My Discoveries Of India

Perhaps one of the reasons why I try not to go to India too often is because everytime I am there, I am reminded in so many ways, some explicit, some subtle, of what a loser I am. Take my elder sister, Ankita, for example. I usually fly through Mumbai, and I am greeted at the airport by her smiling chaffeur, Ramu, who speaks to me in his exquisite mixture of Indian English and colonial Hindusthani : 'Sahib, Madam is saying that you are going with me in my car to her place. She is officing there.'

'Accha, is that what she is saying? I always knew she was capable of the higher things in life.'

So we go to her plush office in North Mumbai, and I wait outside for half an hour browsing through some of the magazines scattered on the glass tables. Suddenly, the doors fly open and she rushes out, wearing a neatly-pressed brown suit, cursorily glances over the vast expanses of the green room, finally spots me in the corner, and comes running towards me.

'Ah, there you are, my poor little one. Did you have a good trip? Come on, give sister a big hug now. You know what, I am so sorry having to tell you this, but I am awfully busy at the moment. I have a board-meeting in less than ten minutes. Would it be asking too much of you if you were to go along with Ramu to my house? I shall see you in the evening. Foxy is waiting for you too.'

'Foxy?', I asked, feeling rather foxed.

'Surely you remember Foxy? She is my new Labrador.'

So with Ramu I am now going to her house in South Mumbai, a good two-hours' driving away through the crowds of Mumbai, human as well as bovine. Whenever I am being with Ramu, I am always feeling that I am being in the present continuous tense.

Finally, lovely Madam arrives at 11:30 pm, and we sit down for a late dinner.

'So Mimon, what is it that you are doing these days? Still with that thing, philosophy?'

'Well, sort of. What about you? You seem pretty rushed?'

'Oh, do I? You know what, we are marketing a new product for the busy women of today who are having anxiety problems. It is called Relaxed (r).'

'Hmm. And you think you yourself are relaxed trying to sell Relaxed (r)?'

She suddenly stops chewing on her mozarella pizza and glares at me angrily : 'How do you mean?'

'No, nothing. Just forget it.'

The next evening, I fly to Delhi to my younger brother Arpan who is an executive with Morgan Stanley, and this is what ensues, more or less.

'Have you ever speculated about your future?'

'The future? Oh, well, you know my Ph.D. thesis is on time. The future is sort of non-existent. So is the past. Pretty cool, huh?'

'No,no,no. Not your kind of future. I am talking about stocks. Have you ever invested in futures?'

'Hmm, does it look like to you that I even have a future?'

Three days in Delhi, and I am ready to go to Jhanji, my village in Assam, where a woman who claims to be my aunt (I have never seen her before, though) bombards me with all sorts of questions.

'So then, Mimon, tell me one thing. Have you managed to catch a British memsahib for yourself?'

I am too astounded by her bluntness to say anything at first. Then I warily look around myself and ask her in a hushed tone : 'Aunt, hold on a minute. This is just so that we see eye to eye on this. Is it politically correct in this part of India to ask questions like that?'

'Politically correct? What is that like?'

'Oh, it's like when you are with polite people there are certain things you don't talk about.'

'In England, you don't talk about marriage?'

'Well, it depends.'

'Depends on what?'

'Depends on which side you are on. If you are a Conservative, you believe that marriage is the only way left to prevent the bad girls from going everywhere; break down the fortress of marriage and all anarchy will break loose. But if you are Labour, you believe that marriage is too much the effort to worth bothering about. Finally, if you are Liberal Democrat, you think that in a truly liberally democrat state, all marriage will wither away and we shall have the dictatorship of the unmarried proletariat.'

I look at the blank expression on her face. No, wrong move. Sorry, it is so difficult trying to remember that I have to control my mind never at rest. I pinch myself.

The next afternoon, I go to Jorhat where I meet one of my long-lost cousins and find her watching a 9 pm soap opera with her girl-friend. (Not that she is lesbian, of course; there are no lesbians in Assam. I mean that her friend is a girl.)

The soap opera over, her friend asks me, 'So what do you do in life?'

I am almost about to say, 'That question is a category mistake. It is like asking a fish, 'What do you do in the water'? or a bird, 'What do you do in the air?''

But no, I remember my aunt, I have learnt my lesson well, and I change tracks just in time.

'Well, it depends on what you mean by life?'

'Hmm, not sure what life is.'

'Well, you don't have to be sure about anything. Just tell me what you think life is about.'

'I am sorry, I am not in the mood right now for such heavy thinking.'

Not unsurprisingly, the conversation peters out in five minutes.

The next morning, my cousin shouts at me: 'Mimon! How many times have I asked you not to talk with my friends that way?'

'What way is that?'

'You know pretty well what that way is. I mean thaaaat way of yours. Asking people questions when they want a proper decent reply from you. Why can't you ever talk straight? What is so wrong about answering people's questions? You are just a stuffy idiot who thinks that he knows it all and can't dispense some of his precious wisdom to the masses.'

So, then, the truth is not out there, but in here, right in me. Yes, you got it right, I really am such a loser. Ankita is a high-flying woman, Arpan knows how to handle his future(s), my aunt is the expert sociologist, and my cousins all know how to talk straight. I can do none of the above. *Sigh*