Rarely does one get a chance to reflect on their Indian-ness. Most often, its confused with patriotism, or nostalgia for something that never existed, like ‘unity in diversity’. ‘Unity in diversity’ is an ideal we may all look upto, perhaps even work towards. But honestly, I don’t see it in practice at home, except when a drunk, slobbering moron enters the ladies compartment and all the ladies yell in unison to shoo him out.
It’s very obvious why I may be confused about my half an hour presentation on India tomorrow, to the dancers of ‘Fire of Anatolia’ and fellows from a dozen different countries, as exotic as Peru, Finland, Argentina, Romania etc.
We’ve all grown so weary about everything, we almost assume that the world is too well connected for a genuine cultural exchange. Thanks to google and the gang, we think everyone knows everything about everyone and everything. Twenty minutes into our first pilates class with Abdullah, our choreographer, whirling dervish cum pilates expert, I gave him, what I perceived to be the universal sign of desperation. I showed him my little pinky finger, which in India means ‘I want to pee so badly I can’t even speak’. Ofcourse, I was distressed when he didn’t even bother acknowledging it. 10 minutes down and I just couldn’t handle the paunch crunches on a full bladder and I just told him I’m going to the loo, which is when he asked me why I was showing him the little finger. The entire class cracked up when I told them that that, i.e ‘No.1’ as kids in the first grade call it is the sign for taking a leak. The laughter just worsened when I said that no.2 stands for taking a shit. Apparently such graphic details are not shared in the west. At home, we not only share such details, we also share the smells and actual experience on our beaches and railway tracks. I know because I live on Juhu beach, arguably the biggest communal toilet this side of the equator.
In less than a week here, my English has changed. I tend to speak 90% in the present tense. I was already used to lots of hand gestures and giving strange sound effects. But now, I feel like the animated Indian from Simpsons. Speaking of which I didn’t know Homer the poet was from Turkey. Or that Illiad was a text he wrote and not the name of another poet. Clearly, I slept through my education.
Enough of chit-chat. Now back to the serious business of presenting India. I have a rough idea. I guess once I present it tomorrow I can share my experiences with everyone. Lets keep it a surprise till then.
To be continued….
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