minister of Bandh, to manage bandhs as and when they happen. In addition to the usual ministerial work, such as evading taxes, this Minister would be responsible for:
- explaining to foreigners that the word is pronounced bandh, and not boondh, even if it is sometimes spelt as bundh
- banning the usage of the confusing "bundh" spelling altogether
- negotiating bandh dates to not overlap with important government functions, or the wedding of the Chief Minister's daughter
- ensuring that essential services such as hospital emergency treatment are only available to those with "source"
- providing heavy police protection for all the glass buildings hosting MNCs (Multi National Corps), provided they have been regularly paying kickbacks
- ensuring that we have bandhs regularly - typically one to represent each side of each cause
The immortality of the Immortal Picture Stories
A young cousin of mine, when asked to compare the prowess of Hanuman and Jordan, had said: "You cannot do that. You see, Jordan is an avatara of Hanuman". He was then, just a little older than brat #1.
These days, brat #1 talks a lot about Gods and His avataras. I try needling with questions, like: where does God live? if He lives in the clouds, can you see Him from an aeroplane? and so on. She usually has it all figured out: Some Gods like Siva live on earth, and others like Indra live in the clouds. God is smaller than air, and hence one can't see Him, feel Him, or touch Him.
I am convinced that Amar Chitra Kathas have something to do with this firm belief in the abilities of Gods. While, I devoured those comic books as a child; as an adult, I think the English is horribly archaic and complex for a kid, and the story-lines are often too gory. Brat #1 doesn't think so. For her, Super-man, Spider-man, and Bat-man are fictional; but Hanu-man, Lax-man, and Ra-man are real heroes.
All I can say is that Amar Chitra Kathas (translation: Immortal Picture Stories) are here to stay. Even if they use words like "beseeched".
These days, brat #1 talks a lot about Gods and His avataras. I try needling with questions, like: where does God live? if He lives in the clouds, can you see Him from an aeroplane? and so on. She usually has it all figured out: Some Gods like Siva live on earth, and others like Indra live in the clouds. God is smaller than air, and hence one can't see Him, feel Him, or touch Him.
I am convinced that Amar Chitra Kathas have something to do with this firm belief in the abilities of Gods. While, I devoured those comic books as a child; as an adult, I think the English is horribly archaic and complex for a kid, and the story-lines are often too gory. Brat #1 doesn't think so. For her, Super-man, Spider-man, and Bat-man are fictional; but Hanu-man, Lax-man, and Ra-man are real heroes.
All I can say is that Amar Chitra Kathas (translation: Immortal Picture Stories) are here to stay. Even if they use words like "beseeched".
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Vices of India
I love India. I love the people, the history, the colourful clothes, the wonderful food, the ability to adapt to adversity, the "middle class" values espoused by all (rich and poor), the natural beauty, and everything else in between. When I saw the tri-color unfurl for the republic day celebration this year, inspite of the comic march past put up by the diamond district guards, I got tears in my eyes. I still cannot listen to desh raag without crying, and cannot talk about the freedom movement to my daughter without feeling a lump in my throat.
Yet, I am of the firm belief that improvement comes with recognition of one's defeciencies. I am not sure that we fully, openly, recognize and talk about all that is not well in India. That is one of the first vices of India - the belief that criticism of the country is unpatriotic and blasphemous, especially if you are one of those who have shunned its sacred soils and sought the comforts of the more developed nations. Sure, the NRIs compare India to other nations with possibly more money, less population, etc. However, there is truth in their complaints about the roads, the pollution, the airport, etc. And many of those do not need rocket scientists for them to be fixed. We cannot separate ourselves from the corrupt politicians and the bereaucratic government for ever.
The second vice is our willingness to "adjust". True, that our ability to adjust is one of the wonderful things about us. I was able to host 22 relatives in my studio apartment on a student budget, and sleeping on the floor, or using a single bathroom, never came in the way of us having a very memorable and wonderful time. Yet, we don't need to adjust to the protruding nail under the brand new table, the expensive curtain that doesn't fully cover the window, the light switch placed in the far end of the room in your dream home, and other such atrocities that you pay through your nose for. Why don't we start with that toilet seat that always slips to the side and exposes just that sliver of germs on the rim? Have you ever seen one that doesn't do that?
With all the advancements we have made, let us learn to take well to criticism, and demand more for our money, and India will be an even better place to live in.
Yet, I am of the firm belief that improvement comes with recognition of one's defeciencies. I am not sure that we fully, openly, recognize and talk about all that is not well in India. That is one of the first vices of India - the belief that criticism of the country is unpatriotic and blasphemous, especially if you are one of those who have shunned its sacred soils and sought the comforts of the more developed nations. Sure, the NRIs compare India to other nations with possibly more money, less population, etc. However, there is truth in their complaints about the roads, the pollution, the airport, etc. And many of those do not need rocket scientists for them to be fixed. We cannot separate ourselves from the corrupt politicians and the bereaucratic government for ever.
The second vice is our willingness to "adjust". True, that our ability to adjust is one of the wonderful things about us. I was able to host 22 relatives in my studio apartment on a student budget, and sleeping on the floor, or using a single bathroom, never came in the way of us having a very memorable and wonderful time. Yet, we don't need to adjust to the protruding nail under the brand new table, the expensive curtain that doesn't fully cover the window, the light switch placed in the far end of the room in your dream home, and other such atrocities that you pay through your nose for. Why don't we start with that toilet seat that always slips to the side and exposes just that sliver of germs on the rim? Have you ever seen one that doesn't do that?
With all the advancements we have made, let us learn to take well to criticism, and demand more for our money, and India will be an even better place to live in.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Punjabi Baroque
Gautam Bhatia has written a book by that name. It is a hilarious book about Indian homes and the Indian people who architected them.
However, the book is written in the days of "swanky red marutis" and "safari suits". What the book needs is a chapter about the NRI village.
The resident of the NRI village is yours truly, who loves India (except for the traffic and pollution), and it was never a question if she would return or not. Of course, dearest patidev makes staying in India easy with trips to the US on business, so she can replenish her stock of ziploc bags, plastic dabbas, and safety pins from WalMart, and diapers from Costco. The NRI village is starkly different from the rest of India in that roads are called avenues, houses have wooden flooring and sloped roofs, kitchens are modular, and all rooms have air conditioning to protect one from the sweltering heat of Bangalore winters.
The NRI village is by definition anything but a village. It is a theme park. Once you enter, you see buildings reminscent of Manhattan skyscrapers to the Texas ranches, depending on the chosen theme. The fertile Bangalore soil is common to all themes, and thick cover of coconut trees, ferns, bougainvilleas, and water lilies surround the Texan Ranch. There is in addition, a thick cover of secruti to add variety to the vista, and to protect one from illegal Mexican (oops! non-NRI) infiltrators.
The NRI village is also by definition away from the city, and not connected by a proper road. However, since all NRIs own SUVs, the road is not a consideration in planning. Also, instead of depending on hydro-electric power supply from the city, it is better to build generators that run on petrol. After all, the NRIs constitute the people most concerned about pollution (except when it comes to burning fuel to run the AC that protects them from hot Bangalore winters). Since, water supplied by the municipality cannot be trusted, it is better to get Kinley water, 'manufactured' by the familiar Coca Cola company. Hence, water supply is again not a consideration in picking the plot for the village.
In addition, the distance from the city gives the following advantages: higher prices, more social prestige, proximity to international schools, and lesser chances of patidev being involved in house hold decisions.
Yours truly would like to hire Gautam Bhatia to build her a dream NRI village. If you know how he can be contacted, please drop a line in the comments section of this blog.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Zen and motorcycling on Bangalore roads
Every day, my super-driver, Nagaraj, would drive me from home to work and back home. Fly-over was no longer a noun - it became a verb.
I had nightmares about driving a car on the same road as Nagaraj. I did not fire him in the belief that I was safer inside his car than anywhere else on the road - at least when he shared the road with me.
Then ,one day, I didn't have my car, and offered to hop on a friend's bike to go to lunch. I did not realize that the bikes today are not my dad's Hamara Bajaj. I also did not realize that those driving these bikes were also not my dad - slow, steady, and boring. Before I knew it, I was on a roller coaster. Only there was no camera to capture that moment when I held my heart in my mouth and screamed my way down the parking lot ramps.
Outside, it was not so scary. The wind zipping past me slowed every so often to salute the speed breakers. Buses seemed larger than usual, and as we manuevered past them, I leaned to the other side in fear that the monster under the bus would pull me off the bike and eat me for lunch.
But, I felt safer than in Nagaraj's car.
I had nightmares about driving a car on the same road as Nagaraj. I did not fire him in the belief that I was safer inside his car than anywhere else on the road - at least when he shared the road with me.
Then ,one day, I didn't have my car, and offered to hop on a friend's bike to go to lunch. I did not realize that the bikes today are not my dad's Hamara Bajaj. I also did not realize that those driving these bikes were also not my dad - slow, steady, and boring. Before I knew it, I was on a roller coaster. Only there was no camera to capture that moment when I held my heart in my mouth and screamed my way down the parking lot ramps.
Outside, it was not so scary. The wind zipping past me slowed every so often to salute the speed breakers. Buses seemed larger than usual, and as we manuevered past them, I leaned to the other side in fear that the monster under the bus would pull me off the bike and eat me for lunch.
But, I felt safer than in Nagaraj's car.
Friday, January 19, 2007
The South Indian Wedding
I am not sure if "Washington-il Thirumanam" covered Appalam Sandai.
Appalam Sandai is the must have, and much dreaded, event in a south Indian wedding. This is when the old venerable uncle takes offense, since no one notices that he isn't served appalam as he eats his meal. The uncle feels insulted and decides to boycott the wedding. All folks, including the very busy parents, plead and implore him to stay. The sullen faced uncle then condescends to attend the rest of the wedding.
What follows is days of post mortem with every relative giving their opinion on
Today's weddings are very different. I know. I have attended four weddings in three months.
The bride and groom's parents don't seem half as stressed, and actually laugh every now and then. There are hired "enquirers" to make sure folks are served food and well taken care of.
Along with enquirers, we have added air conditioned hall, hotel rooms, mehendi, DJ, baraat, dancing, and so on to take care of the old venerable uncle's potential needs and desires.
Much money is spent on all this.
However, somehow, the post mortem sessions still remain. Maybe, it is the post mortem, and not the Appalam Sandai, that truly exemplifies a south Indian wedding?
Appalam Sandai is the must have, and much dreaded, event in a south Indian wedding. This is when the old venerable uncle takes offense, since no one notices that he isn't served appalam as he eats his meal. The uncle feels insulted and decides to boycott the wedding. All folks, including the very busy parents, plead and implore him to stay. The sullen faced uncle then condescends to attend the rest of the wedding.
What follows is days of post mortem with every relative giving their opinion on
- how the situation could have been better handled by others,
- how it could have been avoided all together,
- how without their intervention the whole situation could have blown out of proportion.
Today's weddings are very different. I know. I have attended four weddings in three months.
The bride and groom's parents don't seem half as stressed, and actually laugh every now and then. There are hired "enquirers" to make sure folks are served food and well taken care of.
Along with enquirers, we have added air conditioned hall, hotel rooms, mehendi, DJ, baraat, dancing, and so on to take care of the old venerable uncle's potential needs and desires.
Much money is spent on all this.
However, somehow, the post mortem sessions still remain. Maybe, it is the post mortem, and not the Appalam Sandai, that truly exemplifies a south Indian wedding?
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Three months later ...
Three months and our India trip has finally come of age.
Life is luxury right now. I have hot tea served to me whenever I ask for it. I don't even have to make my own bed. I certainly don't have to worry about grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, and other chores.
I spend my weekends in bookstores of different shapes, sizes, and names ( Our latest discovery is a wonderful second hand bookstore on Church Street ); instead of grocery, cooking, laundry, and cleaning.
I spend time with the kids, but again there is someone else to prepare their food, give them a bath, take them to the park, and even to take them to bed if I am on a call.
All this will turn into a pumpkin in exactly three more months.
Life is luxury right now. I have hot tea served to me whenever I ask for it. I don't even have to make my own bed. I certainly don't have to worry about grocery shopping, laundry, cooking, and other chores.
I spend my weekends in bookstores of different shapes, sizes, and names ( Our latest discovery is a wonderful second hand bookstore on Church Street ); instead of grocery, cooking, laundry, and cleaning.
I spend time with the kids, but again there is someone else to prepare their food, give them a bath, take them to the park, and even to take them to bed if I am on a call.
All this will turn into a pumpkin in exactly three more months.
Friday, December 29, 2006
To return or not to return - that is the question
I am often asked the question if I would return to India for good, or if I would at least extend my stay in India. It seems to be a question much more on everyone else's mind than on my own.
What makes people attracted to come to India? I talked to a few of my friends who have returned from the US for good, and I found these reasons :
What makes people attracted to come to India? I talked to a few of my friends who have returned from the US for good, and I found these reasons :
- The lure of a more luxurious life. Personally, I am not too enamored with the ability to spend on clothes, jewellery, car, villas, furniture, etc. The convenience of a full time cook serving you hot chai when you have a cold is, on the other hand, quite attractive. The problem is that finding a good cook, driver, nanny, and maid takes at least 2 years. I know this, since all my friends who have returned in the past two years, are still struggling. Some are on their fourth driver, some have given up on hiring a nanny they would be happy with, and so on.
- The need to be close to loved ones, especially, parents. My parents, who spent a good part of their own adult, working life in the US; who are used to driving themselves, and prefer a salad to an elaborate meal; are more comfortable in Bangalore. Add to this, factors like, visa issues, inability to drive in the US, unfamiliarity with the country, medical expenses, and so forth - the decision to come to India to be with parents becomes obvious.
- Providing an Indian upbringing for the children. My wonderful nanny took it upon herself to teach my kids shlokas and bhajans. Excluding that, there is more of the so-called west in the east today. Junk food, skimpy clothes, bar hopping, and the English language are pervasive. In addition, I am uncomfortable with many other things. Children are exposed very early to socio-economic class distinctions (the maid sleeps in the kitchen and eats on the floor - if not at your place, certainly at your neighbors'). There is no honor system (whether it comes to traffic rules, queues, taxes, homework, or anything else). Even my heaven sent nanny won't require my 6 year old daughter to pick up her plate, put away her books, or help with chores, no matter how much I emphasize it. If I want my children to grow up with the values that I hold dear in life, I have a better chance instilling them in Santa Clara, than in Bangalore.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
A couple months later ...
It has been almost two months since we landed in India. Much has happened in this time.
We have now hired cook. So, now, our direct/indirect employees include two drivers, a boy who cleans and runs errands, a cook, and a nanny. Next, I need to hire someone who stands with a napkin ready to wipe my nose whenever I sneeze.
We are certainly living the life of the other half. However, life has not been easy in spite of these luxuries.
We just moved apartments. The service company at the previous place was taking us for a royal ride! The provided us with an apartment, but getting any service to go with it was like pulling teeth. It has only been two days at the new place and we have not even fully unpacked, but already, I feel at peace with life.
On the work front, I am still working really long hours (60+ per week), with little to show for it. I am fatigued, tired, stressed - but hopeful that the next four months will be much better.
A few lessons I have learnt:
Lesson One: Ask three people
Don't do anything, even as simple as buying clothes without asking three people advice on how, where, when, etc. In a society where you do not have better business bureau, web forums, etc., your aunt's neighbor's brother-in-law's recommendation can be your saviour. People are not just willing to help, but positively offended, if you don't ask them.
Lesson Two: Appearances matter
They may not matter to you. However, remember that others are judging you constantly by the house you live in, the clothes you wear, the title you carry at work, your body language, and even how much you pay your cook. Unfortunately, I am still not sure what opinions one may form from the above information - only that they find these important clues in judging a person.
Lesson Three: Interdependence, not Independence
Your life is made a lot easier by others. Do not grudge the interdependence that affords you those luxuries. Your aunt will know your rental agent and bargain a discount on your rent, your driver will find the way out from the traffic jam that you would never be able to inch out of, your neighbor will pick up your kids from school when you are stuck at work, and some one you don't even know will direct your old uncle to your home. However, in return, do not expect to be able live your life without those people. Be graceful when your driver asks you why you need a cook and a nanny, your aunt asks you how much you earn, your neighbor asks(expects) you to donate to her favorite charity, or a stranger asks your kid where you live.
We have now hired cook. So, now, our direct/indirect employees include two drivers, a boy who cleans and runs errands, a cook, and a nanny. Next, I need to hire someone who stands with a napkin ready to wipe my nose whenever I sneeze.
We are certainly living the life of the other half. However, life has not been easy in spite of these luxuries.
We just moved apartments. The service company at the previous place was taking us for a royal ride! The provided us with an apartment, but getting any service to go with it was like pulling teeth. It has only been two days at the new place and we have not even fully unpacked, but already, I feel at peace with life.
On the work front, I am still working really long hours (60+ per week), with little to show for it. I am fatigued, tired, stressed - but hopeful that the next four months will be much better.
A few lessons I have learnt:
Lesson One: Ask three people
Don't do anything, even as simple as buying clothes without asking three people advice on how, where, when, etc. In a society where you do not have better business bureau, web forums, etc., your aunt's neighbor's brother-in-law's recommendation can be your saviour. People are not just willing to help, but positively offended, if you don't ask them.
Lesson Two: Appearances matter
They may not matter to you. However, remember that others are judging you constantly by the house you live in, the clothes you wear, the title you carry at work, your body language, and even how much you pay your cook. Unfortunately, I am still not sure what opinions one may form from the above information - only that they find these important clues in judging a person.
Lesson Three: Interdependence, not Independence
Your life is made a lot easier by others. Do not grudge the interdependence that affords you those luxuries. Your aunt will know your rental agent and bargain a discount on your rent, your driver will find the way out from the traffic jam that you would never be able to inch out of, your neighbor will pick up your kids from school when you are stuck at work, and some one you don't even know will direct your old uncle to your home. However, in return, do not expect to be able live your life without those people. Be graceful when your driver asks you why you need a cook and a nanny, your aunt asks you how much you earn, your neighbor asks(expects) you to donate to her favorite charity, or a stranger asks your kid where you live.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Trust and the Liberated Woman
Till just a few days back, I never realized fully what the phrase "liberated woman" meant. It was often used for the woman who went off the beaten track, and cut her hair short, burnt her bra, or spoke on controversial issues. What that has to do with "liberation", I never understood. And then, and few days back, it hit me.
In the US, I had a maid who vacuumed and cleaned, and a nanny who took care of the kids after school. I trusted them completely. They had keys to my house, and freedom to do their job without having to consult with me every step of the way.
In India, I am constantly told not to trust anyone. Don't leave your phone/purse at your desk. Don't just open the door. Stay in the master bedroom when the maid is cleaning. Watch the cook. Don't ask the driver to pick up the kids. Don't even trust the watchman as he has the most information to commit a crime. People live in constant fear of rape, burglary, pedophilia, and petty crime. As a result, I have two cleaners, one live-in nanny, two drivers, and am in the process of hiring a cook - but don't have a single moment of peace.
It finally struck me that the "liberated woman" is one who trusts. She is one who will go on a car ride with a male friend. She is one who will stay alone at home at night and not be scared. She is one who trusts others, and thus dares to do more with her life. She is one who values her life too much to live it any other way.
She is liberated, not from oppression, but from the fear of oppression.
In the US, I had a maid who vacuumed and cleaned, and a nanny who took care of the kids after school. I trusted them completely. They had keys to my house, and freedom to do their job without having to consult with me every step of the way.
In India, I am constantly told not to trust anyone. Don't leave your phone/purse at your desk. Don't just open the door. Stay in the master bedroom when the maid is cleaning. Watch the cook. Don't ask the driver to pick up the kids. Don't even trust the watchman as he has the most information to commit a crime. People live in constant fear of rape, burglary, pedophilia, and petty crime. As a result, I have two cleaners, one live-in nanny, two drivers, and am in the process of hiring a cook - but don't have a single moment of peace.
It finally struck me that the "liberated woman" is one who trusts. She is one who will go on a car ride with a male friend. She is one who will stay alone at home at night and not be scared. She is one who trusts others, and thus dares to do more with her life. She is one who values her life too much to live it any other way.
She is liberated, not from oppression, but from the fear of oppression.
Friday, October 27, 2006
India welcomes us
We (pati-dev, myself, and the brats) are all in Bangalore now. It is Diwali, and the sky is lit with 4th of July style crackers till midnight every night. The brats had a blast with Joker bombs, Chakras and Anars on our giant balcony, under the festive sky. It feels like Lord Indra decided to throw us a welcome home party.
In spite of the over-population, traffic, and pollution, Bangalore still remains green and beautiful. The people are still very soft natured and easy-going. Here are some examples of what you wouldn't find in any city but Bangalore: There is hardly any road rage, given the traffic conditions, and the commute hours. No one stares at (or even notices) the girl in tank top and shorts, inspite of the generally conservative dress code. Everyone speaks 3 to 4 languages, and outsiders are made to feel welcome.
In terms of logistics, things could not have worked out better. Both of us are here on expat assignments from our respective companies. To add to this, both of our offices are close by, even in Bangalore traffic. Plus, the brats got into a very well reputed Montessori school (the closest to what they are used to in the US), which too is close by. As if this was not enough, a family friend "lent" us a wonderful nanny for the 6 months that we are here.
However, the plugs still don't always fit into the plug point, the maid still tries to cut corners or play truant, the "service apartment" comes without DSL, STD/ISD, and even without any dishes (but with milk and eggs in a fridge that does not work). Pati-dev came with dreams of coming home to a newspaper and hot chai served in the living room by a discreet "Ramu". Either of us is still to experience that moment, which is a shame given the amount of help we have hired.
India is also the land of tomorrow. "Kal ho jayega, madam" really means nothing. You need to ask exactly when tomorrow the job will be done, who will be doing it, and how. Then you need to follow up at that exact time with the person responsible, and maybe, it will get done after a few days of this charade. If you are really lucky, it will be done the way you expect it to be done.
It will be interesting to see how we feel at the end of the trip. At present, it feels like the brats are fully adjusted, but pati-dev and I are still nostalgic about how predictable and relaxed (yes, it is true!) life was in the US.
In spite of the over-population, traffic, and pollution, Bangalore still remains green and beautiful. The people are still very soft natured and easy-going. Here are some examples of what you wouldn't find in any city but Bangalore: There is hardly any road rage, given the traffic conditions, and the commute hours. No one stares at (or even notices) the girl in tank top and shorts, inspite of the generally conservative dress code. Everyone speaks 3 to 4 languages, and outsiders are made to feel welcome.
In terms of logistics, things could not have worked out better. Both of us are here on expat assignments from our respective companies. To add to this, both of our offices are close by, even in Bangalore traffic. Plus, the brats got into a very well reputed Montessori school (the closest to what they are used to in the US), which too is close by. As if this was not enough, a family friend "lent" us a wonderful nanny for the 6 months that we are here.
However, the plugs still don't always fit into the plug point, the maid still tries to cut corners or play truant, the "service apartment" comes without DSL, STD/ISD, and even without any dishes (but with milk and eggs in a fridge that does not work). Pati-dev came with dreams of coming home to a newspaper and hot chai served in the living room by a discreet "Ramu". Either of us is still to experience that moment, which is a shame given the amount of help we have hired.
India is also the land of tomorrow. "Kal ho jayega, madam" really means nothing. You need to ask exactly when tomorrow the job will be done, who will be doing it, and how. Then you need to follow up at that exact time with the person responsible, and maybe, it will get done after a few days of this charade. If you are really lucky, it will be done the way you expect it to be done.
It will be interesting to see how we feel at the end of the trip. At present, it feels like the brats are fully adjusted, but pati-dev and I are still nostalgic about how predictable and relaxed (yes, it is true!) life was in the US.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Who is Confused?
Technically, I am an ABCD. I was born in Buffalo, New York. My parents returned to India for good when I was 2 years old. I do not remember anything about those two years in the US, and was as green as my other college buddies when I came here for grad school. Like them, I could only afford to come with scholarship, and like them, I stared blankly when I was asked what dressing I would like on my salad. There should be nothing confused about me, unlike those other second generation Indians.
In actuality, I am a thoroughly confused first generation immigrant. I speak Hinglish, get tears in my eyes when I hear Desh raag, and don't understand baseball. I do not tell my friends what I earn, eat dinner at 6:30, and prefer food that is not drowned in spices. I enroll my 5 year old for 5 extra classes. I believe free play is more important than structured activities at her age. I think about going back to India. I buy my dream house here in the US. I am thrilled about all the new jobs in India. I am worried about outsourcing, and what it means to my job, and how it affects real estate. I worry about my daughter dating in high school. I believe in gay and lesbian rights.
My dozen years in the US have changed me in more ways than one. I can no longer fully relate with my relatives back home. And yet, I cannot relate with my neighbor who lets his baby cry till she can sleep on her own.
What is amazing is that my neighbor is looking at buying a home in India, while I sweat my mortgage here. May be there will be a generation of American Desis. I wonder if they will be as confused as the Desi American.
In actuality, I am a thoroughly confused first generation immigrant. I speak Hinglish, get tears in my eyes when I hear Desh raag, and don't understand baseball. I do not tell my friends what I earn, eat dinner at 6:30, and prefer food that is not drowned in spices. I enroll my 5 year old for 5 extra classes. I believe free play is more important than structured activities at her age. I think about going back to India. I buy my dream house here in the US. I am thrilled about all the new jobs in India. I am worried about outsourcing, and what it means to my job, and how it affects real estate. I worry about my daughter dating in high school. I believe in gay and lesbian rights.
My dozen years in the US have changed me in more ways than one. I can no longer fully relate with my relatives back home. And yet, I cannot relate with my neighbor who lets his baby cry till she can sleep on her own.
What is amazing is that my neighbor is looking at buying a home in India, while I sweat my mortgage here. May be there will be a generation of American Desis. I wonder if they will be as confused as the Desi American.
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