My husband and I decided to celebrate the start of our beautiful journey by plunking ourselves into a different situation, a different land, hoping to learn just as much about each other as we hoped to learn about another culture.
And thus began an unforgettable holiday experience in Spain. We spent most of our days sharing interesting meals, including a melange of tapas complemented by the incredibly refreshing Valgas. We drank in the exultation of being a brand new couple; we shared laughters, mimicked Spanish phrases in their rather dramatic accent and fell in love with each other and our warm and exotic environs. Of course, as any extended vacation goes, we sometimes got weary from the long walks, or lost the appreciation for our almost neurotic, but genius, scheme of cutting costs. Allow me to explain. When we started planning our much-awaited holiday, we discovered that we both have a fetish for art, food and drink, and culture. Hence, we decided that in order to fritter away our hard-earned money on experiences that we'll carry within ourselves forever, whether it is on an obscenely expensive wine in Botin or the dance of death choreographed flawlessly by the toreador at a bullfight, or Goya's black paintings at Prado museum, we will have to really economize on commuting and food. We followed a very strict No-Cab policy, and went boorishly bonkers on complimentary breakfast buffets (so it can get us through the good half of the day).
But one day, the long promenade to our hotel literally seemed like a bridge too far, especially after devouring an entire pitcher of sangria and this food-of-god quality Paella platter that's still etched into my memory. My husband took one look at my face, felt the crumbling weight of exhaustion on his feet and the pressing urge to crash into our velvety king-size bed, and darted his hand out in gesture for a cab. No language barriers there. A cab screeched to a halt in front of us. We almost raced each other into it and were cozying into each other's arms when the cab driver looked back at us and greeted us warmly, "Namaste! Where can I take you today?" I kind of did a double take when I heard the word, "Namaste" and I searched his voice and face, in as overt a way as I could, to determine where he's from. He wasn't Indian. He wasn't European. Something in his look activated all my racial profiling sensors, as much as I hate to admit that. His facial hair, pointed nose, deep-set eyes, hoarse accent all suggested that he's from one of the Arab countries.
Thanks to all the media stereotyping of Arabs, I sort of started panicking. What if we get embroiled into a drug racket, or worse, become lifeless hostages for some ridiculously unachievable expectation of a delusional Jihadi fanatic? Yea, I know...I wasn't thinking straight.
So anyway, against all odds, we got talking.
This is what I recollect of the conversation, and the thoughts running through my mind (in italics):
Sumit [who can't help being his friendly self despite having suffered distinct elbow nudges from a frantic wife]: "Please take us to Regina hotel, my friend. I'm so glad to hear a bit of Hindi in this foreign land."
Oh please, like we didn't bump into Desis every step of the way in this "alien land"!
Cab Driver [his next words proving that he doesn't really speak any Hindi]: "Hum ko Hindi aata thoda thoda!" (I can speak a bit of Hindi.)
Sumit: "Oh, how's that? Any connections with India?"
Why can't he just politely say OK and keep to himself? Why's he giving more material to potential evidence against us!
Cab Driver: "Haan ji...My ex-girlfriend is Indian. I love everything about India."
Oh-kay then....Solves the big mystery...Now just drive along.
Sumit: "Oh well done! I can't imagine that would've have gone down too well with her parents." [laughs]
Not a good time to be making jokes. They may be known for many things. Having a sense of humor is not among them. Hellooo!
Cab Driver [laughing hysterically]: "Yes, you know how Indian parents are. That's why we broke up. But total respect for her keeping the traditions."
Sumit: "So what else do you know about India? And Indians of course?"
That Indians are emotional fools and they can be easily distracted by long conversations while I try to steer them away into their isolated hideout.
Cab Driver: "Know what? I have a surprise for you."
Oh God! Now look what you did. You pissed him off by your intrusive questions!
Me [shutting my eyes and chanting to myself in a low tone]: "Please don't let us die here, please don't let us...."
My heart skips a beat and I promptly open my eyes, when suddenly, I hear, on full blast, "Tere mast mast do nain" from Dabangg.
Sumit [cheering loudly and frowning at me for my psychotic behavior]: "Whoah! It's one of my favorites. That's the last thing I ever expected to hear on a Spanish cab ride! Where did you get this from?"
Cab Driver: "I knew you'd like this! I have all Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs. And this one I love. Because I have a lot of respect for Salman Khan."
I don't know what to think. We're in Barcelona! Our cab driver respects Salman Khan. He even appreciates ace Bollywood singers! And above all, he's not a terrorist! Terrorists don't listen to soothing romantic songs. They'd be the more head-banging heavy metals type, I think.
Me [waking up to reality and exclaiming]: "Wow, really! You know Salman Khan? Your ex was a big fan?"
Cab Driver [taken aback by my voice]: "Yes, ma'am. My ex made me watch a lot of Hindi movies. And I love all Salman Khan movies. Da-bang, Maine Piyar Keeya, and the one with the pretty lady with a husband...I forget the name..."
Me: "Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam?"
Cab Driver: "Exactly! That was really nice! Indian ladies never leave their husbands. Very good!"
Me [looking at Sumit]: "Oh, don't get too relaxed, dear. That's only a movie!"
Sumit [winking]: "I still have hope then."
Cab Driver: "Ha ha ha..."
And thus the conversation continued. He went on to introduce us to some Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs that we'd never even heard. He spoke about Indian food and customs, even politics, expressing his marked vehemence for Manmohan Singh, the prime minister of India at that time.
That cab ride was an eye-opener at many levels. I really did feel ashamed of myself for contributing to racial stereotyping, considering it's something that I had constantly defended myself against two decades ago, as a kid in Uganda, when India was a mystic land of elephants and snake-charmers to foreigners, and Indian curries were too hot to be handled.
But what a remarkable journey it has been for our motherland and its people ever since! When a few decades ago, it was considered propitious to find a job opportunity abroad and embrace the way of the West, Indians are now not only homeward bound but they're creating a Little India of their own, wherever they are. They are moving away from their avant-garde western ways to soak up and promote the traditional, erstwhile glories of India. And with consequence. For India and the Indian way of life is slowly ingraining itself into the subconscious mind of foreigners, even in the remote corners of the globe, whether it is through opening to the world a deeply spiritual pathway offered by ancient yoga and meditation, or through its shuddh desi comfort food, including Dal Makhani and Saag Paneer bringing bright summer to a bleak European afternoon, or even bedazzling maang teekas and bindis finding their hot spot on French international runways.What more, the recent awe-inspiring feat of successfully sending a spacecraft into orbit around Mars, on a shoestring that too—well, a rickshaw ride in Mumbai is more expensive—proves that India is pulling out all stops to reach for the stars, quite literally.
What's helping us tint the globe in tri-colors is the restoration of pride in being Indian and the undying zeal to break stereotypes. Our Prime Minister, Narendri Modi, at the head of driving this revolution, captures this sentiment through an anecdote about how, decades ago, he was asked by a Taiwanese engineer if India is still a land of snake charmers. He smiled and said, "India has moved on from being a country of snake-charmers to a country of mouse-charmers. Indian youngsters now play with the mouse."
If only I could have foreseen this as a growing kid in Africa, I'd have the ultimate come-back. I can't help recalling the millionth time a school kid had mimicked my allegedly singsong Indian accent. If only they could do it one more time. I'd have said, "Laugh today. Take notes tomorrow."
And thus began an unforgettable holiday experience in Spain. We spent most of our days sharing interesting meals, including a melange of tapas complemented by the incredibly refreshing Valgas. We drank in the exultation of being a brand new couple; we shared laughters, mimicked Spanish phrases in their rather dramatic accent and fell in love with each other and our warm and exotic environs. Of course, as any extended vacation goes, we sometimes got weary from the long walks, or lost the appreciation for our almost neurotic, but genius, scheme of cutting costs. Allow me to explain. When we started planning our much-awaited holiday, we discovered that we both have a fetish for art, food and drink, and culture. Hence, we decided that in order to fritter away our hard-earned money on experiences that we'll carry within ourselves forever, whether it is on an obscenely expensive wine in Botin or the dance of death choreographed flawlessly by the toreador at a bullfight, or Goya's black paintings at Prado museum, we will have to really economize on commuting and food. We followed a very strict No-Cab policy, and went boorishly bonkers on complimentary breakfast buffets (so it can get us through the good half of the day).
But one day, the long promenade to our hotel literally seemed like a bridge too far, especially after devouring an entire pitcher of sangria and this food-of-god quality Paella platter that's still etched into my memory. My husband took one look at my face, felt the crumbling weight of exhaustion on his feet and the pressing urge to crash into our velvety king-size bed, and darted his hand out in gesture for a cab. No language barriers there. A cab screeched to a halt in front of us. We almost raced each other into it and were cozying into each other's arms when the cab driver looked back at us and greeted us warmly, "Namaste! Where can I take you today?" I kind of did a double take when I heard the word, "Namaste" and I searched his voice and face, in as overt a way as I could, to determine where he's from. He wasn't Indian. He wasn't European. Something in his look activated all my racial profiling sensors, as much as I hate to admit that. His facial hair, pointed nose, deep-set eyes, hoarse accent all suggested that he's from one of the Arab countries.
Thanks to all the media stereotyping of Arabs, I sort of started panicking. What if we get embroiled into a drug racket, or worse, become lifeless hostages for some ridiculously unachievable expectation of a delusional Jihadi fanatic? Yea, I know...I wasn't thinking straight.
So anyway, against all odds, we got talking.
This is what I recollect of the conversation, and the thoughts running through my mind (in italics):
Sumit [who can't help being his friendly self despite having suffered distinct elbow nudges from a frantic wife]: "Please take us to Regina hotel, my friend. I'm so glad to hear a bit of Hindi in this foreign land."
Oh please, like we didn't bump into Desis every step of the way in this "alien land"!
Cab Driver [his next words proving that he doesn't really speak any Hindi]: "Hum ko Hindi aata thoda thoda!" (I can speak a bit of Hindi.)
Sumit: "Oh, how's that? Any connections with India?"
Why can't he just politely say OK and keep to himself? Why's he giving more material to potential evidence against us!
Cab Driver: "Haan ji...My ex-girlfriend is Indian. I love everything about India."
Oh-kay then....Solves the big mystery...Now just drive along.
Sumit: "Oh well done! I can't imagine that would've have gone down too well with her parents." [laughs]
Not a good time to be making jokes. They may be known for many things. Having a sense of humor is not among them. Hellooo!
Cab Driver [laughing hysterically]: "Yes, you know how Indian parents are. That's why we broke up. But total respect for her keeping the traditions."
Sumit: "So what else do you know about India? And Indians of course?"
That Indians are emotional fools and they can be easily distracted by long conversations while I try to steer them away into their isolated hideout.
Cab Driver: "Know what? I have a surprise for you."
Oh God! Now look what you did. You pissed him off by your intrusive questions!
Me [shutting my eyes and chanting to myself in a low tone]: "Please don't let us die here, please don't let us...."
My heart skips a beat and I promptly open my eyes, when suddenly, I hear, on full blast, "Tere mast mast do nain" from Dabangg.
Sumit [cheering loudly and frowning at me for my psychotic behavior]: "Whoah! It's one of my favorites. That's the last thing I ever expected to hear on a Spanish cab ride! Where did you get this from?"
Cab Driver: "I knew you'd like this! I have all Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs. And this one I love. Because I have a lot of respect for Salman Khan."
I don't know what to think. We're in Barcelona! Our cab driver respects Salman Khan. He even appreciates ace Bollywood singers! And above all, he's not a terrorist! Terrorists don't listen to soothing romantic songs. They'd be the more head-banging heavy metals type, I think.
Me [waking up to reality and exclaiming]: "Wow, really! You know Salman Khan? Your ex was a big fan?"
Cab Driver [taken aback by my voice]: "Yes, ma'am. My ex made me watch a lot of Hindi movies. And I love all Salman Khan movies. Da-bang, Maine Piyar Keeya, and the one with the pretty lady with a husband...I forget the name..."
Me: "Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam?"
Cab Driver: "Exactly! That was really nice! Indian ladies never leave their husbands. Very good!"
Me [looking at Sumit]: "Oh, don't get too relaxed, dear. That's only a movie!"
Sumit [winking]: "I still have hope then."
Cab Driver: "Ha ha ha..."
And thus the conversation continued. He went on to introduce us to some Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs that we'd never even heard. He spoke about Indian food and customs, even politics, expressing his marked vehemence for Manmohan Singh, the prime minister of India at that time.
That cab ride was an eye-opener at many levels. I really did feel ashamed of myself for contributing to racial stereotyping, considering it's something that I had constantly defended myself against two decades ago, as a kid in Uganda, when India was a mystic land of elephants and snake-charmers to foreigners, and Indian curries were too hot to be handled.
But what a remarkable journey it has been for our motherland and its people ever since! When a few decades ago, it was considered propitious to find a job opportunity abroad and embrace the way of the West, Indians are now not only homeward bound but they're creating a Little India of their own, wherever they are. They are moving away from their avant-garde western ways to soak up and promote the traditional, erstwhile glories of India. And with consequence. For India and the Indian way of life is slowly ingraining itself into the subconscious mind of foreigners, even in the remote corners of the globe, whether it is through opening to the world a deeply spiritual pathway offered by ancient yoga and meditation, or through its shuddh desi comfort food, including Dal Makhani and Saag Paneer bringing bright summer to a bleak European afternoon, or even bedazzling maang teekas and bindis finding their hot spot on French international runways.What more, the recent awe-inspiring feat of successfully sending a spacecraft into orbit around Mars, on a shoestring that too—well, a rickshaw ride in Mumbai is more expensive—proves that India is pulling out all stops to reach for the stars, quite literally.
What's helping us tint the globe in tri-colors is the restoration of pride in being Indian and the undying zeal to break stereotypes. Our Prime Minister, Narendri Modi, at the head of driving this revolution, captures this sentiment through an anecdote about how, decades ago, he was asked by a Taiwanese engineer if India is still a land of snake charmers. He smiled and said, "India has moved on from being a country of snake-charmers to a country of mouse-charmers. Indian youngsters now play with the mouse."
If only I could have foreseen this as a growing kid in Africa, I'd have the ultimate come-back. I can't help recalling the millionth time a school kid had mimicked my allegedly singsong Indian accent. If only they could do it one more time. I'd have said, "Laugh today. Take notes tomorrow."
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