Monday, May 17, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The green, green grass of home
Lately, I'd been thinking a lot about India. In fact, to be truthful, I always think about India- it's people, it's multi-cultured and multi-lingual personality, it's heritage, it's idiosyncrasies, and all the other tidbits that makes it what it is; that makes it home. And when you are this far away from home, you're bound to miss it.
However, when posed with the question "what do you miss the most about India?" most people seem to come up with family, friends and food as the answers, in no definite order. Of course you miss your family, no doubt you miss your friends, and obviously you miss your home food, especially your Mom's cooking, but are these the only things that you miss about a country where you spent at least twenty years of your life? (this is for all those 1st generation immigrants)
Call me weird, call me crazy, or call me Bhagat Singh like my husband does, but I sure miss a lot more about India than only my family and friends. Just the other day I got into a discussion (read argument) with a friend as to how I would still want to go to India even if all my family and friends were here. To me, India and my family are not synonymous. I love India in its own right. Not because my family lives there. Not because I left my friends there. Now you might ask that why do I love India then? Well......I ask you, why do you love your Mom? Why do you love your child? Any answers? Maybe this is the beauty of love. You don't need a reason or an excuse to love someone or something. You just do.
I too love India just like that. I don't need a reason to love it. Many people have tried to show me the advantages of leaving India, telling me what a mess that country is. Yes, I agree that India is a mess of a nation, but, it's my mess; and I love it. And I miss it. I miss the dusty roads. I miss the sweaty people. I miss the crowded buses and trains. I miss the familiar faces in the crowd. I miss the train rides. I miss the station tea. I miss the shouting hawkers. I miss haggling for prices of anything and everything. I even miss the potholes on the road.
There are so many things, feelings, emotions and sensations that I miss now that I took so much for granted back home. Take the simple vegetable hawker for instance. Oh how I miss them. Although the grocery store is not that far from my house here but having to go there every second or third day sure is a headache. How I would love to have the 'sabjiwala' come to my door and ask me "didi kuch lengi? sabji taaza hai". And why only the sabjiwala, I miss the kabadiwala too. It pains me to just throw away all the newspapers and magazines at the end of every month, even if I'm throwing them into the recycle bin. I miss getting Rs 3 for every kilo of newspaper or magazine I could have sold. I also find it weird to just throw away stuff, be it anything. Back home, we hardly ever threw away anything. It was all saved for the kabariwala. I miss those ice cream vendors that came in the hot summer afternoons. The ice creams, of course used to be made of synthetic colours but there was nothing synthetic about the fun we had waiting for the ice cream man. And speaking of hot summer afternoons, how can I forget 'gheesa baraf'. I know I can have as many slushes here as I please, but it's just not the same. There was something about that small earthen bowl in which they used to give the 'gheesa baraf' that I cannot find in the plastic cups of the slushes. Summers also meant mangoes, and having lived most of life in that part of the world which produces the best mangoes, I cannot pass the mangoes available here as real mangoes, no matter how hard I try. To me, mango is Dussehri, Langra, Chausa and an occasional Alphonso maybe.
Now that I've recounted the joys of summer back home, how can I leave the monsoons behind? And thinking of monsoon makes me think of that earthly scent of a sun parched land getting its first rain. Oh that divine scent, which I've never smelt here; although it rains nine out of twelve months in the town I live. After the monsoon, it's winter. And with winter comes the moongfali wala. And gajar ka halwa, and sleeping in the sun outside while all the ladies of the colony gathered to make pickles. And yes, the pickles. How I miss those pickles.
What more do I miss about India? The numerous festivals big and small, the bright and colourful three day long weddings which gave you the excuse of dressing up extravagantly. The wedding processions that took four hours to travel a distance of four kilometres. The Diwali lightings, the Holi colours, the Dussehra Ramdals and Ram leelas, I miss all of these, but maybe most of all what I miss is the arrival of guests without any prior notice, and also going to others house without informing them a week before. Maybe this was the biggest cultural shock I got after coming to US. Back home, guests were always welcome, whenever they arrived. They did not have to make reservations at my house a week before coming and I did not have to seek their permission to go see them. I know the reasons why this is not possible here, but that does not stop me missing it.
There are so many things I miss about India. Too many to put down here at least. Sometimes I wish I were there. Back in the land which I had called home for twenty four years. Back with my family, with my friends, eating home made food and enjoying all that India has to offer, and specially now that I can appreciate them more. But then, these are only wishes.........and only end up reminding me a few lines of a poem by William Cowper I'd read in school-
However, when posed with the question "what do you miss the most about India?" most people seem to come up with family, friends and food as the answers, in no definite order. Of course you miss your family, no doubt you miss your friends, and obviously you miss your home food, especially your Mom's cooking, but are these the only things that you miss about a country where you spent at least twenty years of your life? (this is for all those 1st generation immigrants)
Call me weird, call me crazy, or call me Bhagat Singh like my husband does, but I sure miss a lot more about India than only my family and friends. Just the other day I got into a discussion (read argument) with a friend as to how I would still want to go to India even if all my family and friends were here. To me, India and my family are not synonymous. I love India in its own right. Not because my family lives there. Not because I left my friends there. Now you might ask that why do I love India then? Well......I ask you, why do you love your Mom? Why do you love your child? Any answers? Maybe this is the beauty of love. You don't need a reason or an excuse to love someone or something. You just do.
I too love India just like that. I don't need a reason to love it. Many people have tried to show me the advantages of leaving India, telling me what a mess that country is. Yes, I agree that India is a mess of a nation, but, it's my mess; and I love it. And I miss it. I miss the dusty roads. I miss the sweaty people. I miss the crowded buses and trains. I miss the familiar faces in the crowd. I miss the train rides. I miss the station tea. I miss the shouting hawkers. I miss haggling for prices of anything and everything. I even miss the potholes on the road.
There are so many things, feelings, emotions and sensations that I miss now that I took so much for granted back home. Take the simple vegetable hawker for instance. Oh how I miss them. Although the grocery store is not that far from my house here but having to go there every second or third day sure is a headache. How I would love to have the 'sabjiwala' come to my door and ask me "didi kuch lengi? sabji taaza hai". And why only the sabjiwala, I miss the kabadiwala too. It pains me to just throw away all the newspapers and magazines at the end of every month, even if I'm throwing them into the recycle bin. I miss getting Rs 3 for every kilo of newspaper or magazine I could have sold. I also find it weird to just throw away stuff, be it anything. Back home, we hardly ever threw away anything. It was all saved for the kabariwala. I miss those ice cream vendors that came in the hot summer afternoons. The ice creams, of course used to be made of synthetic colours but there was nothing synthetic about the fun we had waiting for the ice cream man. And speaking of hot summer afternoons, how can I forget 'gheesa baraf'. I know I can have as many slushes here as I please, but it's just not the same. There was something about that small earthen bowl in which they used to give the 'gheesa baraf' that I cannot find in the plastic cups of the slushes. Summers also meant mangoes, and having lived most of life in that part of the world which produces the best mangoes, I cannot pass the mangoes available here as real mangoes, no matter how hard I try. To me, mango is Dussehri, Langra, Chausa and an occasional Alphonso maybe.
Now that I've recounted the joys of summer back home, how can I leave the monsoons behind? And thinking of monsoon makes me think of that earthly scent of a sun parched land getting its first rain. Oh that divine scent, which I've never smelt here; although it rains nine out of twelve months in the town I live. After the monsoon, it's winter. And with winter comes the moongfali wala. And gajar ka halwa, and sleeping in the sun outside while all the ladies of the colony gathered to make pickles. And yes, the pickles. How I miss those pickles.
What more do I miss about India? The numerous festivals big and small, the bright and colourful three day long weddings which gave you the excuse of dressing up extravagantly. The wedding processions that took four hours to travel a distance of four kilometres. The Diwali lightings, the Holi colours, the Dussehra Ramdals and Ram leelas, I miss all of these, but maybe most of all what I miss is the arrival of guests without any prior notice, and also going to others house without informing them a week before. Maybe this was the biggest cultural shock I got after coming to US. Back home, guests were always welcome, whenever they arrived. They did not have to make reservations at my house a week before coming and I did not have to seek their permission to go see them. I know the reasons why this is not possible here, but that does not stop me missing it.
There are so many things I miss about India. Too many to put down here at least. Sometimes I wish I were there. Back in the land which I had called home for twenty four years. Back with my family, with my friends, eating home made food and enjoying all that India has to offer, and specially now that I can appreciate them more. But then, these are only wishes.........and only end up reminding me a few lines of a poem by William Cowper I'd read in school-
"How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
soon hurries me back to despair."
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection at hand
soon hurries me back to despair."
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