To be like Velcro.

So, I'm building these sliding doors. Yes, not the most interesting of conversation starters, but ... bear with me a sec. They have wood, responsibility of carpenter, and they have upholstery, responsibility of upholsterer. So at some point, the two need meet. For Various things like, measurements, widths, where the Velcro will fit to consolidate this relationship, and so forth. So I ask Ratilal (70 year old upholsterer, age old resident of Dhobi Talao, long trusted upholster in our family - in fact I think he has our family crest on his visiting card, by appointment of their excellencies the Bode clan since 1706) to come and meet the carpenters where the work is going on, down in the basement.

"Ratilal, meet Shamsh--ud-din."

The Carpenter gets up, politely wipes his hand on his trouser, and shakes the Upholsters hand. A meeting of two craftsmen, in pursuit of one goal, to create a work of wood and fabric, in perfect unity. They look over plans, they discuss various things, the width of the wood, the nap of the cloth, the points of attachment. This is a true meeting of artisans. The conversation verges on the melody of a jugalbandi. I, being the kind of person who loves to bring people together, feel, oddly proud, even pleased with myself for arranging this.

"You two should give each other work when the opportunity comes along,you both do very high quality work that you can be proud of."

Chests rise, pleasantries are exchanged and departing noises are made. As we walk up the stairs, on the outside of the building that looks at this mandir on the land below ours, I start to enjoy the temple view, and think of the good that has been done today. Ratilal, adds his casual observation, almost like a thought out loud to himself.

"Accha tho musalmaan hai."

Six Months? That's all?

Its always nice when you meet other Phoreign Returns, especially if they're offset from you by a year or so. I met SP at a nice restaurant's birthday celebration in south Mumbai (turned out to be a bit of a socialite page 3 bash). It turns out he was separated from me by just a couple of degrees, my aunt funnily enough. But there you had it, enough social maal with which to start a conversation. Then the familiarity of experience; he returned from the states a year ago, and is setting up as a freelancer here, generally went there for the education and a bit of work, bounced around educational institutions for a while. Sounded like I was talking to me.

Oh and best of all, he's a guy, a dude, a homie. Haven't really found any of those - whatsoever. (Always happens in a new place with me. First I go out and meet all the girls, get involved and spend all sorts of time hanging out with the girls - then of course, it gets complicated, and then whatever the relationship is beyond that, they're girls. Where do I meet the guys, I mean really, having dudes around, to watch the cricket, pizza, beer, generally hang out and be dumbasses together is an important part of any guys social life.

But in the conversation, going on about what was good and not good about being back, I realised something. He came from Bombay, original Mumbaikar, he comes back after four years, and all his friends old acquaintances have moved on, up, out, away and generally are gone. It takes him a year and a bit to make new friends settle back in, have a social network.

- How long have you been back?
- Six Months.
I said to him, realising that for myself for the first time.

- Ah, well it'll take you some time.
It'll take me some time.

That's when it hit me, I've ONLY been here for six months. It took me a year, two even, in London before things got going with my social life. Before I felt, embedded in there. Six months? That's nothing in a new city. Ah, new realization. NEW city. Mumbai, is a new city, so, I may have people I know, and things that are familiar, but its new. Its not the same place.

Its like a sugarcane plant coming back to the field he grew up in 4 years later and seeing it all turned over and ploughed and watching little stalks of rice push up through the soil. Sure, the big old tree is there in the corner of the field, he's seen crops come and go, but sugarcane relating to paddy? No old familiar roots?

Mumbai, is a new city - I'm finding out about it now. There's time. There's plenty of time.

The Posh French Restaurant

I wrote this one in Feb (16th if you must know).

So. Here's the best bit about good friends. Is that they're good friends.
SK is definitely in their. We've been through a lot together - hated each other at times- but that's cause fooling around in bed got in the way, but now. We can sit, and be ourselves with each other ( I think she does it a lot easier than I do) and just be chill.

Today, and I'm only writing this as I want to remember it. Maybe to use a snippet later for general posting. We're sitting at Mondy's and I'm in a bit of a mope about stuff, and we were discussing whether it is safe to bring up the mopey side to a new intérêt . Someone I hope to be dating in the long run, and SK said,

"No, that's only for people who know you and can let you be that way and deal with it. Otherwise, she'll see it, and will completely think that that person, is you. Not a good thing. Its OK if you vallow and vhine with us, but not her."

Now, until this point of the conversation, we were two friends, one listening to the deep advice the other was giving. Mood = Comfy Serious. But after "vallow and vhine" it was kind of hard to go on listening... I had to crack up laughing.

"What?" She asked, knowing full well where I was in my head.
I then said, politely (trying so hard to reign in my angrezi elitism)
"You mean, wallow?"

"I'm from Delhi yaar."
Damn right I thought. That's good enough for me!
We started laughing together, but as we did, it just got better...

"But babes, it sounded like you were naming some kind of posh french restaurant"
"Yeah I know managed by Indians "
"Totally.... in Delhi! "

Both of us rolling on the floor with laughter.
I guess you had to be there. But it was funny.

And I didn't feel at all bad that I could correct her pronunciation in a good healthy way, I didn't feel like being phoreign returned was a bad thing (sometimes I do - if you can't already tell) , and we could laugh, at both me and her, and together at ourselves. That felt good.

Regaining Perspective and Reverting to Form

Regaining Perspective

I keep thinking about what to write next here. When I started to do this about a month ago, it was because I was constantly having these "this has changed", "oh, I forgot about that", or an "oh, you're back in India" moments. They were piling up so high in my head, I had to write as many of them down as I could. That's why this whole thing started in the first place. I still have a few unpublished posts which I am trying to clearly articulate, for instance there's about women and the dating scene (it’s a convoluted and confounding post currently, quite similar to the experience of dealing with the whole scene itself) but more on that when I can do it justice in words.

Then March rolled by and I find myself struggling to make the observations that were coming at a mile a minute last month. I keeping think about this web log, what my next entry should be, and nothing comes to mind.

I was reading my close friends Blog about her time newly arrived in Johannesburg, and what she had to say, it threw light on what was going on with me… she says,

"I have noticed that I feel so settled in now that it is somehow harder to comment on what is different here, or what is noticable, or remarkable. Before I came here, one of the anthropologists at Goldsmiths told me how the most important thing about writing field notes is that you initially note down everything that is new since after a very short while you won't notice anymore. I guess this is exactly where I am at now. From the banal, such as traffic or security, to the public, such as reading quality newspapers, and private, such as what people that I meet talk about - it has all become the norm. "

Is this what is happenning with me? Am I loosing that ability to 'notice', because my phoreign tinted glasses are now coated with a nice fine dusting of Mumbai? Oops, well, there goes the entire premise of this blog then! I should go to the airport stand with a sign as Indians come of their British Airways flight:

“Desi Returned from Phoerign for good? Wanna take over Blog of Normalised Phoreign Returnee?"

But, here's the interesting thing about self awareness. The second it hits you, like the fact that the newness about being back has worn off and that I’m adapting to my new ‘normalcy’, you can see past it. So now, I feel like I’m beginning to see things again, just , a bit more from within the system than outside it. Plus, you don’t really know a place (for the second time around) until you become part of it, do you? Please note blatant attempt to convince myself that its a good thing.

So, what’s this bit about reverting to form? Well, its linked into becoming one with the system.. so here goes, two posts for the price of one:

Reverting to Form

I was celebrating the whole coming back to a new customer service India, the one with people who do things as part of your service because surprise surprise, you’re the customer, and its their job!

I actually think the call center kids who work the Indian market seem nicer than all the desi call center operators I dealt with when I was in the UK. Oh, what great fun it used to be to hear them cringe at the very question I dread “So, where you from?” Tee hee. But Indian call center operators that exist for the local Indian consumer? I get the sense that they all seem to be working extra hard to do a good job so they can get the foreign call center gig, so we benefit, hugely. Long gone are the days of constantly phoning people to get the job done, sar pe betna or sitting on people’s heads (local idiom) seem a thing of the past. Its all good!

Or is it? In the last three days I have had to sort out a washing machine repair, a cable operator issue, a de-mat account. In each one, after initial wonderfully satisfying calls with their respective call centers and customer service agents, things were taking a bit longer than originally promised. I found myself needing to bypass the customer service people – who you just can’t get mad at ‘cause they are so nice – and head into old school getting things done mode. Chasing up the actual do-ers, the phone number of the technicians who actually had to come here and get it done, calling up the central distribution people, finding the manager of the local branch office, in one case going down to their office (a customer, here?!!?) and screaming through a window until someone came and sorted it out. This was old school mara-mari - things got done by actually pulling the entire chain of responsibility link by link, in the direction of your job number.

I hadn’t planned on any of the mara-mari bit. I was told by a friend when I was heading down to sort out the first job, “Don’t be your usual nice self, kick a little ass, it’ll get done.” Four years in the UK, where you were never anything but polite (and that could be more infuriating than you know, like when you had every right to impale the office-teller on a stake, and could at the very most only say “I really apologize for going on about this but…”). I have become politeness personified – the UK has trained me to treat everyone like human beings first, inefficient service providers last.

So while kicking a little ass and being ‘stern’ was how I used to deal with Mumbai and living here, it was something I was happy to escape from. Yet, I found myself slipping into the role so easily, like immersing into a nice warm bath. It felt so … right. Shouting, screaming, raving, ranting … cajoling, arguing, even sympathizing with their mountainous work load prior to adding, “But I will be the first thing you attend to right?”, skillfully using the entire melodramatic range of emotions to make them do my bidding, was all part of how to run this machine efficiently, and I there I was, working the machine! Washing Machine? Repaired. Cable? Sorted. De-mat? Done. It is all good!

Just because India's been given a lovely coat of customer service paint doesn’t mean the engine works any differently. What I can’t make up my mind about, is should I be upset about the fact that you still have to go ballistic to get things done? Or should I be pleased that I’m still able to do it rather well?

Changes some take for granted that I don't.

I got asked by a friend of mine yesterday when I mentioned the auto driver and his mobile phone:

-So, what’s the big deal? An auto-rickshaw driver isn't allowed to have one?
-That's not what I said; it’s great that he has one! It’s great that this is all happening.
-My driver gets more calls than I do (she's one of those breed of young Indian professionals who never learned to drive, but needed a car, so the cost of the driver was factored in).
-You misunderstand me, I've just come back, after 4 years, and while all these changes may have been happening and your used to it now, to me its like, a huge deal!

I am fascinated by the change, its all happening so fast and I think that's the point of view that's going to allow me to see opportunities and possibilities that others in the middle of all of it can't.

I'm on a bus to Mysore right now (Firstly, Internet while traveling -when did you ever think that was going to happen, its cheaper, more available and more accessible here than it is anywhere in the UK).

• First there was the semi fast bus. Ashoka Leyland Rexene sofa seats.
• Then there was the super fast. Rexene seats that were set back in recline a bit.
• Then there was the deluxe. Aircraft style seats. With great KSRTC logos all over them.
• Followed by the super deluxe. Not sure, but it was better somehow. Oh yeah, curtains!
• Super deluxe ac. Add Air Conditioning, sealed windows and tinted glass
  and now... comes...
• The VOLVO service.
• I am on the Bengaluru Mysuru Volvo Service. The creme-de-la-creme of the fleet. A/C, Reading Lights, Seat Pockets with magazines. A strap to hold your bottled water. Plush Seats, Curtains, actually a tasteful colour scheme. They give us tickets using wi-fi palm top ticketing systems. Soon I'll be able to purchase any KSRTC bus ticket online. I wish I could claim my laptop was wi-fi due to the bus. But hey. In time. In time. Ha! I just got served a bottled water and asked if I wanted a blanket!

And the news has Lallu Prasad Yadav, our most Dehati (Home grown Indian) of Dehati politicians, and he’s talking about high speed railway corridors for trains to travel above the 300KMPH mark.

Don't tell me I can't set out to bring my own advances to my own field in this country. I refuse to believe it.

Post note: I forgot to mention the Video Coach Phenomenon somewhere that were in almost all those busses. And they just put a Kannada movie which is now blaring in the speaker above my seat. At least the movie has subtitles, but reading them on the 15 inch TV screen 15 rows ahead of me, is a bit... challenging. Blaring movie with songs on the interstate bus - somethings never change do they?

Feeling the distance.

There are close friends who stay in touch, and there are close friends who don't, but it doesn't affect anything because when you meet them again, its like the gulf of time between he departure and arrival closes up, and it feels like it was just yesterday that you said goodbye.

Today, I heard that a friend of mine who I haven't been in touch with, has gone through some major changes in her life and is taking stock and doing other things. While that may be exciting and scary for her, and she is going through so much - and I wonder about it a lot now. Something else has happenned.

I feel out of touch, and out of the loop. To not be there, share whats going on with her when all this is happenning. To not be a part of the sea-changes in the lives of my London friends. I felt the distance today, and felt it hard.

Bengaluru

Ok, barring the fact that the last time I came here there was a lot of fun to be had with a rather chilled out lady who umm.. enjoyed having her way with me... I've got to say Bengaluru holds a lot of appeal as a city - sometimes more than Mumbai.

1. The young bits of the city and the old bits of the city are kind of all together, not like Mumbai where all the nice bits are south of churchgate, but all the fun bits are Bandra, Juhu and beyond.
   
2. Very couply, and I don't get a sense there's any kind of 'morality police' action here.
   
3. Wi-fi everywhere (yay!).
4. People will look at you and try to speak to you in the language they guess you want to converse in. (With me some guess English, some guess Hindi, and no one is surprised when I reply in the language they didn't chose).
5. Everytime you get into an Auto both of you are embarking on a new adventure of discovery to find out where this particular address is.
   
6. The auto guys phone rings more than mine.
7. The auto guy pulls over to talk, politely asking me to wait one minute. Clearly, his time is more valuable. Ok, that's a reason not to like this place, but he was polite, and that was very cocky of him.
8. The auto guy shares your fascination and elation when you finally arrive at your destination.
   
9. It has a cute little parliament, facing a cute little high court, with lots of cute gardens. Almost looks like lego land that bit.
   
10. More coffee places per square mile than most place I know.
    
11. People seem - happier? more chilled? less hassled.
12. Impatience is non-existent.
13. General politeness is very existent.
    
14. They have an Indian Coffee Home (which beats all the million cafe's they have).
15. Bengaluru makes you imagine that it could be the capital of Dravidia, the successionist country comprised of Goa, Karnataka, Andhra, Tamil Nadu, Kerela and Pondichery. Ok, you know what, I've driven around Maharashtra, so we can add them too.
16. Everything here wants to get online, including the Karnataka State Transport Bus company that now does e-bookings.

Pretty cool.

List of Things I want to do.

Ok, as I write this I'm sitting in a small town - I lie - a large village, in the hills of Northern Tamil Nadu: So this may sound funny, because here, there ain't a hope in hell of any of this happening. But, since I'm making Mumbai home do you think I'll be able to do the following?

1) Go to Capoiera (great fun Brasilian Martial art where you look kick ass while not really kicking any ass).
2) Get together a regular poker game with people I may have little in common with, but who all know how to enjoy a little competition over a bottle of Jack Daniels. I asked a Phoreign Return who has been back for at least the last 6 years, you play poker? He said, "No, not really, how about Backgammon. (Backgammon? They still do that? Is it back in vogue like some retro-chic thing? Or is he even more esoteric than I am?)
3) Arrange for an ultimate frisbee pick up game every few evenings in the Oval Maidan. This one is the biggie challenge - here, simple ultimate frisbee explained - but its fun! It gives you a close-to-heart-attack workout. Makes smokers want to quit, and can be played by both women and men together in public places as its a blissfully non-contact sport! (I still think that if I'm hanging out in public with a girl - like cycling her home the cross bar of my BICYCLE - I'm going to get pulled aside and slapped by either: cops, babus, or some over zealous citizen upholding Indian morality). Yes, yes, I know its changed, but I still remember the slap from when I grew up in Delhi - don't use a bicycle anymore either. So, where do find a team of 14?
4) Collect affordable ( 10-15 Rupees ;-) ) Indian art (in the hope that somehow, somewhere, it'll take off). So far, I've actually seen some nice stuff that I would want on my wall for dirt cheap, but then I look at the guy on the street peddling it and think, does he have any lunacy in him? Has he been reviewed by anyone, even once, is he liable to commit suicide in the next few years? All important considerations when buying art. Or should I just buy it 'cause it looks good.
5) Find my self a day/coffee loungy hangout in which to get work done that isn't my office, home, aunt's home.

OK, time to go onto this great Indian phenomenon Orkut (I've been asked six times already - do you Orkut?) apparently everyone has got one. See if I can organise my life and make things happen using the net. Do you think that experiment would work here that they did in San Francisco, where one guy locked himself in his house for a year, vowing to earn, eat, live, socialise etc. everything over his Internet connection.

Gandhisim for the new era - Roti, Laptop or Makaan. (Who needs Kapdra if your locked in your house the whole time?). Hey, don't tell me its not possible for every Indian, Here.

The Dreaded Question

In gym class the other day:
- So, where are you from.
- (Oh great, just one day, please god, just one day where I don't get asked that question, OK, just say it and be done, no need to elaborate, one happy catch all answer - he'll get the hint)
India.
- Where in India?
- (Is it too much to ask?) All over, really, born in Madras (yeah, yeah, Chennai), grew up in Delhi, Bombay, lots of family based in Bombay, but I live here. (Why am I telling you this, why do I care what you think of where I'm from. Just be satisfied with my vague waffling and drop it).
- Oh (long silence, good, managed to end that rather quickly)
No, but, where are you Actually from.
(Is he serious????)
- I told you already. (Oh, I may have come of sounding a bit brusque there. I don't care. Will you please stop fucking caring where people are from - oh why am I trying to take on the stupid and futile task of educating this guy into dropping the geographic label. Oh shit, he got that I was brusque. Now he's shuffling his feet... act casual, relax, lets just enjoy class. Its all like, cool, dude, totally chill.)
Shall we go warm up?
-Oh, yeah. Cool (he lifts his t-shirt to check out his abs in the mirror).
- (SIGH)

This is The Dreaded Question. It is the acid test about whether a city is truly cosmopolitan or not.

I should make the distinction that exists in my head clear before I proceed. I'm thinking global cosmopolitanism. Not Desi cosmopolitan. Mumbai in my mind, is a very Desi cosmopolitan city, with all its Matoshri housing societies where Gujarati lives next to Bawa underneath Bengali two doors down from the Sikh one house down from the Goan who can look right into the window of the Tamilian (see this well written farce Black with Equal for a good example of this, its one of the better plays I've seen since I got back to India, but that's not saying much). However, I don't think its globally cosmopolitan. Though its a good start that the younglings come in droves from other such metropolis's like Bangalore and Delhi. I just wish they were coming in from all over the world instead. Because then, I think, in time, all of us would start to drop the age old Indian (I really think that this is one of those moments where I can use the catch all term 'Indian') culture of needing to know where the other person is from.

The reason I loved New York (though it being part of the US is truly regrettable these days), and the reason I loved London (See previous parenthesis, replace US with England), is that everyone was from somewhere else. So no one cared about identity through geographic location. The fact that you were there, in those cities, and able to have a good conversation with the person next to you was enough to be interested, or to want to know more about you as a person, in that moment, in the here and now. There was no mental labelling going on based on your geographic, cultural, identity (I know there's always some kind of labelling, just with finer brushes, not with the big fat paintbrush). It always took a long while for people to get around to that question "So where are you from?", at least 10 or 15 minutes into the conversation after they've already got a developed sense of who you - as an individual - are, and whether they click with you or not. Hell, there was a good chance that it would never be asked and when it finally came into the conversation by accident, it would be this cool surprise:
- Oh really, wow - I've never been there, but always wanted to go.
Or some such type of positive re-enforcement.

It is the single feature of Mumbai social life, that reminds me of the distinction between our Desi cosmopolitanism and a more global one. TDQ from now because it will appear in later entries if it doesn't stop - "Oh, I shot someone today - he TDQ'd me". TDQ is asked to me on a daily basis in Mumbai, and its made no easier by the fact that they can't place the slight accent or bawa look. The accent-odd look combo seems to throw people a bit. They feel distinctly uncomfortable if they can't place me. If I chose not to answer it, its as if I've left them void of an essential piece of the puzzle without which there is absolutely no chance of being able to engage or relate to me. Its like (ok, geek moment coming up here) there's no TCP/IP handshake so how the hell can we start to browse each others webpages! (One avatar, a long time ago, was that of IT person. Hey, new idea! If lied and told people I did IT maybe they would believe me the first time I said I'm from India, well of course you are, you do IT!).

So. Now, I'm trying to come up with ways of dealing with TDQ.

1. Ignore it. Except we already established that by doing that there is no hope of continuing any sort of conversation. An especially bad ploy if the girl to your left is good looking, and you'd like her to do more than just talk to you. Conversation feels like such a waste of time in those cases. But what to do, one step at a time.
   
2. Answer it with a vague but dismissive generalisation. India. (But you saw what happened there).
3. Answer it with a vague but honest generalisation.
   - Well, a lot of places actually.
   Then gird your loins as you have to embark on a thorough and complete elaboration. Well, there goes 20 minutes of not talking to the cute girl to my left while I answer this jackass to my right.
   
4. Be cocky.
   -I'm not going to answer it. Because I believe it doesn't matter in the long run. Do you have it in you to deal with that?
   That would be good, except I believe either 1. will happen, or questioner will decide they're going to clamp to the issue like a Rottweiler and find out. Ah, the innate and ubiquitous desi character trait of curiosity. So 20 minutes of , no tell me naaa , and then the 20 minutes of 3. Oh, and no matter how cute she is, if she goes, "No tell me naaaa..."
   
5. Share your thoughts on TDQ. Like what I've done here. But then, I think the person will take it personally.
   - You mean, I generalise? I do not label people! Do you label people? You're judging me right now aren't you.
   (There goes any chance of a second date).
6. Check if this is a conversation filler.
   - Do you really give a damn, do you really care to know?
   But then, to prove that they're not shallow conversationalists, they'll insist they do, and then of course you're back at 3.
7. Turn it into a pickup line.
   - I'm from Mars (Totally straight faced).
   - Your from Venus right.
   On second thoughts, that'll only work on the "No tell me naaa" chick.
   
8. Be rude.
   - Ask your mom. She knows.
   (Ok, maybe not that rude).
   
9. Shoot them. Point blank. If I want, first do an evangelical Samuel L. Jackson type of sermon about TDQ (see 5.) and then take out my big fat gun and shoot them. Oh why bother, just shoot them without the sermon.
   (Ok, you know how the threat of going to jail outweighs the satisfaction of committing a gross heinous act such as that of murder in the first degree? Enough TDQ's, and this may be the 1,00,000 questioners lucky prize).
10. Shoot myself.
    - You happy now? See what you made me do! (Gasp and die dramatically in the hope that the point is made, someone makes a movie on the issue, dedicates it to my memory and everyone remembers to not ask TDQ because its uber-uncool).
    
11. Ask them the same question right back. Except, here's whats liable to happen.
    - No I asked you first.
    - Doesn't matter who asked first.
    - I asked you first, you answer.
    - No you answer.
    - No you.
    - You.
    - You!
    (Proceed to feel like you're in a conversation where both of you are once again 13 years old. See other post on Regression).
    

One day, I'll come up with the right answer to this one. I really honestly don't know what it is yet, until then, please, just ask me about how my day went, or find ... something else to start the conversation with.

Eye Contact

Rarely - well, not so rarely these days - I drive in Mumbai. There are just some days that I don't want to deal with taking the only available space on the Borivalli fast, which involves contouring my body to the press of shoulders, backs, pot-bellied stomachs and crotches that define the available space my thin frame can occupy. By the way, this is a first class compartment I'm talking about - I've decided that the only difference between the first and second class compartments of any evening rush hour train in Bombay is in the smell of the perspiration coming from the armpit your nose is firmly pushed into. So sometimes, I drive to save me from that bouquet of sweat and hair-oil. Even though there comes a point during every single hour long car journey in bumper to bumper traffic which just doesn't want to move that I ask myself why I didn't just take the train in the first place.

But here is the thing about Bombay, that I didn't find in London. On the morning tube, or sitting on the bus, people, would never engage with those around them. Eye contact was accidental if it ever happened, and then there would be an apologetic glance away (with another quick peek to see if the other person wasn't too offended that eye contact took place in the first place "oh crap, they're doing the quick peek at the same time, this is awkward, how embarrassing")

I used to think of social performance art projects where I'd get a group of volunteers to walk through the carriages (you can actually walk) and shout out "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen! This is very important. Please take a moment to look at the person to your left, your right. Say hello! The same way you've shared eye contact with someone to indicate that you think I'm a f***ing lunatic for screaming on the London train, thats right Ladies and Gentlemen, snicker, share the ridiculing of me, but for the love of god, talk to each other!"

Bombay doesn't need a project like that, at all. Everyone looks at each other out of idle or active curiosity and its brilliant, because when you make eye contact, its very rare that its followed by just shifting the gaze elsewhere, if the gaze does shift, its more because, one of the two people involved in the engagement feel more curious about something else (What, I'm not interesting? I look like a foreigner on a local train and you don't want to figure me out?). Eye contact here always leads to something else, a smile, a question conversation about the weather (thats not just a British phenomenon by the way!), even that most dreaded of questions - "Where are you from?". But it leads to a connection, however momentary.

Why did I start this? Oh, yes. I was still somewhat in the London habit of not engaging with the people around me. Over here, this sort of becomes a gaze through the masses, the multitude. Because there are so many people. Everywhere you look, person, people, all become things, just another part of this landscape that I'm navigating. I was on Turner road stuck in the usual jam - thinking about how I should have taken the train. I looked across to my right and gazed idly through the glass windows of a posh car stuck in traffic not going the other way and looked into the taxi beyond it. Another taxi, another driver, even his face seemed featureless, I couldn't focus on it, and then I realised that the glare of the sun on posh car's windows seemed to create this un-focusable scenario in which I couldn't see the features on the face of the taxi driver, almost like he was wearing a nylon stocking over his head. Fascinated with the optical illusion, I squinted hard, refocused in an attempt to see his features, still no luck. Suddenly, the face turned to me, and the taxi driver did what I was not prepared for at all, He made eye contact. The amazing thing was that at that very second, all his features came into sharp resolution. I could see him! His eyebrows arched, to ask a question, and not a negative one like, "What you looking at kamina?" but more positive, "Whats up, is life good?". To my surprise, (I think partly from the triumph of actually seeing him) I instinctively raised my eyebrows at him, smirked, and shook my head up ever so slightly to communicating the same sentiment back. "Life's OK, (I can see you!) you have a good day now!". The horn behind him and the horn behind me started to get going, and we smiled to each other and ourselves as we both drove our opposite ways into the next bit of the traffic jam.

When did something like that ever happen in London?

Bombayish

So, I met someone the other day. (No, not that kind of someone, though this someone was sitting next to that kind of someone).

The someone I'm talking about is a Mumbai girl, the thing about her however, was that she used a lot of expressions and had a lilt in her voice that definitely came from being in a lot of pubs in the greater London area. She’d just got back from the UK. The guy next to me asked her, so where are you from? I find that that’s quite a popular question in this part of the world.

She replied “Bombayish".

I used to say Bombayish too. In fact, it took me at least 2 months after returning to give up on that one.

A brief aside:

I had to leave London ignominiously due to a long and rather complicated f*** up with visas. I'm a non-commercial, creative individual. Lawyers pulled this way and that, and told me more about what I wanted to hear, than actually telling me that the following argument would not work. "He's a nice guy, really talented, he's doing good work, he's got great friends, all of whom think London would be a poorer place without him, he's very well educated, so really, don't you want him to stay here, please, pretty please?"

She was in week 3 of the geographical transplant. I’m currently in month 5.

Here’s a brief idea of the phases I went through when asked that ubiquitous question: "So, where are you from"?

1. "I live in London".
   Translated: All my stuff is in storage, in the UK, I have no visa, and I'm here now hoping like hell that I'll bump into the British Ambassador on the street and he'll say "we need people like you, come with me, right away! Oh! And bring your passport! Actually, don't bother, just a photo, here's a diplomatic British passport for you, oh, by the way, do you want a Virgin First Class ticket with that?"
2. "Oh, I used to live in London, but I'm here now figuring out what's next."
   Translated: It looks like I'm going to have to stay here for a while longer now that the UK home office has just changed their criterion for people like me YET AGAIN. So I may as well start to do something whilst I'm here. But please, London London London! Anything to get me back to London. Oh, during this phase, I still wait for the British Ambassador to serendipitously arrive. Except now, I picture her as a hot single 27 year old woman who decides I'm the hottest thing since sliced bread, and that it would be a crime to British women to not have me in the service of her nation.
3. "I'm from here, I've just come back."
   This one is not so bad really. Just trying to see where I fit in, who I can work for, what I'll do. I take a lot of trips from here to Trivandrum, Bangalore, Delhi, Ooty, since they're so cheap (You see, I still think in Pounds here) and any other place I feel like whilst I don't really deal with the reality of return in any proper way. Oh, and can I get a job that proves I can earn a shit load in any 12 month period please? Because then I've got a real recourse to getting back to the UK just in case I still want that option (Option? OPTION? That IS what I want!). This could also be considered as having a backup plan in case the Ambassador isn't that hot, or doesn’t think I’m hot, both of which are entirely possible.
4. "I'm here visiting the family for Christmas and New Years"
   Or the "Shit I've regressed back to really needing to be there rather than here" phase.
5. "I've moved back to India. I hear it’s really happening".
   This is the genuinely beginning to come to terms phase, I'm meeting people, they all think that I can actually do a lot of good here with the skills I've got, this may not be so bad after all. This one is good, you open up to the Idea of India; shining, poised or otherwise. Suddenly, standing for the National Anthem in the cinema when I go to get my Hollywood fix has a little more significance than just, “Oh, the movies about to start” I wish they'd change that thakela print though. This stage doesn’t preclude the fact that London is still sorely missed, friends are sorely missed, but it’s nice, to finally feel the gears engaging with Mumbai. The desire to solve how to go back to the UK is not as strong,

Phase 5 is where I'm at now. When others come, I'll let you know. I think Bombayish is around phase 3, but I was quite impressed that she'd reached it by week 3 of being back. It really did take me a lot longer.

Funnily enough, the someone sitting next to the other someone was from this whole new generation of Indian youth - 25 somethings, never lived abroad, studied here, got their first big jobs here, and are either flush with money, influence, access or a combination of the three.

She just made her big life move – huge move. From where to where? Delhi to Mumbai. This was her big adventure, her big foray into other worlds? Baffled, I asked.

“Don't you think of going to the west? To the US, the UK? Even out east, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Thailand?

I mean, it was such a big thing amongst my classmates that - to a person- each and everyone of my standard friends from sarkari school are now in America or the UK.”

Her response,

“India's the place to be! Why would I leave.”

Wow. Apart from being much impressed by this someone, I'm now thinking, what does she see that I haven't yet? I’m looking forward to having an eye opening experience. She might just help me forget all about the hot British ambassador. ;-)

Regression Analysis

Driving down Marine Drive yesterday with Dad, I noticed these billboards asking people to log on to a website to share their deepest regrets, names, emails, tell their friends to do so, and I thought, "How negative."

Now, I have to mention here, I've spent the last three years of my life away from India (in phoreign) and I know, through my own sense of self, and what close family and closest friends who have known me for ages have told me, that I have changed a lot. I guess it comes from being the same person in a different environment. Different strengths and weaknesses come to the foreground; they have a chance to find themselves. I've found that I've grown in confidence, there's a can-do attitude to life, things may be challenging but there is nothing I can't cope with.

I used to be a huge whiner when I was last living here (I'm phoreign returned twice over now, thrice, if you count childhood). What is important is that I had finally knocked a whole bunch of demons out of my system; that sense of everything being 'mara-mari', 'arguments’, ‘annoyances', 'life is one big struggle','cry over spilt milk', 'if only', 'this only happens in India', 'how can I ever succeed?', 'I have no skills that count for anything tangible (they're all great and interesting, but can I put food on the table with them?)'.

So, these hoardings casually demand we feed the web with our regrets really were the pits. Feed on our defeatist worst? No thank you. They're pointless, ill thought, in bad taste, and in spite of their rather well designed minimalist text on white background (that stood miles out from the rest of the advertising blur that is Mumbai), they really should be ignored. Crap like this can't get to me. I'm beyond all that now.

Dad and I drove to where we needed to go and started to do what we needed to do. That's when Dad and I (and please know that I love him very much) had one of our usual arguments about doing it this way vs. doing it that way. I'm hell bent on one approach, he on the other, and I find the blood rushing up to my face, and going into one of those familiar patterns of familial confrontation that I haven't really had to deal with or participate in for ages. You know, the kind of aggravation that you can only feel with people who love and care for each other massively. I sensed a raucous argument over something so incredibly trivial-yet-suddenly-so-important was about to happen. I left the room. Went down to the basement garage, sat in the car, turned on the AC and waited to cool down. That’s when I felt it, right there, in the pit of my solar-plexus. The trigger. I started to think things like this wouldn't be happening if I were back in London. I could actually lead my life without every second thing I do being questioned, I could actually make decisions for myself, &c. &c. &c.

The details of the thought process aren't important; the point is I regressed massively. I sat there in that car, and every one of my demons that I thought I had knocked out of my system from the last time I was living in India came back. The less confident me, the one that whined, who always looked at others benchmarks for life’s successes. That angst ridden, unhappy creature was sitting behind the wheel, it was as if the last 3 years hadn’t existed.

Fortunately, I tend to step out of my self when things like that happen, watch it, and think, "Wtf? I'm past this. Get over it, its just a natural regression, you know that none of these things your thinking are true.” (Sure, I'm feeling every bit of the downward spin, but its like staying conscious during the panic, and knowing that its just that a momentary panic - I think its a trick I picked up during Vipassanna).

Back in the car, driving back down the Drive. I saw the billboard again. Tell us your deepest regrets. Suddenly, it felt a lot more sinister, real, pointed at me. "You thought you could just ignore my magical lure?" Not so easy to dismiss this time.

It is clear that there are going to be a few more moments like this in life. It isn’t so easy to remember that I used to have issues about things in London as well, and got past those as well. So, not really the city is it? Sure, new environment, different strengths and weaknesses will come forward, and some will get pushed under. But handling it? Handling yourself? Its not the place, its the person. So my response to theidiotswhowantustoregretstuff.in (I won't dignify by pointing out thier URL), I have none, go blend in with the rest of hoarding skyline that is Mumbai, and leave us the f*** alone.