Chronicles of a Jongleur

Today was my Albert’s (my colleague) last day at work. Typical of any leaving employee, he began making his farewell rounds at about three in the afternoon, stopping by to say goodbye to a few other colleagues, secretaries and the likes. After a circuitous path that probably involved three or four pit stops for coffee and donuts along the way, Albert finally made it to my desk just as I was packing up for the day.

It was after the typical pleasantries of “Take care dude, great luck in your career…yada yada” were exchanged, that I mentioned – “Hey Albert, the next time you are in India give me a shout. We can catch up on old times.”

Pat came the reply – “Well, I am not sure. Quite a few of my friends advised me to visit a few other countries before stepping into any third world ones like India.”

Say What?

I was too stunned to issue a repartee even as Mr. Wannabe Marco Polo rambled on with his inimitable swagger. He lectured on – “ I had a few friends who visited India and they were taken aback by the experience. It seems there was this huge parking lot where there were hundreds of children and sick people living on the street (apparently in the slums of Mumbai), somewhere in Mumbai. One of my friends spent two months there and didn’t like it at all. Somehow, I don’t think I can withstand such an extreme cultural shock either.”

By now I was seething with fury, not so much at his indignation or derision, but by the fact that for all his proclaimed technical capabilities, the air-headed prick did not have the basic fundamentals of cross-cultural communication. I didn’t want to ruin the bastard’s last few minutes in his first job by (rightfully) pointing out my displeasure at his acidic statements, and let him go. And I fervently hope that this is the last I will ever see or hear of him again. Period.

This incident obviously triggered a chain of thoughts in my head that seem profound in retrospect – that a person of Albert’s pedigree (he is a native Hong Konger who passionately dissociates himself from all things Oriental and proudly proclaims his American citizenry), can proudly wear the stripes of his adopted country on his sleeve along with a stubborn contempt for anything non-American. He can also consider himself suitable to remain perched on his uber-pedestal of condescension and simultaneously denounce “other countries” as being ineligible to enter into his paradigm of the civilized world.

On the other hand, the incident generously stoked my temper and made me passionately patriotic while mentally trying to defend the country I have always loved. And I guess this feeling extends to the general desi populace as well, we canvas our pride (and faith) in our country and its system somehow convincing ourselves that we are doing our best in changing the face of India – by being OUTSIDE it. We gloat in the lifestyle that America offers us whilst bitching about what could have been if we hadn’t sold our souls and had stayed back in India. Once in the land of milk and honey, we parade photographs of our exploits across each and every one of the forty eight states we have visited and even put them on our résumé’s as though it were some sort of achievement. On the other hand how many of us even know the capital of Arunachal Pradesh, let alone even CONSIDERING a visit there?

This is where the average desi morphs into the likes of my friend Albert- both remain short sighted at different levels. While ignorance and immaturity might explain Albert’s supernatural levels of arrogance, narrow mindedness and obstinacy to look within ourselves and introspect cloud our beliefs. Surely we were taught to be better people?

On a separate note, I would like to personally welcome Albert a few years from now when he makes his grand entry in Bangalore, to train the “third-world” person who will eventually take over his job. Because baby, what goes around, will eventually come around.