The Return

On February 28th last year I had said my last goodbyes to those that had made my time in India so special. For two years (2008-2010) I had travelled, worked, and opened my eyes to so many new languages and cultures that when I finally left I did feel like I was leaving a piece of me behind. Which piece I don't yet know, but last time I checked I still had both my arms, legs and face. May be I had left a nail?

And so when you embrace a culture, peoples and surroundings so different to your own, you tend to have one of two reactions; either you take on the experience fully and become entwined within the locality of where you are or you do the absolute opposite and reject everything around you. I do believe that having some Indian heritage behind me probably helped me a lot to settle within the country, but India is a vast nation, full of different cultures within other sub-cultures, so to settle in a city where I knew none of the local languages or the customs of the people of the South was somewhat of a cultural shock for me.

Living amongst the people of Bangalore was "an experience". I did not live modestly within an expat community (most people that lived in my area were taxi drivers, independent businessmen or couriers), neither did I afford the luxury of having a driver, housemaid or cook. I did everything myself - cooking, cleaning, groceries. Apart from my ironing and washing (which made more sense giving it to a laundrette then attempting to dry my clothes on a little rack), I lived the just like a Kannadigan. The only difference was I dressed differently and spoke differently, but that didn't make a difference in the little town of JP Nagar 2nd Phase. Hidden within the large locality of Jayanagar (one of Bangalore's biggest residential areas) JP Nagar is as local as it gets. Everyone on every little dusty road knows one another. Sometimes this wasn't to your benefit of course, especially if someone knew something about someone else and started a game of Chinese Whispers. But each member of the community looked out for one another. I didn't at all feel like an outsider here. Sure people stare and wonder who you are (wouldn't you if a ripped jeans wearing tattoo donning fella with a strange accent starts buying groceries from your store yet doesn't wear the traditional combination of oversized shirt and trousers with yellow teeth from a beedi?)

There were times when I wondered if I should try learn the language, but my Hindi needed improving first to be perfectly honest, and through the use of friends and Bollywood films, I somehow managed to hold a decent conversation (even if I was slipping the odd Gujarati word in occasionally). This one time, I thought I should really make an effort with my clothing instead of my speech, so I purchased a lungi. Now if you don't know what a lungi is, its a long piece of fine cloth that you wrap around you almost like a skirt. Indians made this fashionable before David Beckham started walking around in a sarong. Its a regional garment of South India and is very comfortable (note: provides ample air conditioning). So, one Sunday morning I dressed myself in my brand new lungi, which had a green sartorial pattern draped across the seam. I don't know if your supposed to wear underwear with it, which was probably the part I got wrong. I was outside cleaning my porch and watering plants when my lungi decided to fall off! Yes, this beautiful silky garment fell off and slid down from my waist to the fall like it was a piece of red cloth slowly revealing a masterpiece in a Paris art gallery. Across from my balcony i heard a gasp, (because I didn't know at that moment it fell off), of my neighbour (who was also cleaning her porch). I wondered what was wrong with her, asthma attack maybe? But it dawned on me - I was commando in one of the most prudish places on Earth! I dropped my broom and ran through the door, lungi following behind me!

As much as one attempts to ensure they feel a part of the locals, sometimes you have to respect that you will be accepted and treated like one but you'll never be one. I think I should have stuck to jeans.

So next week, after watching the small matter of Arsenal v Barcelona at the Emirates, I will be going back to India for the first time after 1 year. What am I expecting? I really don't know. Will I be able to drink mosambi juice for 10RS (probably 15RS now) from Juice Corner just outside my old gym? Will I be able to haggle with rickshaw drivers in my broken Kannada language for a mere 20RS? What will my area look like now after 1 year of development? These are all questions that go through my mind as I write this blog post. The question now is, "Am I ready?"


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email me at ravin dot sampat at gmail.com