Read Upamanyu Chatterjee's English, August this week for what is probably the 10th time. As before, I was struck by the deep melancholy of the protagonist stuck under all that humour and bravado. It is a great book, especially from the eyes of someone like me, who has grown up in India, speaking English with a Hindi accent, reading Oscar Wilde while listening to Rafi, and at the same time being completely out of touch with the realities of rural India.
Often have I wondered about my right to call myself Indian - agreed, much of who I am is because I have grown up there, eating Pav-Bhaji and chasing BEST buses while decked out in gum-boots in the pouring rain in Bombay. But my outlook on life is very heavily influenced by Western ideas - the idea of premarital sex does not pose any ethical dilemmas, the thought of living in an English-speaking country for the rest of my life does not leave me muttering to myself about my fate - so who the hell am I?
Ever since I landed in Madras in 2000, I have given this some serious thought. Fortunately, the struggle to learn Tamil and French simultaneously, coming to grips with guttural Tamil (in college) and refined English (at home) and many other things I went through during those years have together left me feeling rather good about myself! Most importantly, the interesting mix of people I have met in Bombay, RV, Madras, Mysore and finally here in America have left me with a rather malleable cultural perspective. I enjoy listening to different accents and trying to catch turns-of-phrase which are typical of a certain community. There is a perverse joy in looking at an obviously stoic Indian girl and wondering how good she would be in the sack.
Yes, This is the kind of thing I do in my free time - think about, and write about myself. I do need a life.
Often have I wondered about my right to call myself Indian - agreed, much of who I am is because I have grown up there, eating Pav-Bhaji and chasing BEST buses while decked out in gum-boots in the pouring rain in Bombay. But my outlook on life is very heavily influenced by Western ideas - the idea of premarital sex does not pose any ethical dilemmas, the thought of living in an English-speaking country for the rest of my life does not leave me muttering to myself about my fate - so who the hell am I?
Ever since I landed in Madras in 2000, I have given this some serious thought. Fortunately, the struggle to learn Tamil and French simultaneously, coming to grips with guttural Tamil (in college) and refined English (at home) and many other things I went through during those years have together left me feeling rather good about myself! Most importantly, the interesting mix of people I have met in Bombay, RV, Madras, Mysore and finally here in America have left me with a rather malleable cultural perspective. I enjoy listening to different accents and trying to catch turns-of-phrase which are typical of a certain community. There is a perverse joy in looking at an obviously stoic Indian girl and wondering how good she would be in the sack.
Yes, This is the kind of thing I do in my free time - think about, and write about myself. I do need a life.
No comments:
Post a Comment