Sunday, March 15, 2015 6 comments

The insecure immigrant



Every city across the world has places that can be described as “ghettos”.  Though the word “ghetto” brings to mind cramped houses with lot of people  with the  Star of David stitched on to their clothing, rushing home before a certain time of the day, today it is not quite like that.  While they do exist in various cities most of it  probably exists  only  in our minds. 

Image result for Matunga south indian locationsAs a Tam Brahm what comes to my mind are places like the  Lake market area of Calcutta,  Matunga/ Sion of Mumbai , Safilguda of Secunderabad  .  One can get snake gourd and curry leaves  in the vegetable shops of  Lake Market , eat a three course Tam Brahm meal at  “South India Concerns”  in Matunga and find a caterer in Safilguda who can supply you with “Parupu Thengai” for weddings. 

Gravitating to residing in a particular place where there are people from the place of your origin is a typical behavior that one associates with immigrant communities.  Besides the feeling  of “safety in numbers” it helps the new immigrant feel less alienated as  they are able to hear their language, get food that they are used to and look up to more senior immigrants ( both in age and duration of stay) for guidance on how to go about life in a new place.
Image result for Lake Market south indian locationsThis was particularly t rue during the days when communication was poor and one probably only heard of life in these far off places from one’s relatives.

  One was uncomfortable with the people who  were the original residents of the place- not being able to understand their cultures, language or cuisines. Immigrants sometimes suffered ridicule or worse in the hands of the natives leading to further ingraining of negative feelings in their minds.  Sometimes the native communities also had negative feelings about the immigrant groups leading to a lot of prejudice on both sides. 

There is a concept called “Ethnocentrism” that is used in sociology. It is a feeling of superiority of one’s own culture vis-à-vis other cultures. This feeling  can be seen very strongly among many  first generation immigrants like my mother who was transported from Srirangam to Bilaspur and then Calcutta. However people who make an effort at integration with the larger population in the city lose this feeling over time. It is usually not seen in subsequent generations. The second generation might hold on to its culture but does not brandish it around as though it is  better than the culture around them. Second generation immigrants generally mingle with the local population, speak their language and eat their cuisine.  Generations after the second  usually get integrated with the culture of the place they live in and might  marry into or adopt some of the mainstream customs and language.  They generally do not like to “stick out” in a crowd. 

In today’s world, many of these sociological stereotypes about immigrants may not hold true because the world is connected in a way that does not make any community , language, cuisine or culture a mystery to anyone. Before one moves to any place one can always read up as much as they can about that place.  With people moving and living across different cities , interactions between cultures are always taking place One would hope that with this kind of interaction, stereotypes and prejudices can be broken down more easily. 

Image result for traditional bengali womanIt therefore came as a big surprise for me that international connectivity and education notwithstanding there are many people in India among the educated classes who still exhibit the immigrant behavior of gravitating to their own language/ community group.  I was most surprised to see this behavior among Bengali friends many of whom have been living now in the South. I find that given a choice between interacting with an old friend from Calcutta who is a “Non Bengali” and a “Bengali”  ( friend or stranger) they would prefer the Bengali person.   I was  pretty shocked  when this happened to me. Let me tell you more…

 We have a virtual  group of  batch mates from our school in Calcutta. I  noticed  that over  a period of time  some members had left the group . And the most curious thing about those who had left the group was that they were all  Bengalis !. From among the few Bengalis who are still part of the group  I came to know that  they have created another group to which only fellow Bengalis from our batch had been invited!! To say I was shocked would be an understatement!   

Image result for Traditional pongal greeting cardsThough my initial reaction was one of betrayal considering that we were trying to relate to each other  as alumni, I have been trying to think about an explanation behind this action.  The only reason that comes to mind is the “immigrant mentality”. While we “Non Bengalis” were all second generation migrants  in  Calcutta and in various other places that we reside now, for many of my Bengali friends living in Bangalore or Mumbai today is probably a first generation immigrant experience. Their parents were rooted in Calcutta, they ( the children)  studied in the city of their origin but probably moved to these  new cities only post their marriage. Despite the supposed global community that we live in , to them this was certainly an  new experience.  I  see in them the  same behavior patterns that my family exhibited during my childhood and teenage years – going back “home” to Madras or Srirangam, scouring the streets of Ballygunj for those gaudy colored “Pongal Vazhtu” , being made to wear pavadai chettai and forced into learning Carnatic music  or attending kutcheris.  

 My mother always believed that our culture was more superior. She used to make fun of Rabindra Sangeet and Rabindra Nrithya as “wailing music” or “flower plucking dance” ( since the dancer apparently did nothing but stand in  one spot and move her hands about in the air ). But despite all of  that , my father being in the Indian railways, we got opportunities to interact with different people and also relate to the larger culture around , learning Rabindra Sangeet and also the flower plucking dances . 

Despite her prejudices my mother can speak Hindi , Bengali and Telugu . My parents chose to settle in Hyderabad instead of Chennai after  my father’s retirement. I think there was a strong will on the part of my father to integrate.  This came from the national character of the organization  he worked for. The Indian railways made him feel that the entire country was his. We also imbibed that feeling. So, even though I live in Chennai, I still read Bengali novels and go to the Durga Puja Pandal at Besant Nagar. My circle of friends include people I can relate to in terms of interest and values and not language, religion or caste.  

I must make this clear now  that it is not a judgment I am passing on the Bengali community. Some of my closest friends are Bengalis.  I also have a Bengali classmate from the same school  who has been living in Chennai longer than me. She had her college education in this city, is married to a South Indian and is probably more rooted  in Chennai than I am.  In all our discussions about the narrow mindedness of Chennai she has always stood up for this city pointing out how she was accepted here. She speaks Tamil reasonably well and her parents like mine have decided to  settle down in Chennai,  a city that is not their place of birth. 

However I must confess that there are only few like her among the Bengalis I see outside Calcutta these days. I guess Calcutta is suffering today from an acute lack of opportunities that has forced people to look outside the city for a career. The IT boom has made the South a natural option resulting in many of them moving here. This is something similar to what my parents generation faced when the Dravidian movement in Tamil Nadu forced Tam Brahms to move out of the state. 

While the Tam Brahms might be better integrated as an immigrant community within India,   I am not sure  we are liked  when we  go abroad. We do not interact socially with the Americans ( or  even other Indians for that matter) , force kids to  go to shloka classes and eating out probably means going to the Saravana Bhavan in the nearest town. Nothing wrong about practicing your culture but being exclusionary about it where you relate only to people of your community is not right. But again, this may not hold true of the second generation there or of those who went as students  and stayed on. But yes, most of the IT professionals who  moved out of West Mambalam and Mylapore in the late 1990s to do “off site” work carried their  prejudices along with their “agraharams” with them. 

While respecting the insecurity and uncertainly of a person or a family that has left familiar surroundings to move into a new geography or culture, as a person who is a second generation in a family that moved out of its place of origin I can only say that keeping one’s mind open to anything new is what education is all about. The world is a diverse place. One needs to experience it and learn from it. Staying only with your own kind will deprive you of that opportunity. 

Be proud of your culture and language but share your pride with others by inviting them to also talk about theirs. There is nothing called a “superior culture”. You will be surprised at the number of friends you will make if you just break that “barrier of narrow domestic walls”. Tagore had a vision for this country that talked about this. 

And Tagore my  Bengali friends… is also my poet as much as he is yours!!
  
Wednesday, March 4, 2015 9 comments

What cannot be cured must be endured



I know it has been a long gap since the last post.  No excuses…!!! Just that the mind has been cluttered with  too many things – chief one being the daughter’s  XIIth standard exams.  I don’t think I was this worried when I wrote the same exam years ago in the mid eighties.  I guess it is my helplessness about influencing  an outcome beyond a point.  Husband calls me a “Control freak”!!! He says I would like to influence everything and everyone around me..!! May be….  But I do realize my limitations

I realize that there are many things in life that I cannot influence or control! If I do not like something I just have to grin and bear it. Yes, “bear it” being the operative phrase!  

So what is it that I have to bear quietly? For starters, I would say it is the eating habits of my country men!! Yes, men!  It was not until recently that I realized how much the men in our country eat!!  I encounter a lot of these gluttons during my train travels. I don’t think they have suddenly increased their appetites but just that I have started noticing it more. And given their sizes it is kind of difficult to miss…

It was amazing to see a man the size of a teenaged elephant  trying to hoist himself on to the upper berth in a train compartment last week! I had entered the coach to see him plonked on my seat, polishing off about 1 kilogram of biryani lubricated with some curry that he was pouring out of a plastic packet.  I waited for him to finish the task holding my breath as he opened another packet - raita with raw onions in it. The smell was overpowering inside a closed AC coach.. ! I had to clench both my hands on the strap of my handbag to prevent them from going  up to my nose.  Colonel Hathi finished his job, drank about half a bottle of water and let out a huge trumpet of a burp that made me involuntarily shudder. 

He made two attempts at climbing on to the upper berth before succeeding. I decided to intervene after the first one out of a sense of self preservation as I did not want the berth to come crashing down on me while I was  fast asleep in the middle of the night.  Had I been a decade or so younger I might have exhibited this fear or worse voiced it. However the experience of dealing with such situations over the years has made a diplomat of me. I made it look as though I was trying to help him when I offered to exchange berths with him. He was touched…!!!  It was only when he said “ No Aunty it is okay” that I realized that the poor thing was probably in his late twenties or early thirties.
As I watched him at his “Jumbo circus” act I wondered if he was married. If he was then who was the woman who  had to put up with this disgusting creature? The buttons of his shirt were fighting a losing battle with his paunch.  Poor woman, she probably bought buttons in industrial quantities…

Image result for Indian man eating biryaniI tried to take my mind off the upper berth as the train started. There were more people around me having their  dinner and the smell was really awful.  I could not imagine why people who were boarding an overnight train leaving Chennai at 9.15PM and reaching Coimbatore at 5.00 AM would want to eat so much for dinner?  And it seemed as though everyone was on a single menu- Biryani!!! 

My nose has always been my problem. I might sleep through the cacophony of snores in the coach but smells always jolt me awake.  By the time the train was at Jolarpettai I was experiencing the results of the digestive enzymes of the Biryani eaters travelling in the coach. When the train reached Katpadi I felt  like I was in some Nazi gas chamber. I was trying to recall physics lessons from school –did Hydrogen Sulphide move up or down?  I was kind of curious  about the noises  the middle aged gentleman on the side upper berth made- it sounded like a combination of a snort and a fart. Between him and haathi it was a “jugalbandi”. 

 I made a mental note to ask my father if I could file a complaint with the Indian railways about this?  I wondered what would happen if some electrical spark were to find its way into coach no A2 of the Nilagiri Express ? Remote chances of a spark you say? But what about the synthetic blankets? I remember reading in physics about static electricity being generated when someone rubbed a synthetic material against a glass rod?  Cant gases trapped in synthetic blankets produce similar effects?

Image result for man fartingBy now I was completely awake!  I decided to go out of the gas chamber. The area outside was equally smelly.  Just a different gas this time – Ammonia. With nearly 50 odd bladders being emptied and not even a drop of water being used to flush it out the place smelt like a chemistry lab. One of the toilet doors opened. A lady was coming out with her nose covered with her duppatta!! Seeing me standing there she warned “ It is awfully smelly inside the toilet.”  I told her “ It is smellier inside the coach”. She grimaced. I felt a sense of female camaraderie with her as we opened the main door to the coach and let some fresh air in. 

As we went back into the gas chamber I wondered how is it that men can get away with this kind of disgusting behavior? If we woman were to eat such huge quantities or turn our posterior into a trumpet or gas chamber then we would be ridiculed. Or may be it is a cultural thing. We care two figs about what another person thinks or feels- especially if they are strangers. When we have paid for a ticket we assume we are the only person traveling. 

 We do not want to adapt to a situation even temporarily. Eating huge amounts, burping and farting are among the many things that are part of this glorious Indian culture. I think I should learn to adapt to it. After all,  what cannot be cured must be endured!
 
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