"My Own Private "I"nd"i"a"

Firstly, I am not a schmaltzy and I am not the best representative of being an Indian speaking from very Indian sentiments either, considering the fact that like many Indians, I have adopted English as my language of communication, for casual and business reasons, my attire is mostly western, and I live in the United States. However, I have my citizenship from India and have spent most of my time in that country and sufficient time in the U.S. to be commenting on this article by Joel Stein, the humor journalist from Time Magazine. The article is called, "My Own Private India" and for those who were too busy and did not get the time to catch up on this, here it goes:

I am very much in favor of immigration everywhere in the U.S. except Edison, N.J. The mostly white suburban town I left when I graduated from high school in 1989 — the town that was called Menlo Park when Thomas Alva Edison set up shop there and was later renamed in his honor — has become home to one of the biggest Indian communities in the U.S., as familiar to people in India as how to instruct stupid Americans to reboot their Internet routers.

My town is totally unfamiliar to me. The Pizza Hut where my busboy friends stole pies for our drunken parties is now an Indian sweets shop with a completely inappropriate roof. The A&P I shoplifted from is now an Indian grocery. The multiplex where we snuck into R-rated movies now shows only Bollywood films and serves samosas. The Italian restaurant that my friends stole cash from as waiters is now Moghul, one of the most famous Indian restaurants in the country. There is an entire generation of white children in Edison who have nowhere to learn crime. (See pictures of Thomas Edison's Menlo Park.)

I never knew how a bunch of people half a world away chose a random town in New Jersey to populate. Were they from some Indian state that got made fun of by all the other Indian states and didn't want to give up that feeling? Are the malls in India that bad? Did we accidentally keep numbering our parkway exits all the way to Mumbai?

I called James W. Hughes, policy-school dean at Rutgers University, who explained that Lyndon Johnson's 1965 immigration law raised immigration caps for non-European countries. LBJ apparently had some weird relationship with Asians in which he liked both inviting them over and going over to Asia to kill them.

After the law passed, when I was a kid, a few engineers and doctors from Gujarat moved to Edison because of its proximity to AT&T, good schools and reasonably priced, if slightly deteriorating, post–WW II housing. For a while, we assumed all Indians were geniuses. Then, in the 1980s, the doctors and engineers brought over their merchant cousins, and we were no longer so sure about the genius thing. In the 1990s, the not-as-brilliant merchants brought their even-less-bright cousins, and we started to understand why India is so damn poor.

Eventually, there were enough Indians in Edison to change the culture. At which point my townsfolk started calling the new Edisonians "dot heads." One kid I knew in high school drove down an Indian-dense street yelling for its residents to "go home to India." In retrospect, I question just how good our schools were if "dot heads" was the best racist insult we could come up with for a group of people whose gods have multiple arms and an elephant nose. (See TIME's special report "The Making of America: Thomas Edison.")

Unlike some of my friends in the 1980s, I liked a lot of things about the way my town changed: far better restaurants, friends dorky enough to play Dungeons & Dragons with me, restaurant owners who didn't card us because all white people look old. But sometime after I left, the town became a maze of charmless Indian strip malls and housing developments. Whenever I go back, I feel what people in Arizona talk about: a sense of loss and anomie and disbelief that anyone can eat food that spicy.

To figure out why it bothered me so much, I talked to a friend of mine from high school, Jun Choi, who just finished a term as mayor of Edison. Choi said that part of what I don't like about the new Edison is the reduction of wealth, which probably would have been worse without the arrival of so many Indians, many of whom, fittingly for a town called Edison, are inventors and engineers. And no place is immune to change. In the 11 years I lived in Manhattan's Chelsea district, that area transformed from a place with gangs and hookers to a place with gays and transvestite hookers to a place with artists and no hookers to a place with rich families and, I'm guessing, mistresses who live a lot like hookers. As Choi pointed out, I was a participant in at least one of those changes. We left it at that.

Unlike previous waves of immigrants, who couldn't fly home or Skype with relatives, Edison's first Indian generation didn't quickly assimilate (and give their kids Western names). But if you look at the current Facebook photos of students at my old high school, J.P. Stevens, which would be very creepy of you, you'll see that, while the population seems at least half Indian, a lot of them look like the Italian Guidos I grew up with in the 1980s: gold chains, gelled hair, unbuttoned shirts. In fact, they are called Guindians. Their assimilation is so wonderfully American that if the Statue of Liberty could shed a tear, she would. Because of the amount of cologne they wear.


Ok, so for the simplest dissection: the journalist is writing a humor article; however, I don't see any humor or satire for that part in most lines except, "The Italian restaurant that my friends stole cash from as waiters is now Moghul, one of the most famous Indian restaurants in the country. There is an entire generation of white children in Edison who have nowhere to learn crime." And that, I must say is humor in very bad taste as in 2009, Edison was ranked as one of "America's 10 Best Places to Grow Up" by U.S. News and World Report. The rankings focused on low crime, strong schools, green spaces, and abundance of recreational activities.

Moreover, the author makes a ludicrous point that is not humorous, yet I find it funny: I never knew how a bunch of people half a world away chose a random town in New Jersey to populate.
I think Mr. Stein has forgotten the geography of his own town - Edison headquarters a lot of industries and companies that have hired Indian professionals who have chosen to settle there because of its close proximity to their work. And I think, he is also ignorant of how places like Little Brazil, Little Italy, etc. came into existence in New York.

Finally, the adage, "go home" is something so common to the ears of immigrants from "Americans" in the United States, but if this was supposed to be practised literally, then America will simply have no people, no economy, no industry, no marvels, no technology, nothing.

I have pondered on each sentence in this article enough so I will not make more comments on the lines - although I am well aware that those who have just read this article (especailly Indians) will have more strong statements to make :)

Instead, what I want to do now is answer one of my very dear Indian friend's question on the comments posted on this article, "Why do we Indians get so emotional when an outsider makes comments like these? Why don't we ever consider Russell Peters' humor in bad taste?"

Actually, it is a very good observation. We don't seem to mind what "insiders" have to say about India. I, however, see a reason why. Comedy has mostly been an art which has been depicted, illustrated, or enacted. Russell Peters is a comedian who makes some well-known cultural observations in a humorous way. In a written form of humor, the tone of reading is to an extent dependent on the modulation of the reader. And especially, unexpected, condescending "humor" is always not welcome. When comments are made on the culture of a country, on how narrow-mindedly it is bothering someone that their own hometown does not have the same demographics as they have been acquainted to having when growing up, is reflective of mere ignorance and a thought process that is unaccepting of an unavoidable metamorphic phenomenon called globalization. And the use of z's and cancellation of u's in my American English is reflective of the fact that I have "adopted" and to an extent, "assimilated." However, I am not hurt by what Mr. Stein has said as he is way behind in that chain of existence. Also, I am proud of my own private India - no matter, how imperfect it may be (as all nations are) for all the things Mr. Stein mentions he is sad about. I am proud of the education I have received and the incessant insistence on modernization yet staying true to your roots - a sentiment aptly portrayed in India's major two-wheeler automobile manufacturer Bajaj's campagin.



And, as far as being more prepared is concerned, Mr. Stein must also have a good look at Al Kamen's column in The Washington Post dated November 16, 1992 before his next article to avoid an influx of comments that keep his attempts at humor unamused.

ViSiON

Today, I am remembering India, my country, very fondly. Most Indians not residing in India, at least my age, like the idea of liking India - showing off how it is not far behind the developed nations they're currently in. I am one of those who used to be frustrated by the corruption back home and I also remember defending my country innumerable times here when asked about the poverty or the corruption that plagues my nation. Yes, I have fumbled myself when thinking about these issues and still have found pretty facts to buttress my claims and insist that India might not be rich but is soon to become "the youngest nation where 75% of the population is below 40 years" thus giving it the boon of a gene pool that will thrive on education and ignite the sparks of knowledge. However, despite these loosely comforting statistics, I cannot turn a blind eye towards the innate problem - how deeply domestically racist one Indian tends to get when placed in a room full of other Indians. I see that when I go to the Indian Consulate in New York or I must admit I have seen that in my own school when students sitting on the pavement during school functions stared at other student's parents. Comments were made on how inappropriately they were dressed or behaved. I even remember my school friends clustering in superficial groupism - the super rich, the pool of nerds, the congregations of Catholics, the not-so-bright..I know the age-old-adage - birds of a feather flock together, but aren't we birds of the same feather? We came from the same city, same school - and yet, we were all divided. When we reach college, we become a little more broad-minded and if I can say it truthfully enough, the reason is not because college implants a force of Love Thy Neighbor Campaign. Instead, it is because when you reach that seat (that was limited and took you great toil to make it), you realize there are many more smarter and hard-working than you. At that point, we seek to make "diverse" friends who will be good contacts in case of an emergency like bunking or good notes in case of an insurgency like flunking. I don't know who I am sitting here and cursing but I know one thing - something in India needs to change. Among the many things, that something is ViSiON minus the 2 big I's that are filling our nation - "Ignorance" of the unknown and "Intolerance" of the known.

Soc"i"al Network"i"ng

Programming the literary device results in a bug:

a web host that doesn't operate in prose,
a wall post that doesn't separate friends from foes.
Social networking has synonyms in staying connected,
idling,
stalking,
gossiping,
assuming,
and mocking.
Status updates that don't speak the mind, don't express but impress...
Games that don't entertain but distress...
Strangers that request friendship be ignored...
Becoming fans of strangers however is encouraged and bode...
Badges to pin on pages define who we are...
But sometimes allies will tag and tell and raise the bar or mar...
Are we looking in the face or booking on a face?
If I share this wall, what about MySpace?
Without these, my God, how will I twitter, how will I pitter-patter?
the tattles might be bitter, the rattles they clatter...but how does all this matter?
I just published this and earned myself a gossip platter...comment, like, dislike, share, stare?

M"i"rage

How will I see myself if I weren’t me?
That’s a confection I will not drill to see.
How will I be myself if I wouldn’t be…
Is there a resurrection that will instill me inside, to acquaint with the outside me?
Many questions remain, and yet we abstain from thoughts
Much as time marvels at its own action plots
How will I free myself if I weren’t to flee?
That’s a protection to ensure: I will never meet me

Glossary in this context (Courtesy: Answers.com)
Confection = A piece displaying splendid craft, skill, and work
Resurrection = The act of bringing back to practice, notice, or use; revival
Marvel = One that evokes surprise, admiration, or wonder

Pr"e"fac"e"

Have you ever been through a phase when you want to jump out of your skin?

Scratching, itching yourself to do something worthwhile?

Have you ever been in a craze when you want to pour a pump to your whim?

To jot it down before it loses it substantiality, to capture it before it ends, to preserve in a file…

of things to do before you die?

If the answer is yes, one must stand up and get it – for the skin will outgrow it

If a no, one may keep sitting and not fret it – for no one but us will ever know it.

I really do not know what makes me write: if it is the absence of the better or the presence of the best.

I don't even know why I created "The Mouse" when I was six, considering I have such loathsome aversion (never mind the double negative) towards rats; okay, I do believe in equality but understandably those creatures have something uncommon, a lot uncommon and so, I hate them; also, because they have a marvelous skill of running away from action.

When I wrote "The mouse in my house ate my blouse”, I think I was imitating "Twinkle, twinkle little star.” However, after coming a long way, I do realize that I haven't changed in attempting to create a lyrical mood and capture a strong rhyme scheme. I think the breakage of a steady and smooth flow of operations in my life propelled that urge.

People say writers wage empty wars and fight silent battles and there are those who said, “Pen is mightier than the sword.” However, I believe words definitely have the power to generate kinetic energy - say for instance the wars that are waged as a result of words like "God"or "Land"

So what is my propellant fuel? Well, obviously something is missing! The things we do get in life: we hardly comment on them. And that is probably because we're so engrossed in having them.

I have, for most part, since comprehended the meaning of love (actually I still haven't but even though we haven't fully lived before dying we say we lived...so exactly I say I have comprehended) have spent my imagination in contemplation and serious disgruntlement. I think no matter what society you come from, as Shakespeare rightly tapped: all basic human emotion is the same. And as a result of emotions, I have come to make my expression public. This blog (my first in reality and hundredth in mindful existences) is dedicated to my longest source code of kinetic energy that never ebbs and never sets: expressing.