I'm bad at small talk. Terrible at it. I can't even talk about the weather. I sit comfortably in between ominous silences, when you can hear each other breathe, and usually put the onus on the other person to entertain me by sparking a conversation. But this time I decided to start changing myself.
"So...you're also a tamilian?", I inquired Ms. Babe (having heard her utter "aiyoo" somewhere, apart from her unmistakable last name)
"Yeah....", she drawled ruefully, her face wilting, "But I'm from Mumbai, was brought up there and lived my whooole life there!", she clarified, with her eyes turning moist at the thought of her hometown.
"Where are you from?", it was now her turn.
"I'm from Madras", I stated.
Now Ms. Babe is as trendy and hep so as to set a fashion statement on behalf of all the Indian ladies. Latest hair style, bold clothes, and the whole ensemble(Bold clothes = wearing a mini-skirt and a sleeveless shirt in the middle of frigid January, when the wind howls and the temperature is below -20 F... no exaggerations). Anyway, Babe surely must have gathered my native origin -- my darling daddy's 13 lettered last name and the trademark stamp of Madraas-filter-Kaapi Kalai on my face were enough evidences.
But, out of this Babe's mouth came these words, "Oh!!! Really?! I didn't know! (wide eyed). You don't look like a Madraasi! I thought you were from Bangalore...", she trailed, looking at me incredulously. Talk about bitter sweets... I didn't know whether I recognized it as a compliment because I was "elevated" to the state of Bangalorean from my drudged Filter-Kaapi self, or as a brutal dish out to my "madraasi community".
"Oh? Why?", I asked in my customary ringing tone. (My father taught me early on to be interested in "Tell me Why" books and I religiously started asking "why" till people tear their hair out)
"You know... you're not like one of those typical Madraasis... ", she said, scrunching her pretty little nose and curling her lips as if on seeing a miserable rat.
"Oh...", I said, trying to put on a plastic smile and wondering if I should ask another "Like how" question and risk piling more insults to my clan. While my mind was running wild on thoughts, Babe was more accepting and friendly of me and started chattering more.
Now, this is not the first time I've heard this. The popular G, scorned at me as I offered to shake his hand during our first meeting, seething the words, "You're from Bangalore, aren't you?" Why? I ask again. Madras girls know enough etiquette to shake hands with new people they are introduced to, especially in a professional setting...( only our tamil heroines say "namaskaram" with joint hands and refuse to touch a man's hand) or is there some other aura around me that makes me less of a Madraasi? Not that I'm fanatically oriented towards my place... I don't care which city's spirit I emanate... I am me. But I don't understand the sense of disgrace and inferiority associated with Madras -- the only metro in India that is not considered good enough.
I perfectly relate to and understand a person's detachment to their native place when they have lived their whole lives in another city. Their identity and memories are towards the place of nurture and it's irrational to expect a sense of pride or attachment to a place they visited during occasional vacations. So Babe's detachment to Madras can very well be understood... but why the disgust, the distaste? And I don't understand the sense of detachment and/or disgust among those Madraasis who have lived their whole lives in the city. I have hardly met any Indian from any other metro/city who abuses their hometown. Hometowns are proudly praised and hailed high, and people weep with nostalgia on their reference. But Madras is not so privileged.
Obviously Madras is a tad more conservative than the other metros, no doubt, but the poor thing is trying its best to catch up fast with the rest. And I by the way, am the country-bumpkin dunderhead in my elite hep group of friends from Madras. So if babe considered me good enough to be a Bangalorean, she ain't seen nothing of Madras and its girls. But this is a common perception. Even within Madras, guys would lament that the best-looking girl in Madras was the worst-looking girl in Delhi. The maamis of my household will return from a wedding and proclaim, "Ponnu chekka-chevernu, north-indian ponnu madri irruka" (the bride looks fair and lovely like a north-indian girl). This statement, when the girl would be an agmark-tamil-Madraasi. A well groomed, fair and lovely Madraasi is always seen as an aberration, even by the locals, betraying total lack of pride or appreciation of one's own clan. I know of Tamilians who go out of their ways to mask their origin, to remove every trace of evidence linking them to the city, and try every possible way to link themselves to a sophisticated Bangalorean, Mumbai-ian, Delhi-an, or pretty much any Metro falling above Tamil Nadu's border.
I know of my own schoolmates and college-mates who, having lived their entire lives in Madras, would cringe to publicly state so. They will proudly feign complete lack of knowledge of Tamil and stutter when they have to speak to the auto-driver. One claims that she is half-north-indian because her dad was raised in Mumbai. And that esteemed link to her was golden. Chicks change their last names to eliminate that conspicuous old-fashioned ring to their names, by appending a generic "Iyer", while some truncate their poor daddy's longish name. "Krishnaswamy" becomes "Krish", "Ramamoorthy" becomes "Ram" and "Mahadevan" becomes "M'Devan". Believe me, I realize how agonizing it is to wait for the American on the other side to stutter and mince my father's name in their effort to recite my full name, as I beg and wail to leave his name alone. But the above name-changing-chicks reside within Hindustan, specifically near Marina Beach. While it's none of my business on how people change their names, the pattern somehow seems to be around Madraasis, centering around the intention to wipe off any trace of south-indianism. I have never heard of Kulkarnis, Deshpandes shortening/changing their names.
And the other extremes are the tamil-fanatics, who will chatter only in loud-localized accents and will abuse and scorn at those who utter two words in English/Hindi and exhibit the slightest sense of modernity/refinement (thoughts included) that don't conform to the local rules. These people set the standards on how to be a great Kumbakonam-maama and Thanjavoor-maami. They will gossip better than my great-grand-aunt and will be the moral police to uphold the "tamil culture" better than our cuckoo Chief Minister. Maybe Babe's impression of Madras was tainted by such people. But doesn't every state, every city, every metro have their share of irritants who bring down the name of the place? Thackareyism is at the tip of my tongue. Or am I biased in my view of my hometown? Does Madras really have so many reasons to be ashamed of?
It's sad that such people's sense of identity is based on global perceptions of a city's westernization and modernization. There are obviously those minority middle grounders who share a loving bond with the city, despite its sweltering heat, incorrigible auto drivers and gossiping maamis. And I hope in the coming years, this minority section grows and the other extremes dwindle.
"So...you're also a tamilian?", I inquired Ms. Babe (having heard her utter "aiyoo" somewhere, apart from her unmistakable last name)
"Yeah....", she drawled ruefully, her face wilting, "But I'm from Mumbai, was brought up there and lived my whooole life there!", she clarified, with her eyes turning moist at the thought of her hometown.
"Where are you from?", it was now her turn.
"I'm from Madras", I stated.
Now Ms. Babe is as trendy and hep so as to set a fashion statement on behalf of all the Indian ladies. Latest hair style, bold clothes, and the whole ensemble(Bold clothes = wearing a mini-skirt and a sleeveless shirt in the middle of frigid January, when the wind howls and the temperature is below -20 F... no exaggerations). Anyway, Babe surely must have gathered my native origin -- my darling daddy's 13 lettered last name and the trademark stamp of Madraas-filter-Kaapi Kalai on my face were enough evidences.
But, out of this Babe's mouth came these words, "Oh!!! Really?! I didn't know! (wide eyed). You don't look like a Madraasi! I thought you were from Bangalore...", she trailed, looking at me incredulously. Talk about bitter sweets... I didn't know whether I recognized it as a compliment because I was "elevated" to the state of Bangalorean from my drudged Filter-Kaapi self, or as a brutal dish out to my "madraasi community".
"Oh? Why?", I asked in my customary ringing tone. (My father taught me early on to be interested in "Tell me Why" books and I religiously started asking "why" till people tear their hair out)
"You know... you're not like one of those typical Madraasis... ", she said, scrunching her pretty little nose and curling her lips as if on seeing a miserable rat.
"Oh...", I said, trying to put on a plastic smile and wondering if I should ask another "Like how" question and risk piling more insults to my clan. While my mind was running wild on thoughts, Babe was more accepting and friendly of me and started chattering more.
Now, this is not the first time I've heard this. The popular G, scorned at me as I offered to shake his hand during our first meeting, seething the words, "You're from Bangalore, aren't you?" Why? I ask again. Madras girls know enough etiquette to shake hands with new people they are introduced to, especially in a professional setting...( only our tamil heroines say "namaskaram" with joint hands and refuse to touch a man's hand) or is there some other aura around me that makes me less of a Madraasi? Not that I'm fanatically oriented towards my place... I don't care which city's spirit I emanate... I am me. But I don't understand the sense of disgrace and inferiority associated with Madras -- the only metro in India that is not considered good enough.
I perfectly relate to and understand a person's detachment to their native place when they have lived their whole lives in another city. Their identity and memories are towards the place of nurture and it's irrational to expect a sense of pride or attachment to a place they visited during occasional vacations. So Babe's detachment to Madras can very well be understood... but why the disgust, the distaste? And I don't understand the sense of detachment and/or disgust among those Madraasis who have lived their whole lives in the city. I have hardly met any Indian from any other metro/city who abuses their hometown. Hometowns are proudly praised and hailed high, and people weep with nostalgia on their reference. But Madras is not so privileged.
Obviously Madras is a tad more conservative than the other metros, no doubt, but the poor thing is trying its best to catch up fast with the rest. And I by the way, am the country-bumpkin dunderhead in my elite hep group of friends from Madras. So if babe considered me good enough to be a Bangalorean, she ain't seen nothing of Madras and its girls. But this is a common perception. Even within Madras, guys would lament that the best-looking girl in Madras was the worst-looking girl in Delhi. The maamis of my household will return from a wedding and proclaim, "Ponnu chekka-chevernu, north-indian ponnu madri irruka" (the bride looks fair and lovely like a north-indian girl). This statement, when the girl would be an agmark-tamil-Madraasi. A well groomed, fair and lovely Madraasi is always seen as an aberration, even by the locals, betraying total lack of pride or appreciation of one's own clan. I know of Tamilians who go out of their ways to mask their origin, to remove every trace of evidence linking them to the city, and try every possible way to link themselves to a sophisticated Bangalorean, Mumbai-ian, Delhi-an, or pretty much any Metro falling above Tamil Nadu's border.
I know of my own schoolmates and college-mates who, having lived their entire lives in Madras, would cringe to publicly state so. They will proudly feign complete lack of knowledge of Tamil and stutter when they have to speak to the auto-driver. One claims that she is half-north-indian because her dad was raised in Mumbai. And that esteemed link to her was golden. Chicks change their last names to eliminate that conspicuous old-fashioned ring to their names, by appending a generic "Iyer", while some truncate their poor daddy's longish name. "Krishnaswamy" becomes "Krish", "Ramamoorthy" becomes "Ram" and "Mahadevan" becomes "M'Devan". Believe me, I realize how agonizing it is to wait for the American on the other side to stutter and mince my father's name in their effort to recite my full name, as I beg and wail to leave his name alone. But the above name-changing-chicks reside within Hindustan, specifically near Marina Beach. While it's none of my business on how people change their names, the pattern somehow seems to be around Madraasis, centering around the intention to wipe off any trace of south-indianism. I have never heard of Kulkarnis, Deshpandes shortening/changing their names.
And the other extremes are the tamil-fanatics, who will chatter only in loud-localized accents and will abuse and scorn at those who utter two words in English/Hindi and exhibit the slightest sense of modernity/refinement (thoughts included) that don't conform to the local rules. These people set the standards on how to be a great Kumbakonam-maama and Thanjavoor-maami. They will gossip better than my great-grand-aunt and will be the moral police to uphold the "tamil culture" better than our cuckoo Chief Minister. Maybe Babe's impression of Madras was tainted by such people. But doesn't every state, every city, every metro have their share of irritants who bring down the name of the place? Thackareyism is at the tip of my tongue. Or am I biased in my view of my hometown? Does Madras really have so many reasons to be ashamed of?
It's sad that such people's sense of identity is based on global perceptions of a city's westernization and modernization. There are obviously those minority middle grounders who share a loving bond with the city, despite its sweltering heat, incorrigible auto drivers and gossiping maamis. And I hope in the coming years, this minority section grows and the other extremes dwindle.