Sunday, June 24, 2007

Real Football

I was incensed at this blundering headline on CNN-IBN "Mittal eyeing English soccer club" No, it wasn't because yet another premier league club is under the uber-rich guys' scanner. And no, it's not because Mittal's looking at Birmingham City - a mid table club when at it's best (Mittal is twice as rich as Chelsea's owner - Abramovich). Isn't it obvious? Soccer?.. Soccer?? Since when did Indians start calling football soccer? Where are all the guys that cry hoarse over the malignant impact of the Western culture on Indian society? I demand that Shiv Sena immediately send some of it's youth wing people to the IBN headquarters to smash some TVs and windows and maybe even to 18-19 Kensington Palace Gardens (just for the heck of it.. it does have a lot of windows!)


Why do the Amricans call it football anyway? It's not like the players use a lot of their feet. And certainly American football wasn't invented before football. I guess you could put it down to one of those "American things" that you cannot fathom. Like mashed potatoes?

Some more cool shirts:


You can buy these and more at this site. Isn't it ironic that the site's name is soccer.com?

 

The Abbreviating Species

Abbreviating names is a common phenomenon here for certain species; 'paeri'(phonetically written) for Parminder, 'faeti' for Fatinder,'saeti' for Satinder and so on. These 'abbreviators' never fail to amaze anyone with their concern for India. But when you ask them (ços you do not understand their abbreviations), "Are you an Indian?", their instant reply is: "I am not, my parents are." Then their names strike you as familiar.

Did you know India is backward in the way it treats its women, its various castes and religions? Of course not, you have to know it from these species! They are appalled when you say we communicate with most of our friends in English, pitying that we are losing our culture. Little do they know of your British ancestors. Well, totally identifying with their concern, you empathise with them. But didn't they tell you sometime back that they are not Indian? Nevermind, you tend to forget that because they are really so concerned about your homeland, oh no, 'our' they say.

Then you suddenly observe that these species are always out with their make-up on, just like all the Americans you see. Then they praise America's penchant for equality. "Really?" You wonder, "Is that why women here are forced to look and behave like women? I never had to do all this back in India. When was the last time I said "wow" with an extended "ow" when I was seductively touching my neck?" Never. You won't even remember having guy friends who are your friends only because they intend dating you some day. So who is forced to perform roles, people here or people from India? When this knowledge strikes you, you smile at your new-found friend 'Paeri'. You observe how much she emphasises on the pronunciation of her name, on her nail paint, on her hair, on her clothes etc. She is always an 'American' but when it comes to taking credit for being from a different culture, she is the first one to do so, not you.

She is always 'politically correct'. Only you know the culture she represents and the culture she adopts, but because she is one of the 'Americans' too, her voice is louder than yours. You just stand and watch, till she fumbles with Indian politics and then you take-over, till everyone looks at her claims with amazement and wonders, "How could she make such claims, what is wrong with her?"

But now, you must smile at her innocently, like she always does. No, no, it doesn't end with the smile, hug her tight and say "Hey darling! thanks for talking about India, that was so sweet." And she will smile back, proud of herself!

Friday, June 22, 2007

How loud can I cry?

Still asleep my hands search for someone on the bed. "Nobody next to me, how come?"I wonder. "Amma", I call out involuntarily. No reply. "Amma", I shout. No reply. "Amma", I yell. No reply. My eyes open wide; new ceiling, new windows, ahh, the sun strikes me in a new manner. Where am I? It then strikes me like a thud, I was the one who left home, I came away from there, to this, this new place. Sun back home was milder, it never felt cold so often. I look for my phone frantically, oh, I don't have one here. I need to buy one. What do I eat, I never thought of that. I run into the kitchen looking for something familiar, I still search for my ground, when I know it is a new ground. I feel no hunger. I can't feel, I need to stop feeling, because if I do, I shall cry. I shall surrender to this new ground and then I shall not remain.
But I still cry, cry out loud, "Amma", such that no one can hear. I am scared of people wanting to sue me for interrupting their personal space. That's all that my cries are worth, but I chose it.