A few days back, my sister fixed me with a metaphorical stern eye (she was a school teacher in her previous birth) and commanded me to come up with an idea on the theme of national integration, for my 9-year-old niece's drawing competition.
It shouldn't have, but it kind of started a long chain of angsty thoughts.
I feel that most of the cliched national integration messages are just token sentiments and deep down, we really don't want to integrate as a nation. We're happy in our regional/communal silos. In fact, it looks to me that we love to hate each other.
I mean, does any other nation have so many acceptable derogatory slangs to denote each region and each community of the country? Do they make fun of their fellow countrymen like the way we do, be it the "ayyayyoji" stereotype of the South Indian in the movies or the Sardarji jokes?
And I don't know whether any other nation resists intra-country assimilation as much as we do. Or whether any other big cities in the world have so many ghettos of their own regional population.
What's it with Indians and ghettos anyway? We seem to revel in this model of migration, not only inside the country, but around the world as well. I remember talking to this nice Gujarati lady in New Jersey, who tried to convince me of the foolishness of my ways because I chose to stay in a hotel rather than in the ghetto, where I'll get cheap accomodation and Indian food.
Did all this wonderings help me in any way, you might ask. Unfortunately no. I capitulated and came up with an idea as cliched as any on the subject. I hope there's a place in heaven for me.
On the brighter side, I attended the local farmer's market. The produce got over by the time I reached, but I was treated to a musical performance by a group of kids, who looked like the prototypical "United Colors of Benetton" ad. And the program was a riot! One girl in a neat summer dress who forgot half the lines of her bubble gum song, one girl who sang well but sang in such a low voice that no one could hear her, and this little boy, who sang in an adorable guttural falsetto, about "this train". The crowd just flipped for him.
Overheard, one old lady, to her friend, in horror: "Did he just sing, 'there aren't any condoms on this train'?"
The shopkeeper: "No, it was, 'there aren't any con men on this train'."
It shouldn't have, but it kind of started a long chain of angsty thoughts.
I feel that most of the cliched national integration messages are just token sentiments and deep down, we really don't want to integrate as a nation. We're happy in our regional/communal silos. In fact, it looks to me that we love to hate each other.
I mean, does any other nation have so many acceptable derogatory slangs to denote each region and each community of the country? Do they make fun of their fellow countrymen like the way we do, be it the "ayyayyoji" stereotype of the South Indian in the movies or the Sardarji jokes?
And I don't know whether any other nation resists intra-country assimilation as much as we do. Or whether any other big cities in the world have so many ghettos of their own regional population.
What's it with Indians and ghettos anyway? We seem to revel in this model of migration, not only inside the country, but around the world as well. I remember talking to this nice Gujarati lady in New Jersey, who tried to convince me of the foolishness of my ways because I chose to stay in a hotel rather than in the ghetto, where I'll get cheap accomodation and Indian food.
Did all this wonderings help me in any way, you might ask. Unfortunately no. I capitulated and came up with an idea as cliched as any on the subject. I hope there's a place in heaven for me.
On the brighter side, I attended the local farmer's market. The produce got over by the time I reached, but I was treated to a musical performance by a group of kids, who looked like the prototypical "United Colors of Benetton" ad. And the program was a riot! One girl in a neat summer dress who forgot half the lines of her bubble gum song, one girl who sang well but sang in such a low voice that no one could hear her, and this little boy, who sang in an adorable guttural falsetto, about "this train". The crowd just flipped for him.
Overheard, one old lady, to her friend, in horror: "Did he just sing, 'there aren't any condoms on this train'?"
The shopkeeper: "No, it was, 'there aren't any con men on this train'."
Comments
...almost heard the children singing out there!!! :)