Chronicles of a Jongleur

Given that most of us who have made it across the Atlantic over the last decade or so are comparatively more proud of India than the generation of the 60s and 70s, its surprising how our experience in our foreign land can comfortably dispel our delusion of being supreme authorities on almost any topic pertaining to Mera-Bharat-Mahaan.

Like the other day, I was waiting for my daily bus ride back home when I ran into my “bus buddy”; a genteel lady in her 60’s who always takes the last bus home. Our conversation, as is the norm in these areas, started out with the weather and the topic moved on to the concept of seasons.

“I love spring and summer”, she said. “It brings out the life in me, seeing the flowers in their glorious colors and greenery all around.”

“I couldn’t agree more”, I said matter of factly, and for the zillionth time to a non-desi I said, “In my place, there are only 3 seasons: hot, hotter and hottest.”

She seemed genuinely amused and for the first time that evening her face lit up in laughter. In between spiffs, she said, “So, if there is only one real season, what sort of trees do you have in your place?”

I was flummoxed. To most of us (and you can lynch me for generalizing), all trees are the same; by and large green, sometimes more brown than green.

What was I to tell her? All I remembered of my primary school flora lessons in that moment of fright was one thing; I turned around and said “Gulmohar”.

The poor old lady was utterly flabbergasted and moved on to more interesting things. All this while, my mind was furiously operating in overdrive. Here we are, so called geeks of the earth; mature-beyond-our-years twenty-somethings, who can pass MCSE exams half asleep and half drunk getting bamboozled in what can hardly be described as an elementary question.

So what did primary school botany teach you about the trees of India?

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On the subject of schooling, I never have been so confused on the jargon of student nomenclature in North America. Whilst I was brought up on a healthy dose of LKG, UKG and “standards”, even ostensibly idiot-proof terms like school, high school and college have a multitude of connotations that eternally befuddle me. For example, which school did you go to could mean different things; the “school” school a.k.a the likes of Kendriya Vidyalayas and DAVs and Padma Seshadris, here it could also be a connotation for diplomas courses, university, tuition classes et cetera.

And it doesn’t end with that. School kids over here don’t wear uniforms. And they have “pop machines” and “lockers”. And there are private and public schools. No one studies across twelve “standards” before they pass out. And taking breaks between school and university is not uncommon. And yes, most kids end up actually earning their way to their graduation. No Papa Generous to ensure that everything from their tuition to little allowances for the late night beer is taken care of automatically.

And yes it’s a system that seems to work as effectively as the rest of the community. Somehow you get this feeling that an average American University graduate’s grasp on his subject of choice is not merely Google annotated references but is in fact twice as deep as it is broad. Most of them are Jacks of all trades AND Masters of one. And they are darned good at it. That’s when you wonder whether four years of your life were exhausted on playing cricket and discussing Simran’s waistline whilst simultaneously topping your class in the Bachelors of Memorization degree you obtained.

And yes, I in case I forget, I still can’t fathom why you “graduate” when you complete your Masters degree. And for the gazillionth time, can anyone explain why "Graduation" in America is synonymous with "Post-Graduation" in India?

Over the years, the influx of desis into the land of dreams has swelled to generous proportions, and now the strength of the Indian Diaspora is not something that can be ignored easily. Desis in North America now number in the millions, the number being inflated generously by the second wave of “software desis” in comparison to the “Doctor Desis” and “Hotel Desis” of yesteryear. No one knows when the first wave of migration started, but just for kicks, I did a quick search and Wikipedia had this interesting tidbit on the chronology of Indian migration into the Western Hemisphere.

Oft-repeated tales of the typical desi trying to fit into the atmosphere of a totally dissimilar culture have entertained and captivated the original populace for years, but none have become as popular as Ramesh Mahadevan’s timeless articles that invariably grabbed the headlines of soc.culture.indian (now part of Google) bulletin boards that dominated the e-desi’s landscape in the late 80’s and early 90’s. The original master of desi satire, Ramesh’s portrayal of the typical Indian newbie in the land of dreams has left millions smiling, seeing themselves in every little event and every single quagmire that dominated Ajay Palvayanteeswaran’s lifestyle.

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With time comes change, and things have undeniably morphed over the years, with the notion of the typical wonder-eyed Indian Graduate student of the 80’s is now a hackneyed concept. 21 year olds fresh out of college pretty much know that air-hostesses on a typical airline are not typically Aishwarya Rai/Jennifer McCarthy look-alikes, but instead are ugly and morose women, airline food is nothing but a stiffened bread roll and an awful tasting meat dish that has been warmed 4 times previously, and the Immigration Officer is the closest thing to the modern day Satan. The guys know they need a car to get the girls and the girls know they can get their groceries if they know a guy with a car. Accommodation and friendships are arranged over the idle banter of groups.com/Indian_students and that assistantships also include grading three hundred papers as well as typing three hundred page summaries of your advisor’s project. American Dinners can feed four Indians and mail in rebates and credit card rewards should be avoided as much as possible.

Accents now operate in dual boot mode, Hinglish/Tinglish or whatever dominates desi conversations, and rolled R’s are held in reserve exclusively for our American counterparts. An average Indian student now “Skypes” twice a day with his friends and family across the Atlantic, and spends more on his cell phone bill than groceries. The dollar to rupee scenario is fast waning and two trips in three years to “my beloved Chennai” are as common as pickup trucks in Texas. We don’t think twice about staying for even a day longer after we graduate, the lure of India Shining is an all pervading magnet. Yes, the America fever has come a full cycle. From chained dogs waiting at the tiniest sliver of opportunity to break free from parents/society/economy, you name it, we now say “I am from India” with fire and pride in our eyes.
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Of course, certain things about Ajays and Anita Palvayanteeswarans haven’t changed. We still love potlucks and road trips. And as Ramesh says, we still buy “standard” items like a Sony TV set (preferably second hand) and Toyota Corollas (also second hand). We still shop at Wal-Marts and Targets, and we all fly out to India on the 26th of December when air fares are at their lowest. We still shun Air-India, but look miserable when countered with Lufthansa’s apology for a vegetarian meal. On road trips, we marvel at the beauty of the American landscape but are lost in its idleness, and have learnt to accept the fact that the concept of weather is not another mundane segment on the 8′ o clock news after all. Graduation is still one more calendar day in our lives and our degrees are just other scrolls of paper to be kept along with the slam books and karate certificate collections dating back to the second grade. Oh yes, we still prefer desi roommates for company and the familiar smell of stale sambhar everytime the fridge is opened. And we still tell Amma what we ate for breakfast, in every conversation that takes place across the continents.

And above all, we still believe that we will go home some day. This time though, it seems truer than it sounds.