There are very few things as enjoyable as making someone laugh or smile. This merriment or happiness has an infectious quality as it not only places the person at ease but also gives a inward feeling of joy. A marvelous feeling indeed. When I remember happy times there is always someone in them that had a laugh or smile on their face. That I can sometimes make others laugh makes me happy as well.
"How does the hair look from the back", I whispered slowly, careful not to make a scene. A lady walking past, heard this and desperately attempted to control her laughter as I smirked at her and the situation. The officer paused but continued to examine my hair. I was standing at the security line of Vancouver International Airport (YVR) where I was told that I was "randomly" selected for a more rigorous checking. I of course had no problem with this and adhered to the instructions. The search may be considered intrusive by western standards with each centimeter of ones clothes, especially folds and buttons being carefully examined. When the officer started examining my head and hair from the back, I could not hold the comment, for the search had now become an exercise in achieving Pyrrhic victory. I could not help but think what could he find there other than a combination of coconut oil and gel, and if that was considered now to be a "dangerous mixture" capable of inflicting damage.
Soon it was over and my bags were also properly searched. As one can imagine, nothing of interest was found in them. Making my way to the gate, I was greeted by two security personnel who with great interest asked my name. After I told them they nodded and went on their way. As they walked away I thought about my name. What does it signify. It was given by my grandmother and I have always kept it in its entirety with no short forms. Living in India especially Mumbai and Delhi I know that a person finds religion in a name; in Punjab they find caste. Whatever they were looking for, I will not know, but by now everyone else was looking at me and no one is smiling or laughing.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Cast Away
Often in India I see a single parent walking with their child. The sight reminds me of my grandmother who raised me as a child. Filled with energy I used to hold her hand with my eyes attempting to understand my surroundings. Her presence made my childhood beautiful and like any other child, I used to love listening to her stories. My constant dream was for a story that was long and never ended. As I grew up she used to always save for some book that I wanted to buy and read. Her day began at 4:30am to prepare food and waking me up in the cold of 5:30am. This cycle was followed for the first 14 years of my life. Nothing would make me more happy than going home in the afternoon. Since she has passed, I have been through so many places but never once that felt like home, and even if it did it was very temporary. From time to time tears well up in my eyes and I feel overwhelmed. Than I thank her for everything and smile. If nothing else this smile that hides it all, is now my trademark.
There is a telling early scene in the film "Guide". The protaganist Raju, who once a successful tourist guide loved by all, hesitates to return to his hometown of Udaipur after his release from jail as he is unsure about the crowd he will face in his hometown and decides to search for his fortunes elsewhere. After many tears shed he ends up helping another community that needs him, but is unable to return home as death takes him away.
It seems that all of life at some level is about coming home. From the transient consultant and diplomats, to workers, students, and animals. everyone goes back to their home. I remember the airport filled with the restless hearts waiting to go home. It is hard to describe what I feel like now. Standing in Canada, I feel like I am standing in a empty open desert with no idea where I am walking towards. There is heaviness of my legs as the figurative sand envelops them with every step and my shouts disappear into the wind. I feel very small as I wonder how far away my home can be.
Among its many definitions the dictionary also defines home as a place of origin, and a goal or destination. Perhaps the distance is only in my mind. As Dante put it "Midway in human life's allotted span, I found myself in a dark wood, where the straight path I sought in vain". I am sure that eventually I will find the right path, for that is the journey. Having survived countless trysts with danger in India, I have returned to Canada. However the feeling is as if I have floated in a life raft to a deserted island. Am I being too pessimistic? I doubt it, as the season that started when I left has now ended, the university year is over and everything seems different. Accustomed after eight months to certain ideals I found myself in India in a world without the schedules of Canada. This is all the more depressing since before leaving here it almost beginning to feel like home.
I find myself sitting by my computer looking at my friends pictures from the summer. I ask myself when they were taken and realize it was from events that I could not attend because of my work in India. I sigh and reflect that there are so many missed moments because of my work, and my mind oscillates between all the children I have been able to help and the things I have missed out in Canada.
I had come to Canada eight months before leaving to India to make a life and a home. In this time some opportunities seems to have passed me by, while I have gained so much from another. How they will hold up only time will tell. My journey was also of an idealist person who believed that if he stays on his path, happiness will come to both him and the things he strives for. Like Raju I too look at the road ahead and keep walking with a smile.
There is a telling early scene in the film "Guide". The protaganist Raju, who once a successful tourist guide loved by all, hesitates to return to his hometown of Udaipur after his release from jail as he is unsure about the crowd he will face in his hometown and decides to search for his fortunes elsewhere. After many tears shed he ends up helping another community that needs him, but is unable to return home as death takes him away.
It seems that all of life at some level is about coming home. From the transient consultant and diplomats, to workers, students, and animals. everyone goes back to their home. I remember the airport filled with the restless hearts waiting to go home. It is hard to describe what I feel like now. Standing in Canada, I feel like I am standing in a empty open desert with no idea where I am walking towards. There is heaviness of my legs as the figurative sand envelops them with every step and my shouts disappear into the wind. I feel very small as I wonder how far away my home can be.
Among its many definitions the dictionary also defines home as a place of origin, and a goal or destination. Perhaps the distance is only in my mind. As Dante put it "Midway in human life's allotted span, I found myself in a dark wood, where the straight path I sought in vain". I am sure that eventually I will find the right path, for that is the journey. Having survived countless trysts with danger in India, I have returned to Canada. However the feeling is as if I have floated in a life raft to a deserted island. Am I being too pessimistic? I doubt it, as the season that started when I left has now ended, the university year is over and everything seems different. Accustomed after eight months to certain ideals I found myself in India in a world without the schedules of Canada. This is all the more depressing since before leaving here it almost beginning to feel like home.
I find myself sitting by my computer looking at my friends pictures from the summer. I ask myself when they were taken and realize it was from events that I could not attend because of my work in India. I sigh and reflect that there are so many missed moments because of my work, and my mind oscillates between all the children I have been able to help and the things I have missed out in Canada.
I had come to Canada eight months before leaving to India to make a life and a home. In this time some opportunities seems to have passed me by, while I have gained so much from another. How they will hold up only time will tell. My journey was also of an idealist person who believed that if he stays on his path, happiness will come to both him and the things he strives for. Like Raju I too look at the road ahead and keep walking with a smile.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Plane
There is something likable about a mystery. A good one replete with twists, turns, and suspects, is simply mind blowing. Sometimes in life even the people you meet are like a mystery, with their tales of survival, fighting for justice and an uncertain future. I met many people on the plane on the way to Canada and when they left their future like mine was a mystery. I could bask in the hope that there was something good that awaited them. There were so many travellers each with a half completed story to tell with the rest left never to be completed.
As I talked to a man from England who asked me where I had come from. Though I had lived in Canada and US for a while, exploiting the question’s ambiguity I opted for my favourite answer "India". "I love India", he said and began to tell me a story of his co-worker who was also from there. There was something else about that question; it was asked to be after a long time. Most of the time I am assumed to be an Indian without any apprehensions of past, present, and future. Though many would find this a generalization, I do not mind claiming my roots. As I stood near back door of the plane looking at the snow capped mountains and icebergs with my small binoculars I was joined by a young man who was also interested in the view. A small conversation transpired and he asked me what I did. Upon hearing that I was a student at UBC and looking at me, he began to tell me about how the future was certain in Canada and it had many opportunities. He said that he ran a consulting company and they could help me get permanent residency in Canada. I did not have the heart to tell him that I was a citizen as he regaled about all the things Canada had to offer.
After a conversation he walked away pleased to have met me but never quite finishing the mystery that I was already a Canadian.
As I talked to a man from England who asked me where I had come from. Though I had lived in Canada and US for a while, exploiting the question’s ambiguity I opted for my favourite answer "India". "I love India", he said and began to tell me a story of his co-worker who was also from there. There was something else about that question; it was asked to be after a long time. Most of the time I am assumed to be an Indian without any apprehensions of past, present, and future. Though many would find this a generalization, I do not mind claiming my roots. As I stood near back door of the plane looking at the snow capped mountains and icebergs with my small binoculars I was joined by a young man who was also interested in the view. A small conversation transpired and he asked me what I did. Upon hearing that I was a student at UBC and looking at me, he began to tell me about how the future was certain in Canada and it had many opportunities. He said that he ran a consulting company and they could help me get permanent residency in Canada. I did not have the heart to tell him that I was a citizen as he regaled about all the things Canada had to offer.
After a conversation he walked away pleased to have met me but never quite finishing the mystery that I was already a Canadian.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Departure
In less than a day I will leave for Canada. But honestly, throughout my journey eerily enough, I’ve never felt far away. There were always instances of the familiar helping me maintain a grasp even on those things alien. The departure will end an extraordinary era spanning three months of this amazing country.
Both India and its cities may be crowded, filled with pollution but there is a sense of vibrancy that keeps it going. It is the sheer energy that cannot be described and is the very thing that led to me being out all day in spite of a 18 hour flight and 12 hour time difference on the day I had arrived here. On that very day I had met a friend after three years and it seemed that the trip would never end. In this country I could make myself understood in Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu and a bit of Marathi. I could sit with gangsters, slum-dwellers, or academics claiming their goodwill and sometimes respect. All this in some way made me feel accepted in the larger community though I belonged to none.
As I prepare to leave I remind myself that at the end of the day we keep searching for the truth and add our consequence to the larger tides social change. Along with this is the hope for a better tomorrow and taking ourselves into the new day. I keep searching for hope and humanity in everything I see from a small child to a house of worship. For as long fate allows it I will go on. At the end, I pray that God help us and forgive us. I live on.
Both India and its cities may be crowded, filled with pollution but there is a sense of vibrancy that keeps it going. It is the sheer energy that cannot be described and is the very thing that led to me being out all day in spite of a 18 hour flight and 12 hour time difference on the day I had arrived here. On that very day I had met a friend after three years and it seemed that the trip would never end. In this country I could make myself understood in Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu and a bit of Marathi. I could sit with gangsters, slum-dwellers, or academics claiming their goodwill and sometimes respect. All this in some way made me feel accepted in the larger community though I belonged to none.
As I prepare to leave I remind myself that at the end of the day we keep searching for the truth and add our consequence to the larger tides social change. Along with this is the hope for a better tomorrow and taking ourselves into the new day. I keep searching for hope and humanity in everything I see from a small child to a house of worship. For as long fate allows it I will go on. At the end, I pray that God help us and forgive us. I live on.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Back to Delhi
India does not need a Disneyland proclaimed Pallavi as our bodies were thrown out of the seat again. Landing back down on the seat of the car I looked at the road ahead scared with holes, as if small explosives had been dispersed over a period of time with water filling the gaps slowly evaporating in the heat. The ride was filled with such bumps as we would move at average speeds only to be stopped in long bouts of traffic that refused to move.
I was back in Delhi and doing some shopping. In colourful Punjab I gave retirement to the floral attire that helped me blend in the country, thus prompting a need for more shirts. Travelling in Delhi has exposed me to the various changes that both the city and country are undergoing. I am able to converse flawlessly speaking in with the typical Hindi dialect as spoken by the locals. For entertainment I enjoy Tata Sky service at my friend Shruthi's place where I am staying. And it is a welcome change with every second channel is playing an Amitabh Bachchan movie from his long and illustrious career.
Another bump and my mind is back on the road and away from thoughts of the Bachchan movie I would watch later in the night. Since the early nineties, the ascendancy of global capitalism has made the market the new orthodoxy for many people. Entering the mall I pass by the recently created nouveau rich it amazes me by the way in which they flaunt their baubles: driving up in flashy red sports car, wiping themselves with branded Kleenex, wearing huge rings on their chunky fingers, and most depressing of all, dropping big names like dandruff. Sure they may have arrived but they can’t stop jingling their moneybags and getting the world to take notice.
Like anyone in my place I get worried. It’s okay though, for it is the way the country is changing. Earlier I used to get disturbed about these things, and now I try to do something about it. Like me there are many others who work for NGOs and attempt to bring change from the grassroots. These are the young people who give up cushy corporate jobs to start NGOs, the few who question corruption, the handful of genuine politicians, college students who visit old age homes on Sundays and treat injured animals on roads, fearless journalists and the list goes on.
I was back in Delhi and doing some shopping. In colourful Punjab I gave retirement to the floral attire that helped me blend in the country, thus prompting a need for more shirts. Travelling in Delhi has exposed me to the various changes that both the city and country are undergoing. I am able to converse flawlessly speaking in with the typical Hindi dialect as spoken by the locals. For entertainment I enjoy Tata Sky service at my friend Shruthi's place where I am staying. And it is a welcome change with every second channel is playing an Amitabh Bachchan movie from his long and illustrious career.
Another bump and my mind is back on the road and away from thoughts of the Bachchan movie I would watch later in the night. Since the early nineties, the ascendancy of global capitalism has made the market the new orthodoxy for many people. Entering the mall I pass by the recently created nouveau rich it amazes me by the way in which they flaunt their baubles: driving up in flashy red sports car, wiping themselves with branded Kleenex, wearing huge rings on their chunky fingers, and most depressing of all, dropping big names like dandruff. Sure they may have arrived but they can’t stop jingling their moneybags and getting the world to take notice.
Like anyone in my place I get worried. It’s okay though, for it is the way the country is changing. Earlier I used to get disturbed about these things, and now I try to do something about it. Like me there are many others who work for NGOs and attempt to bring change from the grassroots. These are the young people who give up cushy corporate jobs to start NGOs, the few who question corruption, the handful of genuine politicians, college students who visit old age homes on Sundays and treat injured animals on roads, fearless journalists and the list goes on.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Flooding
I have traveled in motorcycles and scooters in various part of India but traveling in Punjab gives it a different feel all together. As the fresh air hits your face and the green fields pass by, the images take you into a peaceful mindset when compared to Delhi and Mumbai where everyone seems to be in hurry, and has an errand to run. One will not find more colour in India than in Punjab with men and women in bright attire placed among the green and yellow fields.
The camaraderie exhibited by the interaction of these individuals is something to behold with the rustic Punjabi that loudly booms with a slap on the back; and this is just hello! As for me I looked young and natty. My body is slim and trim with my hair callow and boyish. Well it does not take long to figure out that I had lost weight and looked a bit different. There are always invitations to dinner and proclamations that I should eat more for by Punjabi standards I need to be bigger. This of course was said in the most polite and happiest way even making me smile as I explained that I am of a slim built.
I talked to farmers about the flood that had just hit Punjab and what happened to their crops. All throughout the state 38,000 have been affected with 26 lives lost and one lakh acres of standing crop damaged. Mine was one of the 306 villages in 9 districts that were damaged by flash floods following the heavy rains. As I listened to the farmers I saw that there was pride in their faces, but they were also tired, sad, and worried. I realized from my own history of growing up in a farm that all farmers everywhere are just as tired, worried, proud, and sad for all they have is the soil they turn and the crops that they harvest with the earth as the only resource. Many times there is nothing more than this earth that provides heartbreak and joy.
As I looked at the food in front of me later that night I remembered an old line from somewhere, that the grain of rice on your table does not tell the grim tale of the toil that grew it.
The camaraderie exhibited by the interaction of these individuals is something to behold with the rustic Punjabi that loudly booms with a slap on the back; and this is just hello! As for me I looked young and natty. My body is slim and trim with my hair callow and boyish. Well it does not take long to figure out that I had lost weight and looked a bit different. There are always invitations to dinner and proclamations that I should eat more for by Punjabi standards I need to be bigger. This of course was said in the most polite and happiest way even making me smile as I explained that I am of a slim built.
I talked to farmers about the flood that had just hit Punjab and what happened to their crops. All throughout the state 38,000 have been affected with 26 lives lost and one lakh acres of standing crop damaged. Mine was one of the 306 villages in 9 districts that were damaged by flash floods following the heavy rains. As I listened to the farmers I saw that there was pride in their faces, but they were also tired, sad, and worried. I realized from my own history of growing up in a farm that all farmers everywhere are just as tired, worried, proud, and sad for all they have is the soil they turn and the crops that they harvest with the earth as the only resource. Many times there is nothing more than this earth that provides heartbreak and joy.
As I looked at the food in front of me later that night I remembered an old line from somewhere, that the grain of rice on your table does not tell the grim tale of the toil that grew it.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
In Unity
Sitting at the back of my cousin’s bike I made my way back to my galli. As he stopped to turn the corner he saw some friends, who called him out prompting a stop for conversation. As they began to talk one recognized me and uttered disbelief that I was in the village for he was not aware. He informed me of how close he was with my extended family and he found this shocking that he did not know of my arrival. He invited me to his house (almost everyone a visitor meets in the village invited them for tea) and said it would be sad if I did not visit.
Upon reaching home I inquired as to what could have transpired. It seems that there had been a misunderstanding between the two families based on a secret that the other had kept. While the secret was known to my family, the fact that the other did not share it directly, became contentious. As I walked into my grandfathers room I realized that I had limited time in the village and though I have often been hurt in uniting, why not do a good deed. After pondering I walked out and convinced my family to visit the house as we were asked; after all they were family friends.
With persuasion we were soon on the way. Entering the house there was warmth for me as the visitor, but refrain from any real conversation as a result of the misunderstanding. During this uncomfortable meeting I took on a mirth-evoking turn attempting to strike a balance between fostering understanding and bring entertainment. The goal was to be unpretentious about my outside upbringing but being sincere enough not to pretend to understand the complexities of the village. Slowly but surely the conversation changed and there was an ease. With more conversation the misunderstanding was sorted out as the secrecy was due to a betrayal the family suffered at the hands of their neighbors, this resulting in secrecy. The secret concerned a child who was to go abroad but due to jealousy, a neighbour complained at the embassy that once abroad the boy would not come back but seek refuge there. As the foreign governments frown upon study visas that can be a cover for migration the visa was not allocated. This placed the family in a difficult situation and they did not inform many of the second attempt and did not directly tell my family of this attempt. Perhaps they saw something in my conversation and trust was gained again.
With tensions eased we spend time talking about various topics ranging from farming to living abroad. Overall it was a good evening and left me with a happy feeling as the families were united once again. Sadly I would not get to see their daily interactions for I would be gone soon, but their happiness I will carry in my heart.
Upon reaching home I inquired as to what could have transpired. It seems that there had been a misunderstanding between the two families based on a secret that the other had kept. While the secret was known to my family, the fact that the other did not share it directly, became contentious. As I walked into my grandfathers room I realized that I had limited time in the village and though I have often been hurt in uniting, why not do a good deed. After pondering I walked out and convinced my family to visit the house as we were asked; after all they were family friends.
With persuasion we were soon on the way. Entering the house there was warmth for me as the visitor, but refrain from any real conversation as a result of the misunderstanding. During this uncomfortable meeting I took on a mirth-evoking turn attempting to strike a balance between fostering understanding and bring entertainment. The goal was to be unpretentious about my outside upbringing but being sincere enough not to pretend to understand the complexities of the village. Slowly but surely the conversation changed and there was an ease. With more conversation the misunderstanding was sorted out as the secrecy was due to a betrayal the family suffered at the hands of their neighbors, this resulting in secrecy. The secret concerned a child who was to go abroad but due to jealousy, a neighbour complained at the embassy that once abroad the boy would not come back but seek refuge there. As the foreign governments frown upon study visas that can be a cover for migration the visa was not allocated. This placed the family in a difficult situation and they did not inform many of the second attempt and did not directly tell my family of this attempt. Perhaps they saw something in my conversation and trust was gained again.
With tensions eased we spend time talking about various topics ranging from farming to living abroad. Overall it was a good evening and left me with a happy feeling as the families were united once again. Sadly I would not get to see their daily interactions for I would be gone soon, but their happiness I will carry in my heart.
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