From: mvij@ocf.berkeley.edu (Pendragon)
Newsgroups: alt.culture.us.asian-indian
Subject: Linear times in Amrika
Date: 11 Nov 1992 01:02:20 GMT
Organization: U.C. Berkeley Open Computing Facility
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: tsunami.berkeley.edu

Ok, so this newsgroup is for emigrant Indians.  So we've all made our
choice already to leave the homeland.  I don't even think about India much
except to note today's New York Times' front page article on how corruption
is wrapping its tentacles around all aspects of Indian life.  'Hmm,' I
sigh.  'Glad to be in the U.S.'  And it never gives me pause . . .

. . . until last night.  While I was browsing motorcycle mags in the
large new Barnes & Nobles bookstore down the street from my apartment, 
a mature-looking (i.e. gray-haired) Indian man approached me and asked,
"Excuse me, but are you Indian?"

Well, I would have thought the question unnecessary, judging by the arch of
my Punjabi schnoz, a bridge-like wonder that Arcs me not just Indian but
regional as well.  Perhaps he feared I was as sensitive as Cyrano; perhaps
he merely demurred out of courtesy.  It is not for me to generalize ;).

In any case, he soon engaged me in a conversation about his doctoral
thesis, a topic which was singularly unintelligible to me.  But I'm certain
he is, in his little way, doing his best to improve the world.

So, among many "mazaa aya aapse milne mein" (such a pleasure to meet
you), "aap kah se hain" (where are you from), etc., this gentleman 
invited me to have coffee with him at Pasand's down the street.  As I
was not so inclined, I mentioned an appointment I had.

Yet he was not unfriendly, and neither was I, so we chatted a bit.  This
man commented on the emotional poverty of the U.S.  "When I approached
you, had you said 'Fuck off,' I would have left without regret," he said.
"Do you know, I've been in this ALIVE city of Berkeley all day and this
is the only conversation I've had?"

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  "Do you mind..." he began and I
shook my head.  He lit one and belched laughter.  "Do you mind... if
I asked that in India they'd take it as an insult!" he guffawed.
"Here, the trains run on time, the streetlights work, it's all
so impersonal.  In India, you have to know a hundred mechanics,
electricians, milkmen, everybody who helps you live."

He puffed pensively.  "Time in India is so non-linear," he said.
"If you want to go out with your friend, you drop by and you both
go out together.  Here, it goes: 

Hello!
'Hello.'
Do you want to go out?
'Certainly, but I'm busy now.'
How about next week?
'What day?'
Thursday?
'Sorry, I have an appointment.'
Friday, then?
'Three p.m.?'
Better make it 3:15.
'All right, see you then.'

"By the time Friday rolls around, it becomes a TASK to go out with
your friend.  It becomes an APPOINTMENT.  It becomes a BURDEN."

Naturally, I wasn't going to point out that I had to leave just then
and make my appointment.  Besides, what he had to say was interesting.

After some more conversation, I headed home, thinking.  My friend
Hemu was walking down the dark street and saw my cap and big bulky
jacket.  It was cold last night and Hemu saw a big "gunda" (thug) 
heading his way so I had to call to him, "Hemant, it's me."

I was thinking how ALONE you can feel in the U.S., even if you're
white American, and how SURROUNDED you can feel in India, whether
it's a support or a barricade.  I was thinking how CLOSE friendships
can be and how DISTANT they eventually turn out in the U.S.

Hemant Babu sees me thinking and launches into his story of India which
by now he's enshrined, both the story and the nation.  He came from
India to the U.S. at age 9 and just visited last summer.  In three
weeks he was resolved to go back to India and live there permanently,
while MY trip during my age of consent turned me exactly the other
direction.

Hemu says he knows he was treated like a king because he only visited
for three weeks.  Yet the way he describes his feelings for his
relatives and his short life in India makes it sound like he's found
his promised land, his nirvana, his mehbooba, his double-scoop 
caramel-covered banana split in the desert of life.

And chewing these thoughts over, even considering my strong independence,
love for gadgets, love of amenities, American-like recalcitrance and
coldly seeing thousands of little relatives as demands on my time,
I think perhaps there's something there which I overlooked.

Love,

Manish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You have to think.  You cannot help but think.  Three thousand years
 of genetics have laid their imprint upon your brain: you are Indian
 and so you must think."
							  -- X-ji of last night


"What did we get for being born Indian?  Big brains and small dicks?"
			-- IA friend, depressed over being an engineering major

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- 

   Such wild returns I make to the womb of civilization.  Three weeks
   a year in the Peleponnese, every bed booked in advance, every meal
   paid for by vouchers, cautious jaunts in hired Fiats, suitcase
   crammed with Kao-Pectate!  Such a fantastic surrender to the
   primitive.
						  - Dysart, EQUUS
Newsgroups: alt.culture.us.asian-indian