Coming home: I am not a non resident Indian. I dont come to India often. I will not live here again by choice. I left India 23 years ago, a barely young woman myself desperate to find a home where I would be understood. But I realize now I could only be understood when I could accept all of myself. And myself started as the young erudite Indian from the poetry recital competitions at age 8 at Bombay Scottish where I would bury my noise in Enid Blytons. To my multiple expat experiences in Africa where my love for literature diversified. Back to Baldwins in Bengalaru where I was immediately immersed in Pgymalion, Oscar Wilde, Shylock on stage and with Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Richard III all the way To Kill A Mocking Bird off stage. Where the history of India from before the Mughals to British India was daily fare. Where I remembered every vivid detail of the moment Indira Ghandhi was gunned down in 1984 by her bodyguards. Onto ( where I feel most at home) Delhi, where the language flows as harshly or softly as the weather. Where I struggled to maintain my strong independence in a strongly male dominated part of India .. But I wore mini skirts anyway :) with all my garish Janpath jewelry:).. Where we ate from dhabas with sweaty seasonings courtesy the cook :)) where we argued about the newly formed BJP and its Hindus only message ::) where with tears in my eyes I dared any of my hostel mates ( men, women and stupid boys who may not live to be men) to celebrate the assassination of Rajiv Ghandhi. .. Where we protested the affirmative action equivalent for lower castes, where we fought the change of our university name from the University of Delhi to something else .. For you see.. We, my fellow brethren, some of you are on my FB list, we, were raised as an erudite Indian whose morning ritual still includes some version of a paper, whose earliest memory involves loving some form of literature, who can articulate with anyone, anywhere, at anytime because it all originated on a dhaba bench, a canteen stool, a coffee shop, in our parents living room. And as an erudite Indian in these streets I take my daughter back to, I finally realize that only when you come home and full circle can you truly leave again :))
Posted on: Wed, 30 Jul 2014 16:22:47 +0000