Nostalgia of the mother land

After a busy work week and gloomy days of Seattle winter, Sun finally peeked out of the clouds on a Saturday afternoon. I was people-starved and experiencing cabin fever. This was my chance to get out of my slumber and get going. I got dressed up, picked my sketching bag and left my apartment. My Uber was quick to arrive and I hopped onto it, full of excitement to finally leave my apartment after a whole week. The driver was a friendly man  and in a minute we started chit-chatting and I soon learned that he was in his fifties, and of Kenyan descent. 

Soon we hit Mercer Street. The traffic was kinda big, somewhat unusual for a Saturday afternoon. I wondered if there was a game going on that night in Seattle. He casually replied, "No, just people moving around, because they have a car." And that's how the whole conversation started about his dissatisfaction with American lifestyle in general. He did not approve of how people are always busy, overwork during weekdays and are busy doing high intensity activities in the weekend, only to return to the busy life the next day. Because of overworking, they tend to age quicker and look older than their age, he observed. Cultural norms such as kids leaving to be on their own at teenage, old people being left at old age care, people paying for themselves when having family dinners at restaurants, bothered him. He went on to tell fond memories of him and his family, how he and his brothers regularly meetup for dinner and have a great time bonding and sharing, how everybody is eager to pay and treat others, how parents nurture kids till they are self-sustaining, and kids care for parents in their old age. He had smile on his face and excitement in his voice while talking about this.

After a week of starving in-person conversation, I just devoured in all he had to say. I did have some opinions that were against his, but after a few unconvincing attempts, I decided to stop and learn his perspective. Once my journey ended, I wished him a good time with his family and a nice weekend, and walked into the park that was a magnificent panorama of lush green hills, glowing downtown and glorious evening. Everything was so dramatic and colors were changing so quickly! After walking around the park for a bit, I found a dry corner, and got into painting the panoramic view in front of me. It was already night by the time I was done. I headed back and requested for another Uber. This time the driver had an interesting and unfamiliar name.

Turns out, I was not the only one. The driver was curious about my name too. After exchanging meanings of our names, I learned that the driver's doctor had given him this name after his birth. He was born in Albania and moved with his parents to USA later. He has close relatives in Albania, and he goes back and forth often. He wanted to know if I have good friends here and if I like it here. As the conversations got rolling, I asked him, "What do you miss about Albania?" And he promptly said, "Food. The meat here is not as rich in taste as there. So the dishes are not as delicious. Everything is prepackaged and preprocessed, that it loses its freshness." I agreed. I find the vegetables in USA to be much bigger in size and diluted in taste. He said his dad has his own garden and the produce from it tastes so good; much better than the supermarket food. I asked him if he likes to do gardening and then we got diverted into his life in Seattle and Seattle in general. When he dropped me off near my apartment, I showed my painting to him and he was happy to see it. After getting off the car on a happy note, I came back home with a sense of "I had a good day today!".

Now that I sat down to write after a long gap, I thought to myself, both these conversations had a nostalgia about one's motherland. We leave our homeland to another place to seek for something that is missing at home. But a faint scent of longing remains. There is always something that brings up nostalgia, that instantly transports to our homeland in our head, a childlike wish that the things we loved about our homeland were with us.

 What is your nostalgia about your motherland?

A tale of perfumes

I was excited about going to the Saturday meetup today. I had not been to the meetup in a long time and was looking forward to it. As a result, I got up early, freshened up, packed up my stuff, and was all ready to go out instead of sleeping in and having a dull start to  the weekend. I hurried down to the entrance of the apartment building as I had only 1 minute before my cab arrived.

Luckily, the car just pulled over right in front of the gate I just came out of the building. Talk about perfect timing! I opened the cab door while feeling happy about the timing. And Bam! My nose was flooded with a strong sweet scent of a kind. It was nice though. I complimented the driver, "Your cab smells nice, what scent is it?" expecting him to tell some flower's name. But he said, "Oh, it is the perfume of the passenger I dropped off right before picking you up!" We both laughed. That was unexpected!

I wondered, "Did he tell what perfume it was?" The driver said, "Yes, he said it was Chanel. And I was like, damn.... I just finished my bottle a few days ago, and why didn't mine smell so good! I only recently changed into Giorgio Armani." Then he showed me a tiny perfume bottle and asked me to smell it. I sprayed a little on my wrist. The smell was too strong, and I immediately pulled my face away from my wrist. As I handed the bottle back to him I said, "It is pretty strong!" Then he joked, "Don't go home with this, otherwise your husband will suspect you , why you are wearing a male perfume!" and laughed. I was amused thinking to myself, "Oh! interesting. I never thought like that. I can't believe I am having this weird conversation!". I told him, "Oh, so I need to wipe it off before I go home?" He was concerned, "When will you be back home?" I said, "Don't worry. I won't be back till late in the day." He seemed to relax a little bit. 

He perked up immediately though and told me, "Well, you should wear perfume every now and then, you know, to feel ..." and jiggled up to imply "to feel nice/cool/sexy". "...but not these ones, they are male perfumes, and pretty strong." I asked, "Do you recommend any to me?" He said something like "Chloe" (confirmed after further research). I thought, "Point noted, Sir."

Then I went on saying how I don't like perfumes because of the loud smell, and he went on how perfumes should smell, and how they should make you feel, and did the jiggling again. The dude surely was really really passionate about perfumes. He mentioned different price ranges, and kinds of perfumes. He also mentioned how some perfumes like Burberry give him headache and he does not like them.

Soon, my destination came. My driver told me, "See you again" as I left the perfumed car out into ordinary mundane world. I giggled and smiled at myself for having this weird and amusing experience. I can't believe I learned so much about perfumes in mere 15 minutes than I had learned in my entire life.

I am still smiling ear to ear and I will always remember this experience every time I talk about perfume, buy a perfume, or walk through an isle of perfume in any shop.

Well,

Dear Cab Driver,

thanks for perfuming up my morning. I am up for a happy long weekend for sure.

 

my crude take on struggles of feminism: USA vs India

Yesterday, I had to rush to somewhere, so I took a cab for a short distance. The cab driver was Kenyan and seemed to be a gentleman. I have observed that my conversations with the cab drivers with middle-eastern or African origin tend to start with them saying, "Are you Indian?" (I can almost hear them saying it.) and the conversation flows from there. He did educate me about the history of Indian immigration in Kenya apart from discussing about Seattle weather, places in America, and immigrant life. As the discussion casually meandered through different topics, he said, and I am quoting here to the best of my memory, "You know, I have observed that in America, women are really in a fight against men, but that is not the case in other places." I did not have an answer to that. At the same time, I had arrived at my destination, so I had to get down. But the last piece of conversation lingered behind.

Now if we come to think of it, why is it so, really? I have not gathered enough information or evidence regarding this to come to a strong conclusion.

It is true that India is much more misogynist as a society, and more open and unapologetic about it. A woman has to fight it in so many complex layers. It is also true that there are outright vocal groups like Gulab gang taking strong aggressive actions against misogyny. On the other hand, I do feel safer in USA than India. Many Indian women have shared the opinion that safety is one of the most important reasons for them staying back in USA. It's true that when I am in bus, I do not think twice before taking a seat next to a man, whereas in India I would be in utter panic throughout the time if I had to. When I am interacting with men, I do not find them staring at my boobs and be unapologetic about it. I walk around after dark much more comfortably not worrying about my life. 

Yet something is fundamentally missing here. I do realise that there is a strong lack of female role models here. In India, we have a lot of role models to follow starting from strong female leaders, and strong females in family such as mothers and grandmothers playing the role of matriarchs. Women in these roles are admired by people from both genders. I think American society is missing that. While there is a lot of talk and awareness about feminism, women empowerment, certainly more than India, it somehow does not seem to be enough. There is a negative attitude like ridicule, and dismissal, to a point where a woman will almost end up questioning her own experiences.

Despite all the misogyny in all different levels in India, I was never dismissed as a person. I never found my voice drowning in noise. Here I do see that tendency to dismiss. One has to put extra effort to make people to realize that "I exist", "I have an opinion that matters". For a long time, I thought it may have to do with my own personality, but when I shared with other women, I realized it is a battle everyone is fighting in their own different way.

I agree, I need to dig deeper to understand this attitude of American society. Still, I can firmly say that the advantage of Indian society is that the misogyny women experience in India is blatant, bare, and right in front of us. So every women is strongly aware of it. She knows who is her enemy and what it looks like. Although the complexity and nuanced nature of the issue imposes a big challenge, it does help us women to make a conscious or subconscious choice between whether to deal with it, or fight it; be vocal about it, or let our actions speak. 

In USA, strict law and order system, and perhaps some social norms ( that I am not aware about yet) ensures women's safety and general respect. One can see women in almost all types of jobs working with pride. I think the problem of enormous amount of complexity that comes with an ancient and hierarchical society like India is also not present here. Yet the tendency to dismiss and the sense of insecurity regarding treating a woman as a person remains prevalent and much more subtly so. When you do not know what is your enemy, it is tough to make a sophisticated choice. I guess it may be one of the reasons why women had to (or have to) declare an open fight against men or patriarchy.

If we put it metaphorically, let us imagine two people who are causing harm to you. You know the first person won't listen to any sensible rational conversation. Either they will dismiss you or they will try to sabotage you. What would you do? Suffer silently, or wage an open war. But you find hope that you can find a solution to your problem with the second person possibly through dialog, or bending rules, or manipulation, or by just outgrowing them. Then you won't feel the urgency to put up an open fight, and at the same time you will have the courage to protect and nourish your cause.

I know my analysis  and conclusion are crude, but I hope this encourages people to consider the matter instead of jumping into conclusion about people, norms, and society as feminazy, MCP and other derogatory terms.

Well, signing off while thanking my cab driver for making me think over the topic.

 

 

The two countries - Persia and Iran

It was a Saturday afternoon. I went to the Indian store for grocery shopping. Since the Indian store is far from my home, I tend to go there once in a few months with a long list and load my cart with bags. So after my tiresome grocery experience, I called for cab. When I met the cab driver, it was mildly awkward. The driver looked white, his name (from my app) sounded like an African name, and his attitude was like an Indian man (read tashan). Unlike typical drivers, he did not greet me with great enthusiasm or any follow up conversations. I won't lie if I say I resented that he did not help me with my luggage, although he helped in holding the cart. It was not unpleasant, but something not usual either. I got into the cab, turned my GPS on, texted my friend to be online just in case. A few minutes passed in silence. It was bothering me. So I decided, "Enough. Start talking." And I asked him, "mmm...huh....am sorry, but I am not sure if I pronounced your name correctly. How do you pronounce your name?" Then he said his name. It is actually two names, that the app joined together as one. Now it made sense. The name was an Arabic name. It resembled a Pakistani singer, but I could not recall his face. So I got lost in thought. Then he quickly added, "It is like the name of a famous Pakistani singer." I agreed, "Yes, that's what I was thinking".

Now, my other confusion started. So he is a muslim. He looks like he is white. He is not excited at me being obviously Indian. So he might be anywhere from Pakistan to west Asia. He spoke of the singer admirably, but he did not have the same pride as a Pakistani would about the singer. Then where is he from?

Well, this time it did not take me long. I asked and he replied, "I am from Iran." I was relieved, for it gave a rest to my confusion. Now my mind shifted from being confused to being curious. I told him that I have met a lot of Iranian people in my grad school and made a few good friends. I asked him if he is doing ok with the situation that arose thanks to the recent elections. He said with great confidence, "Ya...ya. It's all good. I have my green card. So I do not have to worry. But if Trump decides to send me back, I will ask him to book a first class flight ticket for my country. He is like a family friend.", and laughed. Then the conversation started flowing. We exchanged our experiences and opinions on life in USA, life as expatriates, what we miss about our home country etc, etc. 

Then the interesting part came. I asked, "How do Americans react when they know you are from Iran?" He said with his typical tashan, "See, I don't tell them right away. I tell them I am from two countries. First, I was in Persia. ". We both paused. Then he continued, "Then I became citizen of Iran. So I am from both Persia and Iran."  I was like "What, they did not get it?!" And he said, "Nope." I laughed hard. That joke, just made my day :)

He continued, "When they hear Persia, they think it is some country in the eastern Europe. Even though they don't know, they are afraid to ask. So if I ask, 'Have you heard of it?', they say, a weak yes. But when they hear Iran, they get shocked. " I was admiring his wit! I asked, "Well, do you reveal them at all?" He said, "Sometimes yes. I tell them after some time, 'Do you know Persia and Iran are the same countries?' " and laughed. This time his laughter had a tone of seriousness and irritation that such memories brought him. 

Then he went on the ignorance about the world in American education, how people change their names when they move here, or try to ape American culture, and forget their own culture... and many other topics. I agreed with some, defended some,  was clueless about some, and tried to fill my G.K. tank with some other topics.

When I reached home, he not only helped me with my luggage, but stopped and waited in his car until I entered my apartment.

The cab driver from Somalia

I had to take a cab one afternoon. It was a high traffic period. So in order to kill time me and my cab driver started talking. He was a nice gentleman in his 50s probably. Thanks to him I had a smooth ride and I reached on time. The conversation that followed the next 30 minutes or so was interesting. It made me peep into a different thought process, gave me an idea about different world. I am going to put down excerpts of the conversation. It may hurt peoples' religious, national sentiments and historical knowledge in general. So caution to orthodox or chauvinist people: do not read it ;). Since the conversation was a revelation to me about many aspects, I do not have any opinions about the conversation. I think it will take me long time to form an opinion about the subjects and for time being, I want to just grasp the facts with an awe. So I have decided to put them as I heard, as accurate as my memory allows me. 

• The person has been in Boston for more than 20 years. He traveled here from Somalia long back and has been driving taxis since then. 
• He had to appear a driving test for license renewal purpose one hour after dropping. He was sure that he would qualify. He likes to sit in class because  he likes to learn. But nothing to worry, since everyone knows him in the class due to his experience.
• He was looking forward to get his license renewed, so that he can drive his own taxi.
• He has family and kids back in Somalia. They moved there from Boston, so that the kids can afford cheap high school education.
• He guessed that I am Indian (damn, we are so conspicuous!) and was curious if I was Muslim. When I said No, he was a little disappointed, nevertheless happy that he met an Indian.
• They are 15 siblings, and the youngest of them studied at Northeastern University and is doing a decent job.
• They are from the northern part of Somalia. It is a nice place, with mountains and people live a peaceful life there.
• But there is a war going on in south of Somalia, and that upsets him. According to him, it all can stop if people will communicate and just ask "What do you want?" (I remember clearly, how he moved his hand in a gesture of enquiry.)
• It is very easy for them to find job in north of Somalia. If they do not get job, it is a matter of 8 hours to travel to Saudi Arabia, Yemen or Oman, where jobs are plenty..
• Somalia was a Italian colony during 1940s, at the time of the Mussolini regime.
• It was better in Somalia during Mussolini's regime than it is now. Mussolini was a good guy. People may say many things, but he was a good guy.
• In fact, Mussolini and Hitler, all these people were good.
• (I did object that Hitler killed many people, how can he be good?). He admired  Hitler for being  a tough guy.  He killed only Jewish people. So that's okay.
• If Prophet Mohammad is father, then Ibrahim is like their grandfather. He was a muslim.
• Ibrahim, Prophet Mohammad, Jesus, Jewish people, Christian people all were actually Muslim people. Now Jewish are against Muslims, they claim that Ibrahim is theirs. 
• He thinks Indian education is good, and people get really good education in India. (He was curious why did I have to move to USA).
• He admires Indian people, since they are smart and hardworking and nice, especially smart women who are independent. It makes him feel good about his own kids. It is a treat for him to give ride to Indians. (he seemed to have some nice prior experience with Indians).

An encounter with the taxi driver of Kolkata

I got down in the airport. As advised by my friend Kaustuv here, who is from Kolkata, I went to the prepaid counter, booked a taxi for myself, followed the directions to reach the taxi stand. There as I got the taxi assigned to me, to thin men approached me. I was this woman holding a big laptop bag and a trolly bag alone. I must be looking like a easy shikar to them. Being used to the behavior of people at Chennai and Hyderabad, I thought one is the taxi driver and the other is the helper. The guy who looked like the helper snatched my bag, and placed it in the taxi, I said thanks and got into the taxi. As soon as I entered, he asked me money for chai pani !! I was like why??? And he would not move! I then told myself,'Girl! Don't forget! You are in Kolkata!' and paid him some money...

I was told that there are two ways to ISI, my destination, one through DumDum, a long, slow route through the old city with narrow streets, the other one through an expressway, faster, shorter and quicker... I made it clear to him to go through that way.

But suddenly I see, we are entering a really narrow street! I was confused.. When I confronted him, he said, he was entering into DumDum! I was like hell! And after that, the kind of arguments he put forth to defend himself why he wants to go through that way were amazing!!! Even while writing them down, I am boiling! x-( A few of them are, "Because people like you are unwilling to pay little bit extra money, we are not getting to fill our stomach!", "Expressway is longer one, and is longer by some 600 meters than DumDum route, and because of which, I will charge 50 Rupees extra if you demand any further to take that way!".... And he was unwilling to stop and turn back!  In the end, I had to say firmly, " Take through the expressway and I am not going to pay a single paisa extra to you for anything." And finally, he somehow managed to get himself out of those streets and join the expressway...

I was astonished! How my morning turned out to be, how I could have lost in the busy traffic of Dumdum and how was about to miss my conference, how miserable I was feeling while arguing with that old taxi driver and how irritating the city of Kolkata is.. I was resentful on this bad treatment of the city to me ... and at the same time, was slightly excited for being able to successfully argue with a Bengali Taxi Driver in Kolkata!