How long is long
enough? I don’t know. But I thought I had
stayed away from home long enough and it was time to give it a visit. It turns
out that while it was a good decision to have come back home for a while, I was
just not ready yet to come back. Hopefully, the next time I will be ready. Anyway, regardless
of whether or not I was completely ready to come back home, there were some
things that was definitely different. Different how? Like this:
While I was in Bangalore, 7 months ago, I don't think I had this ability to imagine the other side of the city, for back then, Bangalore, for me, mostly comprised of students, IT people, rude auto drivers and the occasional beggar. I never really imagined the lives of the millions of the working class people that survive- and keep the city running so that the students can learn and the IT people can make Bangalore proud- day in and day out. So, fast forward to 7 months later and am I different?
A lot.
It almost comes naturally to me now, and the transition was so effortless that it took me a couple of days to even realise that there was something different in the way I thought and felt when in a public space, in the city.
For instance when I travel in the BMTC, I do not feel weird when I see a guy wearing a floral prints shirt. I mean, back then I thought that one must not wear such shirts to work; its not professional (considering the fact that he did not remain invisible to my city-life adjusted eyes, in the first place. Mostly the person wearing a fastrack watch or a Reebok bag would probably be the one to grab my attention. Or a pretty woman, of course, but that happens even now). However, now, I know that there might a lot more that he has to decide upon before he can sit back and realise that it was probably not a good idea to have purchased the floral prints shirt which was being sold on the roadside. He may have to worry as to how to arrange for the money with which to pay his daughter's school fees, or maybe he may have been too tired to think of anything at all and so he just falls asleep while the bus negotiates the nightmarish traffic of the city. Now, I have not sat in the ladies section of the bus and so I cannot assume for them, but I am sure they have greater things to worry, as well. So, feminists, please, I mean no bias. Six months ago, I would have seen them with curiosity. However, now I cannot help but look at them with feelings of respect and... Also, for instance when I visit the McDonald's for a burger, I can imagine how it must be to be a youth and yet be on the side of the counter which serves. I can imagine how frustrating it must be to not be able to be greeted, "Namaskara sir, this counter , please. What would you like to have?" I can instantly visualise the tiny little house that they all will have to return to, once their shift is over. Six months ago, I would have spoken to them with respect and courtesy. However, now I cannot help but speak to them with feelings of respect and empathy and…
And pride. Yes, pride. I am proud that these folks have made it so far, because I have seen worse. I have seen a crowd that is just as clueless about the world outside as is the man in the bus, about the inappropriateness of wearing a floral print shirt to work. These people know EXACTLY how cruel the world can get and yet, choose to live on, share a laugh, smile and, sometimes, even have a dream. I have seen so much hopelessness in another India that this Indian makes me feel proud that he/she has broken away from the shackles of poverty (yes, they may be earning very less, but that is for the government to take some action and a whole different argument). If i peer into their family and trace it back by a generation, I wouldn’t be surprised that the previous generation had been clueless about their coming generation. These folks, make me happy. I will not go hug them and cry my eyes out, no. I will not even talk to them, perhaps. But I have a deep sense of respect for them, now; something that sort of makes me feel connected to them. Something that makes me mean it when I say, "thank you."
While I was in Bangalore, 7 months ago, I don't think I had this ability to imagine the other side of the city, for back then, Bangalore, for me, mostly comprised of students, IT people, rude auto drivers and the occasional beggar. I never really imagined the lives of the millions of the working class people that survive- and keep the city running so that the students can learn and the IT people can make Bangalore proud- day in and day out. So, fast forward to 7 months later and am I different?
A lot.
It almost comes naturally to me now, and the transition was so effortless that it took me a couple of days to even realise that there was something different in the way I thought and felt when in a public space, in the city.
For instance when I travel in the BMTC, I do not feel weird when I see a guy wearing a floral prints shirt. I mean, back then I thought that one must not wear such shirts to work; its not professional (considering the fact that he did not remain invisible to my city-life adjusted eyes, in the first place. Mostly the person wearing a fastrack watch or a Reebok bag would probably be the one to grab my attention. Or a pretty woman, of course, but that happens even now). However, now, I know that there might a lot more that he has to decide upon before he can sit back and realise that it was probably not a good idea to have purchased the floral prints shirt which was being sold on the roadside. He may have to worry as to how to arrange for the money with which to pay his daughter's school fees, or maybe he may have been too tired to think of anything at all and so he just falls asleep while the bus negotiates the nightmarish traffic of the city. Now, I have not sat in the ladies section of the bus and so I cannot assume for them, but I am sure they have greater things to worry, as well. So, feminists, please, I mean no bias. Six months ago, I would have seen them with curiosity. However, now I cannot help but look at them with feelings of respect and... Also, for instance when I visit the McDonald's for a burger, I can imagine how it must be to be a youth and yet be on the side of the counter which serves. I can imagine how frustrating it must be to not be able to be greeted, "Namaskara sir, this counter , please. What would you like to have?" I can instantly visualise the tiny little house that they all will have to return to, once their shift is over. Six months ago, I would have spoken to them with respect and courtesy. However, now I cannot help but speak to them with feelings of respect and empathy and…
And pride. Yes, pride. I am proud that these folks have made it so far, because I have seen worse. I have seen a crowd that is just as clueless about the world outside as is the man in the bus, about the inappropriateness of wearing a floral print shirt to work. These people know EXACTLY how cruel the world can get and yet, choose to live on, share a laugh, smile and, sometimes, even have a dream. I have seen so much hopelessness in another India that this Indian makes me feel proud that he/she has broken away from the shackles of poverty (yes, they may be earning very less, but that is for the government to take some action and a whole different argument). If i peer into their family and trace it back by a generation, I wouldn’t be surprised that the previous generation had been clueless about their coming generation. These folks, make me happy. I will not go hug them and cry my eyes out, no. I will not even talk to them, perhaps. But I have a deep sense of respect for them, now; something that sort of makes me feel connected to them. Something that makes me mean it when I say, "thank you."
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