The Warriors Of Emerald City: Part I - Touchdown

April 23^rd  2001, the date will be etched in my memory forever. That day my life changed. I had no prescience how my life was going to shape up in the following years, but as the plane touched down at Bangalore International Airport my tummy churned. I had a heavy feeling in my heart and wished I was not here. I was going to miss the summers of Oxford. When the snow melted and white turned to green a sense of joy flooded into the lives of people. Flowers would begin to bloom in the backyard and the air always smelled sweet. After the long harsh dull winter the sun’s warm rays made everything around us glitter. Well I was already missing the barbeque's and the endless games of football followed by ice cream. I missed my friends. I missed everything about England.

As the plane taxied to a halt I looked at mom and dad sitting on either side of me. Both of them had a smile on their face. They seemed as excited as a newlywed couple.

“ Mom when will be go back to England?” I asked. I had tormented her during the nine hour flight with questions about making the journey and she was visibility irritated by now.

“Maybe in a year or two Daniel. Maybe even Grandpa and grandma can visit us next year. Am sure you are going to enjoy here darling” she said.

Well I doubt that, I told myself. I somehow had an uneasy feeling about being here. Life is always unfair to a ten year old. Decisions were just thrust upon us and we had to obey like slaves. We had no choices. I sometimes felt like the house-elf from Harry Potter novels. As we waited for the baggage to arrive, I so wished our suitcases would to be lost. I also wished my dad would hate his job here. Mom to get a terrible flu. No school to accept me. But then, wishes of children are never granted and we have to make do with what we get in our lives. I have to wait another eight more years to be considered an adult. Then I could have my own apartment, choose my own clothes, have a girlfriend and make my own life.  Till then I guess my choice is limited to tagging along.

As we stepped out of the airport, I felt the heat tearing into my skin. The decibel levels raised and there were swarms of people waiting near the exit. The stench made me nauseous and the world around me began to spin.

“ Are you all right Daniel? Is it too hot? Maybe you should take off your jacket. You will not need it here,’ my dad said pointing to the jacket.  I removed my jacket and tied it around my waist. We got into a waiting taxi  which looked worse than grandpa’s old Rover. As the taxi moved the doors rattled and with every gear shift there was a shudder. The seats were brown in color and I was not sure if it was due to dirt or if it  was the original color of the seats.

“It will take about 30 minutes to reach your apartment sir,” said the driver to my dad.  My dad merely nodded in response.

As we rolled down narrow roads, the ride got bumpier. Big red and white buses spewed out black smoke and they resembled a monster. I had never seen so many cars and motorbikes in my life. There were also numerous 3-wheeled yellow and white buggy shaped vehicles that squeezed between vehicles. They emitted a funny sound and drew the ire of our taxi driver. He constantly spat abuses in his native language and as he did so the spit from his mouth flew out in all directions. The city appeared overloaded with people and I counted up to 5 people on a scooter. We stopped at numerous signals and the moment the light turned red  people jumped from all directions in front of vehicles. At the first signal a boy about my age wearing torn clothes  knocked at the window and put his hand forward.  He stared at me for a minute and then quietly moved on. I could see some people giving him coins while others shooed him away. He did not seem to mind and just went about his business. At first I was confused but then it struck me. He was a beggar!   I saw more of them  at traffic signals – men limping, women carrying children, disabled and limbless people.

“Mom, why are these people begging?” I asked.

“ They don’t have enough money Dan. They cannot go to work and are homeless.”

“Well I thought India was a big country and there is place for all,” I said.

“There is place for all. It is just that not all people have money. So it is up to us to help the needy,”  said mom.

Before I could say something the taxi got off the main road and entered a narrow lane leading to a  twin tower building standing at the end of it. The last time I had seen a twin tower was on a school trip to London.  As we approached a big red gate we were stopped by a guard. He wore blue colored pants and shirts, had a big moustache and a whistle dangling from his shirt. He peered inside the taxi and exchanged a few words with the driver. As he let us pass he gave a grand salute. I had only seen guards at the Buckingham palace do that and couldn’t help but chuckle. We went around a fountain which had the words “Welcome To Emerald City”  below it.

To be continued..

The Colors of A ‘True’ Indian

Blue is the color of the season. With cricket gripping the country tightly in its clutches, young and old alike are glued to television sets and praying for their heroes to emerge victorious. However, I must confess that I am not an ardent fan of cricket. I still fail to understand how two teams after toiling for five long days to outwit each other could shake hands and call it a ‘draw’.  Though the game has evolved over the last decade to attract new segments of viewers and move beyond its conventional realms, people like me have not become a convert.  In school, I had three games to choose from: football, field hockey and basket ball. I chose football for the simple fact that that the rules were uncomplicated, did not have to invest in expensive gear and could settle my personal scores with classmates the legal way. As I grew up football became my passion and cricket the distant cousin.

When the cricket World Cup got underway last week and with India beginning their hopeful campaign of winning it, the television set at home has been tuned to only one channel 24/7. I have had to literally fight for my right to view my favorite channels. In the end I have managed to get control of the remote not for the valor exhibited but more due to sympathy. In addition the constant ranting of statistics, team strategies and opinions has added salt to the wound. Needless to say the women have had a tougher time and I am sure the TRP ratings of those never ending over dramatized soaps have plummeted. I have also been branded as not being a ‘true’ Indian for not following the game or even trying to understand it. Well that said I have so far managed to hold my ground in whatever little way possible.

Cricket though not being our national sport and having its roots in English history runs in the veins of every Indian. Our forefathers acquired taste for the game during pre Independence era and subsequent generations have embraced it zealously. Surprisingly today the biggest revenue markets for the game are the countries in the sub-continent. Cricket is also the second most popular sport, in terms of viewership, in the world behind football. So yes, the game does unite us and adds to the color of being an Indian. But that said, India is a pluralistic society and other vibrant colors also define who we really are.

Blue – Blue often represents the human emotion of sadness. ‘Monday Blues’ is something we are all well aware off. However in the Indian context Blue signifies happiness and optimism. Most logos of Indian companies would have a touch of a blue in them. Be it any sport, Indian sportsperson turn up in blue and likewise the spectators. The color is synonymous with cricket in the country. However in recent times the Indian blue has been flying high in sports such as tennis, badminton, Formula 1, hockey and athletics. More often than not our prime ministers Pagri is also blue. The color signifies the spirit of India in all its forms.

Saffron – In recent years the color and its band of followers have sent shivers down our spine. Saffron for people in ‘modern’ India is ironic to its mystic roots that symbolized India decades ago. Even the thought of saffron rekindles a sense of hatred and fear and the color metamorphosis itself into red in our minds. Answers to why and how this transformation occurred have been delved into before but have remained unanswered. The common man in India will never understand the layers of complexity weaved by politics, greed, religion and power that the color hides beneath its surface. At the most we can only look at the scars it has left in our lives and hope that the next generation is never lured by Saffron and its predicament.

White – the color symbolizes purity and selflessness. For us though the color is fused with the netas whom we have rightfully (and in most cases wrongly) elected to represent us. Am not sure who they end up representing, but most definitely it is not the people by whom they were elected. The attire they wear is white but it in no way represents their actions or words. Far from being role models to the next generation their every act beings a sense of ‘déjà vu’. We have somehow become immune to the viral ways of our netas and therein lies the impending downfall of our society. Statistics indicate that that less than 40% of the urban population in India vote during elections. As literates are we not responsible for the health of the political system? Well, if we want change to happen then we need to be ‘change agents’ ourselves.

Green – Agriculture accounts for about 18% of India’s GDP and employs over 60% of the population. Contrarily the famed IT industry accounts for about 5% of the GDP and employs less than 1% of the population. And yet we glorify the crumbs and conveniently forget the larger share. We are still an agrarian society and globalization is a non-existent term for over third the population that is tethered by poverty. Green is also the color of money.  Money that finds its path through crevices in every public office in the form of bribes; money that is plucked from the hands of deserved and used to fuel the greed of the rich; money that every child deserves for education but never gets; public money that every politician/bureaucrat splash on their whims; money that a family in doldrums of poverty strive for to have one square meal a day; money that creates a vast divide between the haves and have not’s in our country is represented by green.

In spite of the various colors that unite and divide us equally, we march on with great aspirations and hope. The color of a true Indian cannot be signified by just one shade. It’s the unique combination of different colors that makes us who we truly are.