Indian

INDIAN

My sister who I stay with is my 24/7 surveillance camera. She thinks I am very Indian. She responds “gyaka gyaka” (too Indian Indian) to my mannerisms specially when I talk and act together with my light hands in the air. She thinks I am too ornate with my gesticulations, animated and expressive with my facial muscles according to the normal Tibetan girl standard. Oh well, she smiles once in a decade and laughs her lungs out with me only. So, I take it with a grain of salt.

My parents are happy with my friendships with Indians. Mum cooked for them in the heat of Chennai kitchen also.

My friends think I am a different Tibetan, tilting more towards the Indian traits but still remaining loyal to my Tibetaness.

My lecturers are confused and disappointed because I am Tibetan when they want me to behave and perform like the rest of my Indian classmates and I am Indian when they want me to weep like a helpless powerless refugee and carry a benign lord buddha’s smile.

I remain wilfully misconstrued at the expense of all these judgements. They say action speaks louder than words. My actions remain incomprehensible.

I speak in Tibetan, find more comfort writing in English, dance to Hindi songs, eat Tamilian food, my circle of friends include Tibetans, Indians viz tamil, malyali, kanadiga, and Srilankan etc. I am not sure if one will like the other individually and by that I don’t mean from one race or ethnicity to another. More like one person finding an interest in the other irrespective of race.
I can accommodate all of them.

I am Indian, I am their uninvited guest and been living here like its my home. And they have allowed me with great hospitality.
I am Indian, I think of spending winter in India after I go back Tibet.
I am Indian, I wish I can vote for the government who looks after me.
I am Indian, I wish I don’t have to leave India even if we get independence.
I am Indian, if Sachin Tendulkar is single, I will blindly marry him.
I am Indian, our grandfathers were in the Indian army and many youth still are.
I am Indian, its my idea of home.
I am Indian, quite naturally.

But I am Tibetan when I am asked which nationality because that is the identity I am deprived of.

And my Tibetanness has allowed me to be an Indian.

Normally I dont act upon my wishes

Normally I don’t act upon my wishes.
But today is little less than a miracle. I stopped and bought the whole bunch of roses from the street. White, yellow, red, shy pink and one more colour very beautiful. A poor lady with a happy face was accompanied by her husband. They were planted along with their flowers on the concrete pavement. It is not a very rare sight. Sometimes you might even see a bunch of kids hovering around them in other similar frames. But today they had not bothered me to buy and the lady moved her basket of roses away from me, giving me a way on the pavement.

I had eyed the brightest yellow from afar and in close, the most mellow red. After two steps ahead of the little garden in the concrete jungle. I paused, stopped and went back to smell the roses.
One, I picked the brightest rose, love at first sight yellow for my sister. And the second, a bashful red, she seemed lacking in confidence.

Don’t we often buy things for ourselves to be judged by others? A sweet yet light fragrant perfume so that the others don’t find it repulsive. Kurtis with nice handworks so that others can appreciate your taste , a luxury car to be envied by others etc.
I don’t know, it’s the era of reckless consumerism and people always want to appease other selves than yourself.
But today in those roses, I wanted to please my sister so that I will be happy.

And I broke the rule. I bought 23 of those roses all yellow, red, white, orange; the beautiful chaos. All held together by a thin white thread, with unpretentious leaves hung low and up, dried and green, living in harmony with the thorns, cushioning.
Each should cost 3 rs to me if I was not someone who takes bargaining as a survival kit and covertly enjoys winning over an argument. My modest Tamil punctuated with pleading smiles is a charmer. I bought the little garden for 50 rs.

Normally, I would have admired the roses, even sniffed them and left them behind. I would not buy them.

Today is little less than a miracle. I bought not just one rose but 23 of them. My sister hugged me twice and I felt happier than I thought I would be.

Today is little less than a miracle that I am starting my blog.


Caution:

I am boring.