There is something about India that makes you fall in love with the chaos, buzz and inimitable energy that surrounds every corner.
Four writers tell us why it's good to be Indian...
This isn't just a lofty statement, it's actually been put to practise. I've been fortunate enough to travel. I've been even more fortunate to travel to places that I love and will visit multiple times through my life. But no matter where I go, I am, and will always be a homing pigeon. I think it's got a lot to do with the food. I didn't think I consciously spoke about gastronomic yearnings until a particular experience in Prague revealed otherwise. Two very close friends: one American and one German-American, dragged me out of bed one fine morning. I lie, it was afternoon, but we had a particularly fine experience at our favourite bar, La Casa Blu, the previous night. Their mission was to surprise me with something, and this exercise took us through the winding cobblestone streets of the city. Our eventual destination made me alternately cry with joy and cry with laughter. It was a South Indian restaurant, perhaps the only South Indian restaurant in all of Prague. Apparently, I talked so fondly of food from India that they had to try it out for themselves. And shut me up, at the same time. It worked. I'm Kashmiri, but the way I see it, I came close enough.
I now have my answer as well. I love India because it allows me to be vegetarian and not feel like a minor member of the food chain. For a former carnivore, (hey, I'm Kashmiri), this is a blessing like no other. I love India because my vegetarianism isn't perceived as a 'fad' (I've been cold turkey, for lack of a better term, for four years now). It's a valid lifestyle choice, as is my choice to practise Pranic Healing and Arhatic Yoga. I am not a hippy. I'm not modish. I may sometimes be a 'healer' and meditate, but I'm also a writer, a herbivore, cocktail lover and many other things. I am myself an integral part of what is...Indian.
I moved back to India after having lived in the lap of vibrancy, New York City. There were teething problems, like there always are: living with parents, curfews, the 'haw' factor, and then the small but crucial things: laundry (dhobis never get it right), milk (the milk in India never tastes the same), AC problems (why don't we have central air-conditioning?) my green-tea latte at Starbucks, and a multitude of other irritants. At the end, though, I realised something New York was probably the loneliest city in the world, and India was the warmest, vibrant, dynamic country that I had lived in.
The warmth that I have come to love and cherish translates into so many things: art, fashion, food, weather, colour, and most of all, to the denizens of our nation. Nowhere else in the world have I experienced the kind of love and care that I have here, from the most ordinary of people, my 'waxing lady', the driver, the gate-keeper, the passer-by. Nowhere else have I found people to be kinder, more generous, most giving of themselves and of the little that they have. After having lived in seven countries, I have realised the importance of being surrounded by that warm energy. At times, when I miss the anonymity of the West, I try to remember the sheer warmth of my family home, of the brown smiling faces, and the energy which is more soulful and nourishing than anything else that I know, and I know that I never want to go back. This is Home. For me, India is a microcosmic necropolis of love, a sanctuary of peace, spiritual haven, a land filled with warmth and emotion that is incomparable to anywhere else in the world.
So, here's what I like. I like that no two days are the same, and I like that lots of things stay the same even when everything around it wooshes at the speed of light. I like that I can instantly be taken back to my childhood just by the call of the kabaadi wallah down the road, and I like that kabaadi wallahs are performing a role so modern that other countries just introduced it less than a decade ago: recycling. I like that just by virtue of being Indian, most of us are not only bilingual, we can speak about three different languages.
Those are little things, things we take for granted, but ultimately, we can't explain them to anyone else. They are our quirks, and something we share across the country, and even across the globe, if we happen to meet a fellow citizen. If you think of India in a straight line, in a uni-dimensional sense, there are so many things you're not getting. Imagine, instead, the country as a prism, loads of jagged edges, but when you hold it up to just the right light, you see the reflections of a million tiny rainbows.
My first trip to Cannes, I spent most of my time hiding my clunky sneakers under a chair. But redemption was served to my table as I sat around in one of the many cafes on the cobbled streets of Cannes.
Yes, these seemed to be content people, but there was a huge gap in their menu of happiness. Food. Proper good food. As I stared glumly at the bland pieces of chicken on my plate, I yearned for the taste and smell of spice. I sought out our neighbours, and found a Chinese eatery where I was told dourly that the food was on the spicy side. I ate what seemed like boiled chicken in a bed of noodles, and felt that the Chinese owed us big time for Chicken Manchurian.
After 10 days of eating bags of French fries as staple fare, we were finally back at Mumbai Airport. We were herded like cattle by pot bellied constables at a crowded chaotic airport. As I stepped out, Mumbai smelled like it always does, like a garangutan gutter. The driver handed me a vada pao, and as I bit into the potato slathered with green chutney, I felt awfully sorry for my fellow human beings in Cannes. I walked away into the night in my clunky sneakers, and thought it sure tastes good to be Indian. Jai Hind!
src:~http://in.lifestyle.yahoo.com
Four writers tell us why it's good to be Indian...
Foodie
Ambika Muttoo
"My first reaction to this piece was, 'Good question'. Then I repeated, 'Why do I love India' in as many different tones as I could manage, hoping that one of them would kickstart some neurological magic. Either my neurons aren't exactly cooperative, or the question itself defies explanation. I suspect it's the latter. The reason why it's so hard to illustrate an answer is because love itself is hard to describe. It's every cliche in the book, because cliche's are born from the truth, aren't they? There are a couple of things I know about this inexpressible love I have for my country and they do set some sort of ball rolling. I know I can't live anywhere else in the world. Ambika Muttoo
This isn't just a lofty statement, it's actually been put to practise. I've been fortunate enough to travel. I've been even more fortunate to travel to places that I love and will visit multiple times through my life. But no matter where I go, I am, and will always be a homing pigeon. I think it's got a lot to do with the food. I didn't think I consciously spoke about gastronomic yearnings until a particular experience in Prague revealed otherwise. Two very close friends: one American and one German-American, dragged me out of bed one fine morning. I lie, it was afternoon, but we had a particularly fine experience at our favourite bar, La Casa Blu, the previous night. Their mission was to surprise me with something, and this exercise took us through the winding cobblestone streets of the city. Our eventual destination made me alternately cry with joy and cry with laughter. It was a South Indian restaurant, perhaps the only South Indian restaurant in all of Prague. Apparently, I talked so fondly of food from India that they had to try it out for themselves. And shut me up, at the same time. It worked. I'm Kashmiri, but the way I see it, I came close enough.
I now have my answer as well. I love India because it allows me to be vegetarian and not feel like a minor member of the food chain. For a former carnivore, (hey, I'm Kashmiri), this is a blessing like no other. I love India because my vegetarianism isn't perceived as a 'fad' (I've been cold turkey, for lack of a better term, for four years now). It's a valid lifestyle choice, as is my choice to practise Pranic Healing and Arhatic Yoga. I am not a hippy. I'm not modish. I may sometimes be a 'healer' and meditate, but I'm also a writer, a herbivore, cocktail lover and many other things. I am myself an integral part of what is...Indian.
Warm tiding
Ira Trivedi
"Lyrical, passionate, colloquial, abstruse, rigorous, humorous, romantic, austere, playful. These are the words that come to my mind when I think of India. But the most enduring, or perhaps encapsulating, of all these words is: warmth. It is the warmth of my country that I love the most.Ira Trivedi
I moved back to India after having lived in the lap of vibrancy, New York City. There were teething problems, like there always are: living with parents, curfews, the 'haw' factor, and then the small but crucial things: laundry (dhobis never get it right), milk (the milk in India never tastes the same), AC problems (why don't we have central air-conditioning?) my green-tea latte at Starbucks, and a multitude of other irritants. At the end, though, I realised something New York was probably the loneliest city in the world, and India was the warmest, vibrant, dynamic country that I had lived in.
The warmth that I have come to love and cherish translates into so many things: art, fashion, food, weather, colour, and most of all, to the denizens of our nation. Nowhere else in the world have I experienced the kind of love and care that I have here, from the most ordinary of people, my 'waxing lady', the driver, the gate-keeper, the passer-by. Nowhere else have I found people to be kinder, more generous, most giving of themselves and of the little that they have. After having lived in seven countries, I have realised the importance of being surrounded by that warm energy. At times, when I miss the anonymity of the West, I try to remember the sheer warmth of my family home, of the brown smiling faces, and the energy which is more soulful and nourishing than anything else that I know, and I know that I never want to go back. This is Home. For me, India is a microcosmic necropolis of love, a sanctuary of peace, spiritual haven, a land filled with warmth and emotion that is incomparable to anywhere else in the world.
Million rainbows
Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan
"I'm writing this a day after Mumbai saw yet another set of multiple blasts in the most crowded bits of that city. I'm supposed to say why I love India, and yet, my morning paper gives me so many reasons not to. Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan
So, here's what I like. I like that no two days are the same, and I like that lots of things stay the same even when everything around it wooshes at the speed of light. I like that I can instantly be taken back to my childhood just by the call of the kabaadi wallah down the road, and I like that kabaadi wallahs are performing a role so modern that other countries just introduced it less than a decade ago: recycling. I like that just by virtue of being Indian, most of us are not only bilingual, we can speak about three different languages.
Those are little things, things we take for granted, but ultimately, we can't explain them to anyone else. They are our quirks, and something we share across the country, and even across the globe, if we happen to meet a fellow citizen. If you think of India in a straight line, in a uni-dimensional sense, there are so many things you're not getting. Imagine, instead, the country as a prism, loads of jagged edges, but when you hold it up to just the right light, you see the reflections of a million tiny rainbows.
Can't match it
Naomi Dutta
"It was my first-ever trip abroad. As a 20-something cub reporter, I was dispatched to Cannes to cover the annual international advertising festival.Naomi Dutta
My first trip to Cannes, I spent most of my time hiding my clunky sneakers under a chair. But redemption was served to my table as I sat around in one of the many cafes on the cobbled streets of Cannes.
Yes, these seemed to be content people, but there was a huge gap in their menu of happiness. Food. Proper good food. As I stared glumly at the bland pieces of chicken on my plate, I yearned for the taste and smell of spice. I sought out our neighbours, and found a Chinese eatery where I was told dourly that the food was on the spicy side. I ate what seemed like boiled chicken in a bed of noodles, and felt that the Chinese owed us big time for Chicken Manchurian.
After 10 days of eating bags of French fries as staple fare, we were finally back at Mumbai Airport. We were herded like cattle by pot bellied constables at a crowded chaotic airport. As I stepped out, Mumbai smelled like it always does, like a garangutan gutter. The driver handed me a vada pao, and as I bit into the potato slathered with green chutney, I felt awfully sorry for my fellow human beings in Cannes. I walked away into the night in my clunky sneakers, and thought it sure tastes good to be Indian. Jai Hind!
src:~http://in.lifestyle.yahoo.com
