State of Play

Children’s park* down the road

*Not the one in Guindy

Another View

Another view of the play area

Booby Prize

Booby Prize Nearby: Used Syringe with the Needle Intact

This I found on the roadside, just outside the play area.

It has been 7 weeks since I moved back to Chennai. In that time, I have come across some fairly ludicrous situations due to language problems. While most of these situations were pure comedy gold, some grated my nerves mainly because of the attitude of the main protagonists.

Let me explain by means of some imaginary scenarios.

Imaginary Scenario A

A Tamil woman walks into a juice stop in Allahabad and orders a lime juice. At the juicing counter, she approaches the boy making the beverage and says “Uppu add pannunga!” (Translation: Add some salt)

The boy blinks. She repeats, a bit louder this time. After the third time, the old man standing next to her butts in with a “thoda namak dal dean!”

The boy rushes to comply, while the girl turns to the older man and gushes her thanks. “Thank you! Language is such a big problem, no?”

Imaginary Scenario B

A man gets out of his car in front of a roadside veggie shop in Lajpat Nagar. He points to the various vegetables and states how much of each he’d like. The vendor packs them up accordingly and when the man is done, tots up his bill and gives him the final tally. The man looks at his wallet and says, “En kitte 200 rooba thaan irukku, sayankalam vandu meedhi 50 rooba tharen!”

The vendor, typically, scratches his head and asks a question in Hindi. The man repeats his earlier statement, punctuating each word with a long pause and increasing his volume of delivery. The vendor shakes his hand and says “No Tamil“.

The man gives him Rs200 and then mimes “50 evening, ok?” The vendor grudgingly pockets the money, muttering to himself.

Imaginary Scenario C

Kanpur. A tailor’s shop. It is evening and the shop is full of patrons queuing up to collect their clothing. In that pandemonium, this nattily dressed gent waits calmly for his turn. He is busy talking in his mother tongue with a friend. After the crowd has dissipated, he shows his collection chit and the tailor’s assistant, a boy who looks about 13, rushes to look through the bundles inside, deciphers the hieroglyphics and hands the correct packet to the man in a plastic bag. The man eyes the thin plastic in distaste.

“You are charging Rs.1500 to stitch 4 sets of uniform but you can’t even provide good quality plastic bags? What is this?”

The boy, who clearly hasn’t understood a word of the tirade, looks blankly and says “no Inglis”.

The man tuts, shakes his head and says, “get me another bag.”

“Huh?”

“BAG! BAG!! ANOTHER BAG! THIS ONE… ONE MORE” he shouts and points to the one in his hand.

The boy hands him two more and the man walks out, complaining to his friend about the quality of the hired help these days.

What strikes you the most about these scenarios?

The jarring fact that the people in each did not use the correct language to interact with the vendors. In every case, they spoke their mother tongue or English in places where the prevalent language was something else. Hindi, to be exact. So what will be your reaction? What would you tell these men and the woman if you happened to come across them? ‘Speak the local language, stupid!’ Right? Maybe you wouldn’t have said the word ‘stupid’ out loud, but clearly you would have thought it in your mind, remarked upon the idiocy of not speaking in Hindi to the sabziwala and others, expecting them to understand your English / Tamil and respond in a similar manner. Am I correct?

Chennai is one of the few cities in India where you cannot get away with speaking in Hindi. Hindi and English are taught in the private schools, that’s it. Even in Kannada speaking Bangalore, you can easily find auto drivers that understand Tamil and get away with not knowing Kannada easily. But not in Chennai.

I have seen the above-mentioned scenarios in slightly varied formats almost on a daily basis in Chennai. Every time, the individual in question would confidently walk up to a local menial worker, who clearly hadn’t seen the inside of a school and thus had no chance of learning any language, and start conversing in Hindi.

The time when I butted it and told the juicer boy in Tamil to add salt, the bloke that had shouted ‘namak! namak!‘ till he was practically blue in the face, turned to me cockily and said: “Uff! It is so hard to make oneself understood, no?”

I felt like slapping him but consoled myself by answering tartly, “Next time try saying salt, at least!”

Many moons back, when an uncle of mine got a bank job that meant a transfer to Mandhya Pradesh, the first thing he did upon submitting his application form was sign up for a Spoken Hindi course. Granted, he had the advance notice but the point I am trying to make is this – when you move to a Hindi speaking area, you do not expect anyone to speak in your local language, do you? So why is it when Hindi speaking folk when they move to non-Hindi states think they can get away with speaking their language? And please do not pull the ‘but it is the NATIONAL language’ crap. This national language is taught in CBSE and other such schools. Tell me, is the average menial worker likely to have gone to a good private school? If he had, why the hell is he still playing go fetch to the local tailor?

Of course, I have nothing else to say to those idiots that speak English – ENGLISH, A TAUGHT LANGUAGE – to the hired help.

But I tell you what gets my goat big time, in relation to this language problem? Those that have lived in a place for YEARS – possibly, generations – and still do not speak the local language as if they are too cool to be caught speaking it. I was in college with this whole bunch of girls from Sowcarpet, an area of Chennai that is home predominantly to those that have settled from various Northern states. During the three years we shared bench space, I have never heard one of them even utter a word in Tamil. It was always Hindi or nothing.

After living in England for years, where the average English tourist expects to survive holidaying abroad by speaking English loudly and slowly, you’d think I’d be used to such atrocities.

No.

So yes, go ahead and call me names, tell me I am over-reacting. But please do it in Tamil or English. Mujhe Hindi nahin maloom.

A wise lady told me, as I was weighing the different schooling options, that no matter which school I went with, I will have to be prepared to work hard with my son. Last night, faced with playing catch up after reading through the info about the impending assessment, I was reminded of those words.

The teaching methodology here is vastly – read, totally – different to those employed in the West. P’s teachers in England did not believe in making the child feel inadequate or worse, inept. They repeatedly and calmly told their students to correct their ways. When the children played the fool, as children are wont to occasionally, they were admonished, yes, but not so strongly that the children’s feelings are hurt.

In India, sheer numbers make it impossible for teachers to try the softly, softly method. As I was waiting to enter the Principal’s office on Thursday, I had ample time to observe how teachers tackle the younger classes. A Class I teacher was heard yelling at someone beyond my field of vision – when that person moved into view, I was shocked to see a tiddler, just a little bit bigger than my two-year-old. Such a thing would be unthinkable abroad, the child would have burst into tears straightaway and the parents would have quickly met with the teacher to thrash out matters. But this 6 year old just quietly walked over to where his teacher was pointing and in two minutes, was raising merry hell from that quarter! In that moment, I felt quite sorry for the teacher, trying to contain 40-odd bundles of energy.

Having said that, I wish they had given P some leeway due to the facts that it was his first day and it is an entirely new methodology. You cannot expect a 9 year old to hit the ground running – but that is just what they expect. This, in my opinion, is too much.

P felt his first day was a success. It was, a personal one – he has faced up to his nervousness and conquered it. He walked into a strange classroom as a newcomer and walked out in the evening, feeling quite comfortable in the surroundings. He has made many new friends and despite not remembering a single name, is quite looking forward to meeting them on Monday. He has already made plans to play cricket with them at the next P.E session.

Delve a little deeper and you realise the priority of a sports-mad 9 year old is quite different to what the Indian schooling system expects. His maths teacher has scribbled across  his notebook in bright red splashes “Untidy and incomplete work – meet me!” When he saw it, poor P gasped and his face crumpled. He, who was at the top table consistently through out his career at his old school in England, was now faced with not-so-positive remarks for the first time. He deflated like a pricked balloon in seconds. I was hopping mad – why couldn’t the teacher have cut him some slack? Didn’t she know it was his very first day there? Apparently no one, including his class teacher, spoke to him, asked him where he was from, checked if he was okay, is he coping – no extra consideration for a boy tat has been thrown into the deep end.

What is it about these red welts on a notebook that cut you off at the knees? Especially when they are less than laudatory? My son will face many more, I’m afraid, before he settles down into the system.

A long school day, filled with lesson after lesson of different topics, wandering around a vast and strange building had left him winded. He compared his new school to Hogwarts, at one point! When I asked him how his day was, he said ‘it was okay, but we weren’t let out even for 10 minutes!’ In England, schools make a point of letting the children run around in the playground for a few minutes – even if it is during lunch break – so that they can let off steam, instead of keeping them cooped up in lessons all day, like barn chickens. Whereas here, getting on with portions is key and while P’s timetable had 40 mins of Audio-Visual lessons that day, where he watched a movie on Ganesha, he was once again sitting down with his classmates. Little boys and girls need to be able to run free for a few minutes instead of just running from one lesson to another.

Another gripe is the fact that none of these schools have hats / caps included in their uniform. None of the children wear them, as a result. It is shocking to see children of all ages wandering around in the hot sun, with nothing to protect their tender heads.

****************

After doing some homework and reading with me, late last night, I think he has realised that he cannot coast on his earlier, easier way of doing things anymore. For one, he never had to sit down and write tests! For another, his indulgent teacher is back in Brentwood and he has to knuckle down, if he has to win over his new lot of teachers. A long struggle awaits my boy – I just hope the sheer drudgery doesn’t sap his energy and crush his spirit.

After many sleepless nights and much nail biting, P’s school finally got sorted to a satisfactory end. He got through to a top school in the city, thanks to management quota. Oh and the fact that I am an alumnus didn’t hurt, I suppose!

As the school follows the New Delhi schools timing for term timings, term 1 of the new year started way back in April and the school reopened after the summer holidays on Wednesday. So before P could take a deep breath, he was told he could call himself a student of the school and may he please turn up on time the next day, thankyouverymuch.

And so he did, feeling quite conspicuous in everyday clothes. We showed up in front of his classroom 30 mins before we were due and so had a lot of time to people watch. P was stunned at the sheer volume of students that kept walking in. His own class has 45 children in it!

As we were waiting outside, few of his class boys stood around being boys and I nudged P to go and introduce himself. Of course he refused. But the minute the teacher walked in and I came out, an enterprising chap claimed him and proceeded to take P under his wing. That irrepressible boy even shouted “bye, Aunty” to me as I walked out of the school! I hung around a bit as the children assembled for prayers. The “standatease” threw P off and he just gaped around him! Then the choir started singing in earnest and it was with  pleasant surprise that I found myself humming along as the long forgotten words came flooding back into my memory banks.

I had to go back to school to pick him up and put him on the right bus. As the teacher had also dropped the bombshell of impending Assessment tests, I was asked to come early to copy down the class notes. Even as I showed up sweating and panting, the lady sweetly said she’ll lend me her notes so I can simply photocopy the lot!

On the way back home on the much crowded bus (which also brought back memories of the days I spent on a similar bus travelling from Ashok Nagar to the school every day), we chatted about how his day was. He said he has made loads of friends but has forgotten the names of everyone! But never mind, he had a trick – he was just going to discreetly read the names off their ID cards! His classmates thought he was from America, going by his accent and were most surprised when he said “England, actually.”

The lessons were alright, I hear. He didn’t have a problem understanding what he was taught and he could easily keep up with the rest of the class. Now and then, someone couldn’t understand what he said but overall, everyone was quite easy going and eager to help him out. The boys had lots of fun playing with his plastic cutlery during lunchtime, apparently!

In fact, I found the children super sweet and tripping over themselves to help. Yesterday, when I was taking down the class time table, 3 girls separately asked me if I was a parent and if so, where was the child. This afternoon, as I waited to pick up P, every other boy that walked past me (they had a session at the Science Labs) to get back to class told me P was right behind and he was doing alright!

I think the fact that P doesn’t seem nervous at the thought of the school says it all, really. Even the thought of impending tests haven’t jarred him much.

So, that was that, the much dreaded first day. Can I just say a gazillion thanks to everyone that sent me best wishes?

PS: Yesterday, I stood in front of my Comp Sci teacher and went “do you recognise me?” and was gobsmacked when he did! He then proceeded to tell the inmates of the school office who I was, which year I graduated and after that, everyone was super happy to help me, former student and all! Personally, the best bit of the day was meeting my old school bus driver, who is still working as a driver at the school. The dear old man had tears in his eyes upon recognising me. Took me around and introduced me to the other drivers, spent a good while catching up with me and even came with me as I caught an auto back home!

You read about the apathy of the young, how the next generation is more interested in gadgets and making merry than in what matters. Then you read a post like this – where the blogger takes a day off (and is made fun of, for her pains) to cast her vote, and more importantly, is actually excited about exercising her rights, and you realise, that there is always hope.

Even on days you feel small about the choices you’ve made, small rays of hope such as these make you feel it is going to be alright, after all.

A commenter on a friend’s blog objected to a comment of mine. And the reasoning for it disturbed me and so I am exploring it here. And if any one can shed a light on it, please feel free.

The post in question had something to do with the furore over the World Cup matches and how the blogger didn’t watch them as she couldn’t care less. She had some profanities thrown at her for her lack of Indian spirit for her trouble. In my comment, I had backed her up, wondering why not watching a cricket match is to be considered un-Indian. I cannot abide by people that force things on others, saying “it is for fun, yaar” or “don’t be a spoilsport”. I didn’t mince any words and cussed freely.

But it wasn’t the cussing that wounded the lady’s feelings – it was the fact that I am an NRI. How dare I live abroad and criticise India, seemed to be her point. (I did not see this coming until the lady in q said she herself lives in US of A.) As I have moved out of the mother country, I have no right to pass remarks of the sort I just did. And even after I move back, I may not qualify for some time yet, or so I understand from her response to a query on the same point. Maybe I should be issued with a badge, saying “newly returned – cannot pass judgement until X time has passed” or some such.

For the record, I was equally caustic about the furore over Enthiran’s release too. I mean, doing milk abhishekham and aarathi to the cut-outs? Does no one think they are excessive? Even my friends in India agreed with me – but I suppose they can, as they have the rights to feel so, as they lived in the country and have earned their stripes.

The best part was, I did nowhere specify that these excesses were being carried out in India. I had just said I didn’t like them, in general. But the NRI lady took me to mean my brothers & sisters toiling in apna des and took umbrage at my comments.

To sum up, I must not diss India or Indians. Does this also mean I cannot have arguments with my mom, brother, aunts etc? I have moved out of my mum’s house too so the same rules must apply, right? And boy has my weekly entertainment just died a violent death with that, or what? Also, by extension, does this rule also mean I cannot moan about the state of the NHS or how the Tories are messing with our lives so soon after coming to power or how my surgery pisses me off by never having an appointment that suits my convenience? Because, after all, I am not a local, right? And so, how can I speak unkindly of England? So… cannot diss India / Indians for a while yet and keep it schtum about the Brits too, while I am at it. WHO the hell can I crib about then? Does she understand I have a blog to maintain?

Maybe she’s a Rajnikant fan?

Edited to add: Dear Lady, I see you are still miffed with this. Instead of hijacking someone else’s comment space, please vent your spleen here and we shall get someplace. Just healthy discussion – needn’t be anything more or less. Re one of my commenter cussing, well I am in no place to stop anyone else from cussing, am I?

Overseas Citizen of India card

The last time I left you, my loyal legion, I had just got my British passport and only needed an OCI card or an Overseas Citizen of India card to ensure I kept one foot on the other side too. I admit at the outset that I wasn’t looking forward to what will definitely be a painful process. I had to deal with the High Commission of India, after all, and no one, not even Mahatma Gandhi would have called it an entertaining prospect.

Though it galls me to say it, I will – had I observed all of the rules, dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s like the High Commission wanted me to, the ordeal would have been a lot less painful. Anal as they are, just do as they say, read the fine print and you’ll do fine. Obviously, certain things might strike you as annoying or anal but just go with the flow.

First thing to remember when dealing with the High Commission or Indian Embassy is that going in person works better, much better than posting your application. The latter might seem the better option, time saving and all that but believe me when I say taking a day off work and going in person to submit your form will reap dividends later. Of course, you’d have to stand for an hour and half outside the High Commission just to get an appointment to go inside is crazy and yes, they could save you time and discomfort by taking this process online like the French embassy, for example, but them’s the breaks and all that so you might as well take an interesting book, coffee to go and your iPod and just stand there. But the counter is open till noon so you don’t have to get there at the crack of dawn as they let in anyone who comes in before Cinderella hour.

By going in person, you also save yourself 10% of the total cost of your family’s OCI card application (£165 x no of family members) – which you’ll have to shell out if you are getting a postal order.

Once you get to the counter, if you say “OCI application”, the lady will shove a piece of paper with a number on it and the time you can go in. Hold on to that chit, wait till the appointed hour and brace yourself for a sea of humanity. Inside, there will be desperate folks hanging from the fans just to get their magic documents. Counters 4 and 5 are dedicated to the OCI applicants and a number will flash on screen and a disembodied voice will call out the same so make sure you don’t miss it. When your turn comes, step up to the counter, hand over the documents in duplicate, keep the cash ready and keep your fingers crossed. If all goes well, you can get out in 2 mins, as I did, with your receipts.

The website states it will take anything between 8 – 12 weeks to get the documents. The lady at the counter told me 2-3 weeks. I got it in, wait for it, 9 days. Yep! I submitted the application on 10 Jan and got them on 19 Jan! The collection process too is better if handled in person. You’d need a whole day – the morning to submit your British (or whatever foreign passport you have) passport – you can do this at the outside counter itself – and then collect the OCI and your foreign passports between 4 – 4.30 the same evening.

Easy as pie, eh?

Here are the pointers:

1. Start the application process online – visit this link and get the ball rolling. Once you have done this, then you need to print two copies of it and complete the rest of the process.
2. Make sure you fill the form carefully.
3. This means paying especial attention to the photos – if you are submitting them in London, they should be 51 cm x 51 cm and have a non-white background. As these are not the standard sizes, taking them in the UK might prove to be an expensive affair. So if you are heading to India anytime before this, make sure you get some photos that fit these rules.
4. Attach two photocopies each of your British passport photo page, valid pages from your cancelled Indian passport, your Naturalisation certificate, marriage certificate, birth certificates for your children and your Surrender Certificate (more about this later).
5. Make sure you sign and date every printed page.
6. The fee – it is £165 per passport at the moment but please verify to make sure you’ve got the correct amount.

Once you have submitted your application, you will be given a receipt containing your unique identification number. You need this to verify your status online, which you can do by visiting this link. Once the status says ‘documents received in London’ (or Edinburgh or Birmingham, wherever you submitted) you can head to the HCI / Embassy. There is no need to make an appointment.

For the second visit, make sure you have the following:

1. The receipt you were given.
2. Your foreign passport.
3. Copy of your surrender certificate, if you didn’t submit it earlier.

Wait in the queue outside as before and just hand these over to the lady at the token counter. She’ll give you a token and say you can collect the documents any time between 4 and 4.30 PM the same day. Collection is very easy – just walk in, wait for your number (on the token given to you in the morning) to be called, walk up to the counter after you are called, hand over the token, collect your OCI cards and foreign passports and be on your way!

It really can be as simple as that!

But make sure you follow the rules. I sat next to this lady who had come for the third time as her photos didn’t fit the regulation size or background colour. Please do not make that error.

Surrender Certificate

You’d need this if you are going to apply for an OCI. You need to submit your Indian passport within 90 days of getting your foreign passport or you’ll incur a hefty fine. You are quite lucky in that the HCI has outsourced this process to the same agency that handles the Indian visas, so you don’t have to go through the horror I did.

Visit this link and this one for more details.

So I booked our tickets to India today. Our one way tickets. One way tickets that mean we cannot get back to Brentwood 6 weeks later. Tickets that mean there’s NO COMING BACK! *gulp* And so, R2I (Return to India) is ON.

I am thrilled at the prospect of returning to the motherland, chaat at Ajnabee, gorgeous sarees, dropping in on family on random days for lunch and so on. I am also nervous at learning to live in tandem with the family again. After being adrift for a decade, coming back into the fold will be quite unnerving, to say the least. And of course, there’s the small matter of how it will affect the children, my son, primarily. At 9, he will find the changes – new place, new faces, new food, new educational system – overwhelming.

But, the plans are not set in motion. Change is around the corner. Good ones, I hope.

It is late and I am working on a project for a friend while googling for stats for an article for another company – but I can’t help listening with half an ear to the spouse’s weekly desi news catch-up. Sify.com’s “news” is going on at the mo and the girl wielding the microphone is getting on my nerves big time. The fake accent, the way she keeps saying “McDonnals” and the language! Maybe I have been living in England for way too long so I don’t know when it became hip to throw a few “hell”s on television. Blaspheming aside, what ever is “raved up”?

While you are at it, how would you “catch up with a watermelon juice”? Is Watermelon Juice a person? And something else is labelled as tasting “very well”.

ARGH!

Before I ram a pen in my ear to relieve me of my misery, let me shout: I am going to Chennai! Yep! After much suspense, the babus at High Commission, London came through (just like you predicted, CA!) and I successfully applied for my visa and booked my tickets. And Saturday morning shall find me sipping my grandma’s piping hot kapi. As I aim to be there for a month or so, I have decided to do two things 30 days related.

To keep my blog chugging along, I have decided to do my 31DBBB (or Darren Rowse’s 31 Days to Build a Better Blog). I participated in this challenge when Darren first launched it and I think it will do self and blog a great deal of good, give the blog kind of an overhaul.

One thing I am going to really miss is my Body Combat. To combat (ha ha) that, I am going to be doing Jillian Michaels’ 30 day Shred whilst trusting in Rujuta Diwekar to help my eating in check. Though her bambaiyya language will drive me nuts well before week 1, I am hoping I will be ably distracted and can stop myself from poking me in my eye.

When did speaking bad English become so fashionable anyway? On national television and published books, no less!